Rape (11 page)

He'd hired Kirkpatrick, though. Like a gambler risking all his cash on a toss of the dice.

You had to be impressed with Kirkpatrick. An hour's interview with the boys and already he'd allowed them and their father to see how “rape” could be reinterpreted as “consensual sex”—“sex-for-hire.”The Maguire woman had been drinking, her testimony was shaky. A good cross-
examination and she'd be discredited. And the daughter allegedly hiding in a corner of the boathouse had not actually seen anyone rape anyone by her own account. She could not testify that other young men had not entered the boathouse and raped her mother after the departure of the Picks and their companions.

Kirkpatrick said, “There are two sides to every story, in a trial. The winning side, and the other.”

Walt whistled through his teeth. Here was genius!

Even so, Walt tried to reason with Jay Kirkpatrick. It was unfair, Walt argued, that, because he had two sons on trial, he had to pay double. For two clients charged with exactly the same crimes would not require nearly so much legal effort as two separate clients charged with two separate crimes, would they? How could they?

“It's like twins, right? A woman has two babies, they ain't actually twice as much work as two would be, another time. Everybody knows that. That's why a woman has two breasts. Ask any woman.”

Walt had hoped for a discount of maybe 10 percent. Kirkpatrick smiled and said Walt would make a damn good lawyer, arguing so precisely. Except a discount was not possible.

“I am an attorney, Mr. Pick. I am not a remnant carpet store.”

Marvin Pick, Lloyd Pick. They'd been high school wrestlers. On the East Side Marv was admired if not much liked. Lloyd was his lieutenant. Always he'd been the emotional brother,
hobbled by the rudiments of conscience like a horse with a pebble in its hoof. Now he was blaming Marv for the trouble he'd gotten them into.

“Fuck you, asshole. You were the one said, ‘Let's jump those two cunts.' ”

“I did not! Fuck I never said that! Marv,
I did not
.”

Lloyd was excitable these days, tears springing into his eyes. Marv just laughed. Now that Jay Kirkpatrick was their
legal counsel
he was feeling almost laid back. “Don't worry, Lloyd. I ain't going to in-form. I ain't going to turn state's witness.” Since the intrusion of the Niagara County criminal justice machine into the Picks' lives, Marv's vocabulary had expanded.

Marvin Pick, Lloyd Pick. Before the boathouse incident they'd been picked up for local break-ins, lifting merchandise at Home Depot and Kmart, an attempted carjacking. They'd been arrested, pleaded guilty on the advice of their legal defense lawyer, served minimal juvie time. Marv saw that the criminal justice system was crowded with black guys, some of them really scary gangsta types, stone-cold killers at fifteen, him and Lloyd didn't look so threatening, somehow.

Their cousin Nate Baumdollar, whose father, part owner of a tavern and bowling alley in Lackawanna, was believed to be “mobbed up,” told the brothers they were assholes, the bunch of them, not to finish the job and dump the females in the lagoon. Both of them. “See, now you wouldn't be up shit crick. ‘Eyewitnesses.' Bet you never thought of it, none
of you, huh? Shit-for-brains.” Nate brayed with laughter. He was Marv's age. All their lives the two had been hateful of each other but thrown together to “play” at family outings.

Marv protested, “We wasn't gonna kill her, come on. It was never anything like that. Only just, we got out of there and left her. Joe said she was bleeding like a damn pig, if nobody found her and called the cops that was it.”

“Dumping her,” Lloyd said, nerved up, picking at his nose, “would be something you could prove. For sure, they'd get you then.”

“Get who, asshole?
I
wasn't there.”

Marv said with sudden vehemence, “That's right, fuckface. You weren't there. So shut up.”

Nate laughed. He liked it that Walt Pick had approached his old man for a loan, having to humble himself to his brother-in-law, and Nate's shrewd old man had said sure, Walt, but there's 12 percent interest. And we get the document notarized.

Marv said, aggrieved, “She asked for it. Fucking Teena. I seen her around, I know her. She knows me, too! She was showing her ass and her damn boobs. She was plenty hot. She said, ‘What you guys got in your pants? Are you hot, or what?' ”

Lloyd looked at him, incredulous. This was all fanciful stuff, like what came out of Kirkpatrick's mouth was contagious.

Marv continued, inspired, addressing Nate like Nate was the Jew judge Schpiro, “She said she'd suck us off for ten bucks each. If there was ten of us, we'd get a discount: nine bucks each. She did! You can laugh but she did! She's a
hooker junkie. Anybody in the neighborhood will tell you. Some people, they came to Father Muldoon to tell him what they knew about Teena Maguire, if it was needed to be known for our sake. Our attorney Mr. Kirkpatrick he's gonna get witnesses from like her high school, guys who knew her way back, establish a pattern of ‘promiscuous and reckless sexual behavior' to present to the jury. He's already got witnesses testifying she was falling-down drunk and high on coke before we ever saw her. Before she ever got to the fucking park. And the daughter, see it was some kind of mother-daughter deal. Like, two-for-one. The little cunt was half price.”

Lloyd said, squirming with sudden excitement, “That girl! She saw my face, I guess. Must've picked out my picture. And in the damn lineup she collared me. And there's bloodstains, and other stuff. Wish to hell I'd known what was coming, this girl, this kid, putting the finger on me.” He shook his head, mute in anguish.

Nate crowed, “See? You assholes? What I told you, I'd of been there, you needed to finish the job and dump 'em both. Tied down with rocks. Save your old man having to sell his boat.”

Marv Pick, Lloyd Pick. Marv had a dagger/flaming heart tattoo on his left forearm, Lloyd had a greasy black coiled cobra on his. When they'd wrestled as kids, thumping and thudding on the floor of their room or downstairs in the living room, Irma screamed at them the entire house was
shaking. Of course Marv, always heavier than Lloyd by ten–fifteen pounds, and meaner, always won.

The night before the brothers vanished, leaving Marv's 1989 bronze Taurus in a parking lot at Fort Niagara State Park, they were observed driving in this vehicle slow along Baltic Avenue. Slow to the corner of Baltic and Chautauqua. Slow past the Kevecki house at 2861 Baltic. They were drinking beer. Hell, they'd put away most of a case of Coors, fast. They were excited but also aggrieved. They were in a brooding mood but also edgy. They were not exactly sorry for what they'd done because they could not clearly recall any single moment in which they had made a conscious decision to “do” anything to anyone whether sexual, violent, rough-play, or whatever, and so they did not consider themselves responsible, somehow. Their dad was the one taking this hardest.
He
was sure looking sorry. Their mom was an excitable loyal mom who refused to believe any of this could be serious, that felony crap the prosecutors were threatening.
Her word against theirs
their mom said.
And that woman a drunk and a whore
. Their mom wasn't wanting to think about how much this was costing. Maybe couldn't face thinking about it like: What if they lost their house? Where'd they live? That cocksucker Nate was right: their dad's boat. Christ, Marv and Lloyd loved that boat, too! It was fucking boring out there on fucking Lake Ontario where it was always windy and clouding up to rain fishing with the old man but made you sick at heart to think
Condor II
was gone, you would not ever go fishing with Dad again. Not ever.

Kirkpatrick who was their
legal counsel
had instructed
them: no talking about the case, and no approaching the Maguire woman and her daughter.

How many times they'd been told, the gang of them: stay away from Baltic Avenue.

No cruising west of the park to intimidate the Maguires or any other witnesses who'd seen them in the park that night. (There were a lot of these witnesses. Fucking cops had really tossed out a net.) No trying to contact the Maguires. Not Martine, not the daughter, and not the grandmother. Or any other relative. The judge had okayed something called an injunction. Meaning stay away.

Certain of the cops in the Eighth Precinct who'd roughed them up that night bringing them in, had been more explicit. Warning the guys they'd bust their balls if they were caught even west of the park, in the Maguires' neighborhood.

Marv and Lloyd weren't thinking of that now. They'd become kind of buddies now. Bonded it was called. Like soldiers. At war. This was a war, like. These people trying to destroy them. Not just them, their parents. And Jimmy DeLucca, he'd been shot down dead the other night by a NFPD cop off-duty! So there's cops on the street you can't identify. Cops with concealed weapons. Mostly Marv and Lloyd were pissed at DeLucca lately so they weren't wasting many tears on him, it was the principle of the thing. DeLucca was the one said
We could toss a firebomb into the old lady's house, show the cunt she better back off
and Marv had told DeLucca he was an asshole everybody'd know who did it, they'd be back in Niagara Men's Detention and their bail
revoked. Like Joe Rickert, parole revoked and he's back in Olean sweating his ass he won't get transferred to Attica.

Somehow, the good Coors buzz and resentment commingled and there was Marv leaning out his rolled-down window as for the third or maybe fourth time the Taurus cruised past the frumpy-looking red-brick house at 2861 Baltic Avenue where the windows were lighted downstairs and blinds drawn tight and Marv was bawling, “Teeeeena!” and when Lloyd poked him in the ribs he laughed, gunned the motor, and burned rubber making his escape.

Marv Pick, Lloyd Pick. The call came for Marv. Late afternoon of October 27. There was this man's voice, unfamiliar. And the name he identified himself by, that Marv didn't catch. The caller spoke with an air of authority that put Marv in mind of Mr. Kirkpatrick and so it was no surprise that the caller explained he was a “legal investigator” for Jay Kirkpatrick and that he had some “photographic evidence” for Marvin Pick and Lloyd Pick that had to be delivered to them as Mr. Kirkpatrick's clients by a third party, an intermediary. There were complicated legal reasons requiring secrecy. Mr. Kirkpatrick could not be actively involved. “As a lawyer, he is an ‘officer of the court.' He is required to turn over to the court any and all evidence pertaining to a crime that comes into his hands. These photographs, which incriminate the witnesses against you, will come to you from another party.” Marv tried to follow this. It sounded urgent. He gestured for Lloyd to be quiet.

Marv was dry-mouthed listening to instructions. Evidence! Incriminate witnesses! Mr. Kirkpatrick's legal investigator was telling him that he and his brother Lloyd would have to leave the city for the transfer of materials. For legal reasons, the transaction could not take place inside the city limits of Niagara Falls. They were to drive to Fort Niagara State Park off Route 18. They were to exit west into the park, and a quarter mile inside the park on the right there's a turnoff where the caller would be waiting in his vehicle, which would be parked facing him, roll down his window, and the caller would hand over the Wendy's box and both vehicles would then be driven away. No conversation. No witnesses.

Marv pleaded with the caller would he please repeat the instructions. Christ! He didn't want to make any mistake.

Marv Pick, Lloyd Pick. Told their mom who was always anxious now where they were going and who with like they were grade school kids not adults in their twenties not to wait supper for them they'd be out for a while. In Marv's car north on Route 18 to Fort Niagara at the windy-roughened edge of Lake Ontario, where the Niagara River rushes into the lake. Just across the bridge is Ontario, Canada. In summer the park was swarming with people, in late October, on a cold day, sky above the lake riddled with bruises and pitholes like rotted spots in fruit, and a mean wind rolling off the water, the place was deserted.

Marv said, “ ‘Legal investigator.' That's some guy like a private detective, he's on your side. Not the cops'. ”

Marv followed the caller's precise directions. It was nearing dusk when they entered Fort Niagara State Park. It's always a shock to see the lake, the water so close. Where the river rushed into the lake the hard blue water moved in long shudders.

“Think that's him? The ‘legal investigator'?”

A station wagon parked up ahead. Facing the entrance. Lloyd only grunted knowing his brother wasn't asking an actual question.

With restrained eagerness Marv drove the Taurus bumping along the rutted and rain-puddled roadway. He pulled up beside the station wagon, a Ford, not new, that had hanging from its inside rearview mirror a pair of tiny white baby's shoes. If he'd had time to think the baby shoes would have placated him.
A legal investigator, working for Mr. Kirkpatrick. But just a family guy, like anybody
.

The driver was wearing a Buffalo Bills cap pulled low over his forehead. He appeared to have no hair, the sides of his head were shaved bullet-smooth. Though it was past sunset he was wearing dark glasses. Marv braked his car, rolled down the window smiling in nervous anticipation.

“I guess you got something for us? Me an' Lloyd?”

In the late morning of the following day the bronze Taurus, left not in a parking place but in the middle of the puddled roadway, would be examined by a New York State trooper called to the scene by park authorities. The car was unlocked, the key was in the ignition. The gas gauge
showed a quarter-f tank. There appeared to be no recent damage to the car. A case of Coors in the backseat, three cans remaining. The trooper called in the license plate and learned that the car was registered to one Marvin Pick, Eleventh Street, Niagara Falls. Pick was registered as out on bail awaiting trial in Niagara Falls for several felonies.