The Pardon (28 page)

His hands shook as he laid the photograph facedown on his desk. Only then did he notice the message on the back. It was a poem - brief, but to the point:

One word to your son,one word to the cops,we double the fun,the other shoe drops.

The governor went rigid in his chair, disgusted by the way he was being manipulated. But he knew exactly what shoe would drop. This was one last threat - a solemn promise that if he came forward in defense of his son, the police would shortly come into possession of the wing tips that could connect the governor and his extraneous footprints not only to the murder of Eddy Goss, but to that of Wilfredo Garcia as well. And there was more still: The tape recording of the bribe, the payoff for the victim's photographs - all of it would bring into public focus that this entire tragedy was rooted in the execution of an innocent man.

The governor held his head in his hands, agonizing. He felt compelled to act, yet at the same time paralyzed. He had to make sure he didn't play into the hands of the enemy. He had to figure out a way to help his son - without self-destructing.

Chapter
39

Jack didn't want to stay in the empty house after Cindy had left, and he'd lost all appetite for dinner. So he drove to Manny's office to prepare for the next day of the trial.

The first thing he mentioned to his lawyer was Gina's glossing over that he'd had a gun that night he came to her apartment. The question was never asked, and so Gina never answered it. Perhaps she'd sensed that saying anything about the gun would be driving the last nail into Jack's coffin? Maybe that was too much even for Gina.

Manny was as perplexed as Jack. What she had said, though, had been devastating. He wanted a powerful cross-examination of Gina, and by ten o'clock that night, the two lawyers had mapped out an impressive assault. Jack feared, however, that it was the kind of legal warfare that could impress only a lawyer. Manny couldn't disagree. They both knew the bottom line. Gina had told the truth. And there was only so far a criminal defense lawyer could push a truthful witness on cross-examination before the jury would start to resent the lawyer and his client.

To say the least, Jack wasn't feeling very optimistic when he got home - until he checked his answering machine.

Jack, came the familiar voice. It's Gina.

There was a long pause. He turned up the volume, then stood frozen as he listened.

I think we should talk, she said finally. Face-to-face. Come by tonight, please. I'm sure I'll be up.

He took a deep breath. He detected no gloating in her tone. No animosity. No seductiveness. Just honesty.

He picked up the phone, then put it down. If he called her, he was afraid she might change her mind. But if he showed up at her door, he was certain she'd talk to him. He grabbed his car keys and rushed out.

Twenty minutes later, Gina opened her front door. She was dressed in soft slippers and a white bathrobe. Her chestnut hair was wet and a little tangled, as if she'd washed it an hour ago, started combing it out, then lost the energy to finish the job. She wore no makeup, and in the same strange way that her toned-down appearance in the courtroom had made her more attractive, she was even prettier now, Jack thought - except for one thing. She looked sad. Very sad.

Come on in, she said in a subdued voice.

Thanks. He stepped inside, and she closed the door behind him.

Something to drink?

No, thanks.

A Jagermeister, maybe? A smile briefly bloomed on her face, then withered. She crossed the room to a hammock-style chair, sat down, and brought her knees up to her chin. She kept her back to Jack as she enjoyed the balmy breezes that rolled in through the open sliding-glass doors.

Jack took a seat on the couch, on the other side of the cocktail table. They said nothing until Gina turned her head and looked at him plaintively.

You don't have to tell me if you don't want to, she said. But what happened with Cindy?

He hesitated. For a second he felt as if she were intruding. But this wasn't just idle curiosity. She really seemed to care.

She packed up and left.

I'm sorry, she said. Then she rolled back her head, closed her eyes, and sniffled. I don't know why I do the idiotic things I do, her voice cracked. I really don't.

Jack moved to the edge of his seat. The last thing he'd expected tonight was to be consoling Gina. But he found himself doing it. Everyone makes mistakes.

She shook her head and suddenly snapped out of her malaise. Mistakes? Do you have any idea how many mistakes I've made? You don't know me, Jack. Nobody knows me. Not even Cindy. Everyone thinks that a great body has gotten me anything I've ever wanted in life. And it did, for a while. When I was sixteen years old, I made over a hundred grand modeling for the Ford Agency. But then the next year I gained twenty pounds and was all washed up - out of work. A real wake-up call, that was. Use it while you got it' is what I learned. But then I learned something else: The more you use it, the more you get used. And believe me, there's no shortage of users out there.

He nodded slowly.

Anyway, her voice quivered. That's why I called you. I'm through being used. I'm through feeling like shit even when I try to do the right thing. Like today. All I did was tell the truth on the witness stand. Yet I feel like I've done something wrong.

You didn't mention the gun. I wondered about that.

Yeah, well, maybe it's because they were licking their chops too much over everything else I told them. I didn't feel like volunteering it, you know?

But why volunteer anything? I'm confused.

Welcome to the club, she said, running her hands through her hair. They want you to play the game, but they don't tell you the rules.

Jack was confused. What game?

She started to speak, then stopped. Finally she said, The whole charade that landed me in that courtroom - that's the game. I've been playing it ever since you asked me to be your alibi. Everything I did and said was designed to make you think that I didn't want to get involved - or that if I did get involved, it would be to help you, and not to hurt you. The whole idea was to make sure you'd be totally shocked when I took the stand and testified against you. That was part of my deal.

Jack's eyes narrowed with suspicion. Your deal with who?

With that cop, Stafford, she said, then looked away in shame. The truth, she said with a lump in her throat, is that right after you were indicted, he came over to question me. I let the creep use my bathroom, and he comes out saying he just saw enough amphetamines sitting out in plain view to put me away for years. I use them to lose weight. It's not smart, but I do it. Anyway, he said he wouldn't bring any charges if I'd help him out. And all I did was tell him the truth. It's just the sneaky way he made me do it that has me so disgusted. I mean, how do you think the prosecutor knew every little detail about the morning Cindy left you? She told me all about it. And I told Stafford. And then Cindy got creamed on the witness stand.

Jack felt a rush of anger, but he kept cool - because a tremendous opportunity was within his grasp. Gina, he said in a calm, understanding tone, this is important. What Stafford made you do isn't just sleazy. It's illegal. The prosecution has violated the law by failing to tell Manny and me that Stafford cut a deal with a government witness. This could get the whole case against me dismissed. The trial could be over tomorrow. I could go free.

What do you want me to do? she asked cautiously.

All I want you to do is to get on the witness stand tomorrow morning and say exactly what you told me. That's it. Just tell the truth.

And then what happens to me? I'll go to jail on drug charges?

He thought fast. The state will have to honor its deal with you. Stafford made the promise. You've already lived up to your end. You told the truth. It's Stafford's fault if it blows up in his face, not yours.

I don't know -

Gina, he pressed. You've told the truth so far. I respect you for that. But if you told the truth for Stafford, the least you can do is tell the truth for me.

She sighed. This is so crazy. But in the last twenty-four hours, it's like I've suddenly got this feeling that it's time to start making up for all the lies I've told my entire life. I just feel like it's time to tell the truth.

The truth is best, he said. Even when it hurts.

She swallowed hard. All right. I'll do it.

Jack's heart was in his throat. In fact, why don't I call Manny now, and we can go over some things -

No. I don't want to do this according to a script.

I understand, he said, sensing that he shouldn't push too hard.

Gina rose. I'll see you at the courthouse at eight-thirty, she said, leading him out Right now, I need some sleep.

He nodded in agreement I'll see you then, he said as they reached the door.

She laid her hand on his shoulder and stopped him. I'm sorry about you and Cindy, she said. I really am.

Thanks, he said.

As he drove home, he was barely conscious of the tires gripping the road. He felt like he was floating on air. His conversation with Gina had made him feel alive again. Suddenly he felt hope.

Chapter
40

At 3:30 A. M., just as Jack and Manny had finished planning a case-saving cross-examination of Gina Terisi, bare-breasted women were dancing one last set at Jiggles, a rundown, smoke-filled strip joint where stiff drinks came as cheap as the thrills. A buxom black woman wearing only spike heels and a holster was lit by an orangey-red spotlight as she strutted up and down the long bar top, thrusting her hips to the delight of the drunk and howling crowd each time the rap vocalist on the jukebox screamed I like big butts! Around the room women danced on little round tables, each wearing only boots or bow ties or maybe a Stetson, and all of them wearing a garter on one thigh so the men they teased could stuff them with cash and extend their fantasies.

Just before closing, a tall, broad-shouldered man with a clean-shaved head and a diamond-stud earring presented himself at the entrance. A bearded bouncer who looked like he was moonlighting from the pro wrestling tour stepped in front of him. We close in fifteen minutes, he said.

That's all the time I need, the man replied as he started inside. The bouncer grabbed him by the shoulder.

Ten-dollar cover, chief.

Shee-it. But he was in a hurry, so he paid it and stepped inside. He looked around the room, first checking the bar top and then each individual table for the woman he knew as Rebecca. She knew him as Buzz, a name she'd given him not simply because of his shaved head, but because of his whole look. She said his hook nose, folds of leathery skin, and skinny neck made him look like a buzzard. Especially at night, when his eyes were bloodshot. Rebecca usually worked until closing, but Buzz didn't see her anywhere. Then his eyes lit up as he saw her standing by the cigarette machine, having a smoke.

She had short, wavy hair - black, this week - and the best body of all the dancers. She was dressed tonight, or as dressed as women ever got here. A sleeveless V-neck undershirt with the neck-line ripped down to her navel revealed ample cleavage and a long chain necklace as thick as a dog leash. Tight black leather shorts with silver studs on the pockets were cut up to the middle of her round rear end, and shiny patent-leather boots rose up to the butterfly tattoo on her inner thigh. He caught her eye from across the room and walked over to her.

I'm done for the night, she said, blowing smoke in his face.

He shook his head, as if he knew better. How much?

Three hundred.

Fuck you.

That would be extra.

He emptied his pants pockets. I got a hundred sixty dollars. Take it or leave it.

Deal. She snatched the money and stuffed it into the top of her boot. But I ain't goin' back to the car with you for no hundred sixty. We do it in here.

Here? he winced.

Over there, she said, pointing to a dark and isolated corner. Meet you there.

He nodded in agreement, then headed for the corner. Rebecca stepped up to the bar. The crazy-man's usual, she told the bartender. Margarita, just salt. The bartender smirked and handed her a glass filled only with margarita salt, moistened with a squirt of lemon juice. Thanks, she said, then strutted toward the darkest corner of the bar.

I missed you, he said when she returned.

Rebecca put the glass on the table, threw her shoulders back, and placed her hands on her hips. Don't talk shit, she barked like a drill sergeant.

You're right, he said in a husky whisper. I've been bad.

Just as I thought, she spat, her voice growing menacing. You know what happens when you're bad.

He nodded hungrily.

She raised her index finger, stuck it in her mouth, and sucked it sensually, from base to tip. She immersed it in the glass of lemony margarita salt and stirred, then removed it and held it before his eyes. The crystals stuck to her moistened finger. How bad were you? she demanded.

He got down on his knees and looked up sheepishly. Very bad, he assured her.