Authors: James Scott Bell
Tags: #Christian Books & Bibles, #Literature & Fiction, #Mystery & Suspense, #United States, #Mystery; Thriller & Suspense, #Thrillers, #Legal, #Suspense, #Religion & Spirituality, #Fiction, #Mystery, #Religious & Inspirational Fiction, #Contemporary, #Christianity, #Christian Fiction
No Legal Grounds (19 page)
Sam fought the urge to scream at the judge.
Can’t you see it? Look at him. Look at Nicky Oberlin, Your Honor. How can you call him sir? You know he did it, you know it even though you kicked the search warrant. You have to know it because it’s so obvious.
Why couldn’t the judge look at Nicky right now, with his smirk, looking at Sam?
Cam Bellamy turned to him also, but Sam didn’t want to talk, not now. He didn’t want to talk to anybody.
He charged out of the courthouse and hit the street, walking. He didn’t really care which direction. He just needed to pound out the feeling of powerlessness.
It didn’t help.
Sam walked by an Arby’s and stepped inside to call Linda from his cell.
“They let him go,” he said.
“How could they?”
“Judge suppressed the evidence.”
“Sam — ”
“You should have seen the look on Oberlin’s face. He’s not finished, Linda.”
“What are we going to do? We can’t just sit — ”
“How’s Max?”
Pause. “How do you think he is?”
“Don’t tell him. I’ll talk to him when I get home.”
“I want to know what we’re going to do. I can’t go on like this, knowing he’s walking around out there.”
Sam clenched his jaw so tight he thought he’d chip teeth. “I’ll be home later.”
“Sam — ”
He closed the phone. His walk back to the courthouse parking lot was strained by the feeling that every muscle in his body was taut and ready to snap. The lot was the two-story job on Sylvan across from a used bookstore. He took the stairs to the second level, which didn’t have a roof. The sun was hot and threw white light on the cement. Sam hooded his eyes with his hand as he made for the last aisle where he’d parked.
And then he saw his car.
It took him a moment to convince himself he wasn’t in some crazy dream. This was no dream. The two rear tires of his Acura were completely flat.
He stood there for a moment, at first unbelieving. Then on fire. One tire flat would have been an inconvenience. Two was an attack.
“Now ain’t that a kick in the biscuits?”
Sam turned. And faced a smiling Nicky Oberlin.
Heather woke up slowly, the burn of last night’s vomit in her throat.
Was this going to be the pattern? Was it even worth it?
Not now. Death would be welcome now.
Roz was snoring on the floor. What time was it?
There was light outside. She could see a shaft of sunlight sneaking past the black curtain. She liked things better in the dark.
For some reason, she thought of her father.
She saw him in her tired mind and he looked unhappy. She was the cause of that look, of course. But in her mind he looked sad about something more. And she thought she understood him better now.
He was just an older version of herself. He was seeing that life sucked. The whole thing with this guy who poisoned Buzz . . . Her mom had left the message and Heather called her and heard the whole thing.
“Pray for Max,” her mom said.
Well, yeah, she would have if she thought it would do any good. Max was the one thing she missed at home. He was the vulnerable one in the family. She remembered saving him from one of the bigger neighborhood kids, back when he was eight or nine. She used the old line: Pick on somebody your own size. And the bully — Frankie Frisch was his name, the chubby dork — looked at her and said, “You’re my size,” and she ran at him and by the time she was finished he was a scratched and crying mess.
Lying on the motel bed with a sour, alcohol stomach, she thought, Well, Max, little bro, there’s a lot worse stuff happening out here, and you know it now because of Buzz. You’re going to have to get some rhino skin, kid. You’re gonna need it.
She wished she could pray away her hangover.
Instead, she walked into the bathroom and saw the empty bottle of JD on the floor. If she shattered it, she could cut her wrists and crawl in the bathtub and it would all be over before Roz even woke up.
She turned on the faucet and threw some cold water on her face. She looked at her red-rimmed eyes — they felt like open sores.
She knelt down and picked up the bottle by the neck, held it there for a second like a hammer.
Something stop me, she said in her mind. I dare you. Give me one good reason.
At which point she realized that was as close to a prayer as she was probably ever going to get, and she sank back on the cold tile of the bathroom floor and cried.
“You did this,” Sam said, wondering — fearing — what he might do to Nicky Oberlin with two balled-up hands.
“Did what, Sammy?”
“You think I’m stupid?”
“You? A lawyer? You’re brilliant. But you’re a little paranoid, maybe. I mean, you think I did something to your car? Friends don’t hurt each other like that.”
“You didn’t get the message, did you?”
“Somebody sending me a message?” Nicky looked at the ground as if searching for a dropped coin. “Where is it?”
“You’re messing with the law.”
“Me? I thought it was you the judge got mad at, you and that puppet DA who messed with the law. Why else would he throw the whole thing out like that?”
Sam looked around. They were virtually alone in the parking lot. No one to hear them.
“Restraining order comes next,” Sam said.
“You don’t have to do that, Sammy. Not on my account.”
“You’re a pathetic liar.”
“Is that the Christian way? Insult your friends?”
Sam turned to the car, reaching for his keys. Saw the tires again. Now what?
“Need a lift?” Nicky said.
“Get out of here.”
“Let me help you, Sammy. You need a few bucks?”
Sam considered his options, which were few. He had to call AAA and get towed to a shop. He had to buy new tires. He had to obliterate Nicky Oberlin from his life and memory.
“You don’t have a tape recorder again, do you, Sammy?”
Sam said nothing.
“Nope, I don’t think you do. That was a very unkind thing you did to me. I was hurt, Sammy, really hurt. And then you get me hauled into court. I had to pay a lawyer, Sam.”
“You mean Mommy did.”
Nicky’s face went rock hard. He took a step toward Sam. “I told you about that, boy. Now you listen to me. You won’t know when it’s coming. You and Linda and little Maxie and that daughter of yours. You won’t know when.”
Let me hit him, let me crush his skull right now. Get the tire iron.
That’s just what he wants you to do.
“You come near my family again and I will kill you,” Sam said. “I will figure out how to make it self-defense. You understand me?”
“Aw, Sammy, that’s harsh. No wonder your kids are basket cases.”
If he didn’t walk away now, Sam knew he’d make an attempt on Nicky Oberlin’s life.
He walked past Oberlin and down the stairs, back in the sight lines of the lot attendant. He whipped out his cell and called AAA. Then he called Gerald Case and told him they had to meet.
And it had to be tonight.
“When I was a cop in Arizona,” Gerald Case told Sam, “our little municipality got to be a popular spot with some mob guys looking out for their health. They started coming in from Jersey and Baltimore, places like that, setting up shop, which meant porn, prostitution, narcotics. Chief got a few of us together one night and said we weren’t gonna be no retirement community for a bunch of Vinnies.”
The moon was gray and heavy in the sky, the air warm. Sam and Case were in the parking lot at the abandoned restaurant again. Lights were flickering in the Valley just like always, just like normal.
But nothing was normal anymore.
Case went on, “So we started hosting our own welcome parties out in the desert at a little shack in the back of a wrecking yard. We found that a few broken ribs did the trick. Once or twice we did a collarbone. But the word got out. The Feds even came down to pay us a visit. ‘Good job,’ they said.”
“I don’t want any of that stuff.”
“You want this guy to go away?”
“Not like that. I can’t pay for that.”
“I’m asking you, you want that guy to go away?”
“Of course — ”
“Then you and I didn’t meet tonight. You didn’t tell me to do anything. In a few weeks, you get a call from me and I say, ‘Mr. Trask, how’s tricks? That guy, I can’t remember his name, he still bothering you?’ And you say, ‘Funny you should ask, but I haven’t heard from him.’ And I say, ‘Terrific.’ And out of the goodness of your heart you send me a final installment of five hundred and we’re square.”
“I don’t know.”
“Mr. Trask, I ask you to trust me. I have an interest in this case. Guys like this yank my chain. Just go home and don’t think anymore about it.”
“Go home to your family, Mr. Trask.”
Linda looked at Sam and shook her head.
Sam put his hands on her shoulders. “I want you to take Max
and go to your sister’s for a while.”
“Tell me why I have to do this.” A note of frustration spilled into
her voice.
“I told you. Oberlin’s case was dismissed. He’s still out there,
and I don’t want you to have to worry about it.”
“If it’s a matter of your — ”
“Will you just do it, please?”
She looked at him closely. “There’s something else.” “Linda, I don’t want you to be concerned. I want you — ” “Now I’m
really
concerned. I know you, Sam, I know your face.
What’s happened?”
“He threatened me again.”
Linda’s jaw tightened. Sam could see the hinges clench. “Did
you call the police?”
“The police can’t help us.”
“How can that be?”
“Will you take Max and go, please?”
“I don’t want to just leave — ”
“Just for a little while.”
“How long?”
“I don’t know.”
“This is ridiculous. We have things going on. Church, and Max’s
baseball, and — ”
“Did you forget he showed up at the game? Have you forgotten
about Buzz?”
“This is a nightmare.”
“Yeah, it is. And I don’t want you and Max just sitting here
where he knows where to find you.”
“What about Heather?”
“What about her?”
“I’m not going to run out on her.”
“Linda, we’re not. We will call her and get her to go too. But we
have to face reality. If she doesn’t, we can’t make her. If I could, I
would.”
“Would you?”
“That’s a rotten thing to say.”
“You weren’t exactly on her side when she left.”
“On her side? I did everything I could to . . .” But he hadn’t done
everything, and he knew it. “This doesn’t change anything. I want
you and Max out for a while. I’ll keep in touch and — ” “No.”
“Excuse me?”
“No, Sam. I’m not leaving. This is my home.”
“And I’m your husband.”
“And what does that make me, your property?”
“You’re talking crazy now.”
“I’m not going, Sam.”
So there it was, Linda’s line in the sand. She’d done that before,
as he had. Maybe that was all part of the warp and woof of marriage, and you had to figure out when to respect those lines. “Going where?”
It was Max, who had come to the door unnoticed.
Sam motioned him over.
“You know this Nicky Oberlin guy, who’s been after me, the
one who did that to Buzz? He just got let go from the criminal
proceedings. He’s making threats again. That’s why I want you two
to go away.”
“But where, Dad?”
“Your aunt Nancy’s.”
Linda shook her head. “But if we do, that means he’s won. It’s
what he wants us to do. To be afraid of him.”
“Let’s not, Dad,” Max said.
“What’s that?”
“He’s a bully. Don’t let him make us do stuff we don’t want to.” Sam looked at the resolute face of his twelve-year-old. This was,
quite obviously, a step of faith for Max. He was trying to show Sam
something, and it seemed then more important than anything else
to accept it.
“All right,” Sam said. “But you two must do everything I say.
And if I hire someone to help us out, or watch the place, you’ll
cooperate, right?”
Linda put her arm around Max’s shoulders.
“Right, Dad,” Max said.
“I’m sorry, Judge,” he said. It was ten o’clock on Thursday and the mandatory settlement conference had completely vaporized out of Sam’s mind, courtesy of Nicky Oberlin.
Larry Cohen, dressed in a cream-colored suit with purple shirt — an ensemble he’d never wear in front of a jury — sat in a leather chair. “Maybe Mr. Trask was out looking for a credible case.”
Judge Oswalt smiled. He was a genial man of fifty with closely cropped, steel-colored hair. “Larry, when have you ever met an opposing advocate who had a strong hand?”
“I calls ’em as I sees ’em,” Cohen said.
“Completely unbiased, of course,” the judge said. He folded his hands on his mahogany desk. “Sam, is there a reason you’re late with the interrogatories?”
Boom. No small talk. No niceties. Start off with a punch to the gut.
“They’ll get done,” Sam said.
“Not what I asked. Mr. Cohen here has been patient in my view and hasn’t filed for sanctions. Since we’re all sitting here like one big happy family, let’s cut through the bunk and get this thing settled.”
Sam opened his mouth, but the judge cut him off. “And let’s not pretend this case is going to trial. That would not be a very good use of the court’s time.”
Larry Cohen nodded. To Sam it seemed like the fix was in. Cohen and the judge were chummy. Tennis partners. Sam was the ball, apparently.
“If Mr. Cohen wants to make an offer that approaches the real damages, I might think about settling,” Sam said. “But until — ”
“I think he has,” Judge Oswalt said.
“But it’s not up to you, is it?”
“Doesn’t pay to get huffy, Sam. You’re the one who’s dragging his feet around. You sure you’re capable of handling this? I hear you’re leaving the firm.”
“Irrelevant,” Sam said.
“Is it?” Judge Oswalt leaned forward. “You’re going to be trying this case in front of me, and if I think you’re giving less than able support to your client, I may have to step in.”
“That sounds like a threat,” Sam said. He didn’t feel like pulling any punches at this moment. He was being backed up against the ropes, so why pretend otherwise?
“My perception is you’re tired, Sam. You’ve got some personal issues, we all know that. The assault charge. This guy you apparently have some grudge against — ”
“You don’t know anything about this.”
“What can you tell me that will assure me you can continue on this case?”
“I wonder if I can tell you anything.” Sam was immediately sorry he said it. The smirk on Cohen’s face didn’t help.
“I’m disappointed, Sam. I urge you to step back and look at this objectively. If you’re cracking up, get help. But don’t let it infect the system.”
“I don’t know what arrangement you’ve reached with Mr. Cohen — ”
“Sam, don’t say anything you’ll be sorry for.”
“I’m only sorry I broke the speed limit to get here.” Sam stood up. “This ends the conference. Mr. Cohen knows where I stand. I won’t be pushed, and I won’t allow my client to be pushed.”
“You’re acting . . . not in the best interest of your client, Sam. I don’t want to have to report this.”
“Report what?”
“Your conduct.”
“You better spell it out for me, Judge.”
“The State Bar does not look with favor on lawyers acting under mental strain so severe they accuse judges of collusion.”
Sam shot a glance at Cohen, who only smiled.
“You’d send me up to Disciplinary?”
“It doesn’t have to come to that,” Judge Oswalt said.
Sam stood up. “This is a joke, right?”
“No joke. I’m compelled to — ”
“I haven’t done anything.”
“That’s not how it appears to us.”
Us.
“Oh, very pretty,” Sam said. “I thought this kind of strongarming went out with the jackboots.”
Shaking his head, Oswalt said, “You are going to be very sorry you’re acting like this, Sam. It’s so unfortunate.”
It was Cohen’s face that Sam looked at as he left. It was serene. The face of a pool hustler who just took the whole stake from a rube.