Эйс Аткинс - Kickback

Armstrong leaned back into his seat. He did not smile. The heater cut in overhead and even more hot air filled the small room.

“Judge would look favorably on a confession,” he said. “You think this sounds good on tape? Wait until we get her in front of a jury.”

“Would this be Judge Callahan?” I said.

“You bet.”

“What are the chances?”

“I don’t know your agenda, Spenser, or who hired you to try and shake down some good men, but you can’t act like this up here.”

“Is it the judges or the solicitation?”

“Both.”

“A double play.”

“Call it what you like,” Armstrong said, showing a lot of effort getting out of his seat. He left the recorder and the report on the table and walked out past Murphy.

“Come on, sunshine,” he said. “Let’s get you processed.”

“Do I get to call my attorney, or has the Constitution been suspended in Blackburn for adults, too?”

“You can call who you like,” he said. “But it’d be a shame if you didn’t make your first appearance in the morning. You just might get to stay with us a few days. You know?”

I stood and winked at him. “Murphy, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship,” I said.

“Shut the fuck up.”

“Or perhaps not.”

Tony Ponessa came for the boy late that afternoon. The guards had the kids on the west beach picking up garbage among the rocks and sand. They had sticks with nails in them to poke the trash, and when a stick didn’t work, the guards told them to use their hands. It was disgusting stuff: old soda cans, burger wrappers, and a few condoms. The stuff people put in the harbor was enough to make him never want to eat seafood again. He had a half-filled black plastic bag when he felt the long arm around his neck and a nail in his side. Ponessa put his mouth close to the boy’s ear and told him to get down on his knees and kneel to him.

The boy shot a hard elbow back into Ponessa’s ribs. He heard the boy make an ooof sound and stumble back. The other boys on the cold beach, fifteen of them, started yelling and waving their sticks. None of the guards said a word. Ponessa had his stick in his hand and swiped it at him, the nail snagging the boy’s pants, and then tried to jab it into him.

The shoreline was rocky and tricky to walk across. Old stones and broken pieces of concrete jabbed upward. The skies were gray and growing darker. A few ragged seagulls flew in loopy patterns over the little islands, landing in the tall grass up on the bulldozed dunes.

“Come on,” Ponessa said. “Come on. Get on your knees. And I won’t stick you.”

The boy waited for him to lunge again as they circled. Behind him, the crew-cut guard watched with a big smile on his face. Ponessa made a couple quick pokes and then went hard for it, stabbing at the boy’s center. The boy stepped aside and grabbed the stick. He got a good two hands on it, like you would hold a bat, and twisted it from Ponessa. He tossed it far into the harbor as Ponessa jumped on him.

All the boys had formed a circle around them, closing them at the center, black and white and Asian, and yelling for them to please, for the love of God, kill each other.

Ponessa made a lot of noise when he fought. He called the boy a lot of names and threw sloppy, hard punches into his kidneys. The boy knew he’d have to get him to the ground, spinning quickly and snatching Ponessa’s head to pull him into a headlock. He twisted the kid’s neck, pulling all of Ponessa’s weight forward, and tossed him hard into the sand with a hard thud.

Now all the boys were screaming, going crazy. The mayor was down. The mayor was down.

Ponessa went for the boy’s eyes, clawing and screaming. The boy was breathing hard as he pulled in Ponessa’s neck tighter, walking with his feet, finding purchase and pinning both the kid’s shoulders to the wet sand. With his free hand, he pummeled Ponessa good several times until the blood was flowing free from his nose. Ponessa was yelling that he couldn’t breathe and making gaspy little-girl noises.

The boy felt good and started to let up on Ponessa’s neck when a thick forearm reached around his own and pulled him up and off the sand and breaking surf. The crew-cut guard spun to face him and smacked the boy hard across the mouth. He pushed the boy hard with the flats of his hands, knocking him back time and again until the boy lost his balance and fell forward.

“Get the stick,” the guard said.

The waves were ice-cold and breaking hard off the concrete and rocks. Even if he knew where to find the stick, he didn’t want to get in the water.

The guard stepped up closer and looked down at him. He kicked the boy hard in the ribs, knocking all the breath from his lungs, and told him to get to his knees. “Start diving and don’t come up without no fucking stick.”

“I’ll drown,” the boy said.

The guard picked the boy up by the back of the neck and walked him out knee-deep into the freezing water.

26

Not making good on their promise, the Blackburn PD didn’t wait a week but instead sent me over to the courthouse the next morning. I had not shaved, showered, or changed my clothes. I was lucky. They gave me an orange jumpsuit to wear. Rita Fiore, who sat across from me in a client conference room, didn’t seem impressed.

“Orange is not your color,” she said.

“I thought it brought out my blue eyes.”

“Charging you with an indecent proposal is the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard,” Rita said. “Jesus, you won’t even make one toward me. The judge will toss this out quick.”

“Did I forget to mention Callahan and Scali are buddies?”

“Which one is Scali again?”

“The one who sentenced Sheila Yates’s kid to hard time for poking fun at his vice principal.”

“Okay, you’re screwed.”

“Such a fancy legal term.”

“Seriously, you’re screwed,” Rita said. “But let me see what I can do. Even judges have limits to what kind of bail they can set.”

“He’ll go for the max.”

“Can’t you pay it?”

“I’ll have to sell my Sandy Koufax and Ernie Banks,” I said.

“And then what?”

“Maybe the Harmon Killebrew rookie card,” I said.

“Don’t run to Sotheby’s yet,” she said. “Let’s see what he says. All of this is just to scare you.”

“My hands won’t quit trembling.”

“I bet.”

“I don’t think they’ve thought any of this out.”

“Who’s this girl again?” she said. “Megan says you knew her.”

“I thought I did,” I said. “Maybe I still do.”

“You think she’s being coerced?”

“She came to me for help,” I said. “Her name is Beth Golnick. She’s been introducing me to some teens who’ve gone before Scali. As you know, some cops planted drugs on her. And then yesterday the cops played a tape for me where she accuses me of asking for sex.”

“Wonderful,” Rita said.

“I think she’s been threatened, or at least strongly coerced.”

“Well, I can’t cross-examine her today,” Rita said. “Today is only about getting you sprung and out of that ridiculous suit.”

“How would you rather see me?”

Rita appraised me, tapping her chin with her forefinger. “In nothing but a nice red ribbon.”

“I’ll borrow one of Susan’s.”

“Susan will never have to know.”

“But I’d know.”

Rita crossed her legs, sat up straighter, and grinned at me. Like Susan, she had a very wicked grin. We had known each other a very long time and in the small space it was a great comfort she’d come to help. I reached for her hand and squeezed.