Scott Turow - Personal injuries

Crowthers glowered briefly, then reached to his side and took hold of the slide on the pistol. The sharp click of him jacking a round into the Beretta was weirdly distinct in the midnight silence of the quiet neighborhood. Everyone on the porch reacted at once. McManis yelled, "Gun!" and more or less smothered Sennett, flying with him toward the bushes. Clevenger hit the sidewalk and rolled to his belly, scrambling to get hold of his weapon as he whirled around on the concrete. Behind her, Evon could hear the change and the keys in Robbie's pockets jangling as he fled. The best trained, she had simply stepped out of the light and dropped to her haunches, leveling her weapon with both hands. She had a clear line on Crowthers, brightly backlit by the handsome slate foyer of his home, but she saw at once there would be no need to shoot. Crowthers had bent his face close to the screen with a broad mirthful expression as he surveyed the chaos he'd created. Once he'd taken sufficient enjoyment, he slammed the front door so hard that the brass knocker raffled back and forth. From inside, as he snapped all the latches and chains and bolts in place, they could hear him laughing, a sound that went on for quite some time, even after he'd shut off all the lights and left them there in the dark.

They were back in the center city at about 12:30 a.m. and went up to McManis's conference room to talk over where they were. Sennett was unexpectedly paged. It turned out to be the City Desk at the Tribune. They had the story: government mole in the courthouse. Tuohey had figured a way to spread the word to his cohorts without risk. Stan had about ten minutes before the 1 a.m. deadline on the late edition to decide how to respond. He settled on no comment, hoping the paper didn't have enough confirmed information to run the story. If so, the Petros investigators would get one last day to operate with the advantage of surprise.

At 1:10, the reporter, Stew Dubinsky, called back. They were going with their story. Stan had known Dubinsky for years and concluded this wasn't a ploy. After talking it over with McManis, Stan went on background with Stew. Sennett's goal was to make it sound as if Petros was already a staggering success. Thousands of hours of tape, he said. Dozens of undercover encounters with an enormous array of courthouse personnel. No comment on how high it went, but judges, plural, were sure to be indicted.

The group-Stan, McManis, Evon, Robbie, Tex, and Amari-sat around the conference table skulling things out until nearly two. There would be calls tomorrow from defense lawyers feeling around. If somebody out there was frightened enough, he might make an anonymous proffer hoping for immunity. Things could break from any direction.

By now it made no sense to go home. Robbie called again to check on Rainey, then went up to his office to sleep a few hours on his sofa, something he had often done during trials. For almost everybody on the team, it was the second straight night with little or no sleep, but Evon was still running on adrenaline. Twice within twenty-four hours, she'd had a gun in her hand, ready to fire. You didn't come down from that fast. She volunteered to go upstairs with Robbie to stand guard. She was ready to talk, but he waved to her from the couch and with that fell backward, appearing to succumb to sleep in descent.

At 4:15 she made coffee in the office kitchen and brought a cup' back for each of them. It seemed unimaginable that she'd lived six months without caffeine, while she'd been playing Mormon. Robbie was awake, just setting down the phone when she opened his door.

"Rainy?" she asked.

"Mort. I wanted to talk to him before he read the papers. " He hadn't put on his shoes yet and took an instant to study his toes. She asked how Morty had taken it.

"Shock? Disbelief? I told him to hire a lawyer, you know, cause he can have some trouble with his license, but he seemed more worried about me." He was by himself momentarily, smiling contentedly at the thought of Mort. "He knows he'll be okay anyway, if the story is coming from me." He looked up at Evon after he'd said that, but she was too tired to probe.

Everyone assembled again at 4:45. Driven by Amari, the surveillance van swept into the garage beneath the LeSueur, and Sennett, Evon, McManis, and Robbie jumped in. They'd just parked across the street from St. Mary's when Tuohey and Kosic arrived at the foot of the three tiers of cathedral stairs. Rollo looked down the street, a cigarette hanging from his lips, while Tuohey headed upward deliberately, his pace and posture suggesting he would pray with special determination today. Several vehicles from Joe's surveillance crew circled on the avenues.

Summer had not yet arrived and even spring was frittering. It had been less than forty overnight and the smoke of the furnaces kicking in wisped away above the roofs, carried off against the livid hues of first light. The large redbrick church was narrowly imposed on a triangular piece of land. The adjoining streets, largely untrafficked, angled off beside St. Mary's, the big buildings set back from the pavement and all but vacant at this hour. An and beauty arose from the quiet avenues in these last few moments of repose. This was the city, thousands of souls nearby in slumber. The race, the journey would begin again soon.

Rollo walked alone. He was cold. He jammed his hands in the pockets of his windbreaker, striding briskly toward Paddywacks, where Milacki would meet him as Plato opened the doors.

As soon as Kosic was clear of the church, McManis gave the signal and the first car pulled up abruptly at the curb beside him. The agents surrounded Rollo, pointing back to the van. The idea was to get him inside, where they'd planned an elaborate show-and-tell. But Kosic just threw his hand at them and resumed walking.

The van followed him along the curb, but he refused to look over. Finally. Sennett disembarked. Stan had to hustle to catch up with him. Evon watched through the bubbled window. Kosic wouldn't stop as Sennett spoke to him. Finally McManis alighted and trotted up to the pair. He touched Rollo's sleeve, and although Kosic shirked him off violently, he halted when McManis spoke. He seemed to recognize Jim somehow and finally appeared taken aback. Apparently, they hadn't yet realized the intricacy of the government's deceptions.

McManis had left the van with the torn note Rollo had written at Attitude and with some of the bills on which his prints had turned up. They were all stored in clear plastic envelopes, edged in tape that said EVIDENCE in red. Jim was careful not to let Kosic touch any of this. Instead, he stood a few feet away and displayed each item, holding it by its upper corners, looking like a streetside vendor outside a shrine. Sennett was talking all the time. Evon could not read his lips but she knew the pitch anyway. Rollo was dead. Deader than dead. There were stiffs in the graveyard who were lively by comparison. They had taps on his phone. Surveillance. Rollo had just a few minutes to make a decision that would control the rest of his life.

Finally, as the coup de grace, Sennett motioned to the van and both Robbie and Evon stepped out to the curb. Feaver, this time, seemed robust. He winked at Rollo and threw up one palm in greeting.

Kosic's eyes, as always, were daggers of malice. He said one thing to Sennett.

"Suck my dick," he told the U.S. Attorney and resumed walking, bucking his arms like chicken wings to warm himself. Sennett called threats down the street. He was going to convict Kosic, then immunize him. He'd jail him for perjury or contempt if he lied or remained mute. Kosic would do time, then more time. Rollo had two choices: a lifetime in the can or putting it on Tuohey. His number was up.

Thirty feet on, Kosic finally wheeled. But he directed nothing to Sennett. It was Robbie on whom he focused, his dry face wrenched by anger. Kosic pointed the black nail, then threw out his hand at groin level, twisting his wrist violently in the air. It was not clear if this was a wish about what he'd done the last time he saw Robbie at Attitude, or a threat for the future, but it was certain he did not mean well. MY PHONE RANG at six-thirty that morning. I picked it up in the kitchen, rushing to grab it before it wakened Patrice, who'd just returned again from Bangkok. It was Sennett. I'd already seen the headline on the Tribune on my doorstep. GOVERNMENT MOLE NABS JUDGES.