John - The Runaway Jury

Hoppy and Millie sat on the edge of the bed facing Nicholas, who leaned on the dresser near the TV. He began by lecturing them kindly on the need for silence, as if Hoppy hadn't heard this in the past week. They were violating a Judge's orders, enough said.

He broke the news gently. Napier, Nitchman, and Cristano were minor players in a large fraud, a conspiracy orchestrated by the tobacco company to pressure Millie. They were not government agents. The names were aliases. Hoppy had been duped.

He took it well. At first he felt even more stupid, if that was possible, then the room began to spin as Hoppy got yanked this way and that. Was it good news or bad? What about the tape? What was his next move? What if Nicholas was wrong? A hundred thoughts raced through his overloaded brain as Millie squeezed his knee and started crying.

“Are you sure?” he was able to ask, his voice on the verge of cracking.

“Positive. They have no connection with either the FBI or the Department of Justice.”

“But, but they had badges and-“

Nicholas raised both hands, nodded compassionately, and said, “I know, Hoppy. Believe me, that stuff was easy. The cover was simple to create.”

Hoppy rubbed his forehead and tried to arrange things. Nicholas went on to explain that KLX Property Group in Las Vegas was a sham. They had been unable to find a Mr. Todd Ringwald, which was almost certainly an alias too. “How do you know all this?” Hoppy asked.

“Good question. I have a close friend on the outside who's very good at digging for information. He is completely trustworthy. Took about three hours on the phone, which is not bad considering it's Saturday.”

Three hours. On a Saturday. Why hadn't Hoppy made a few calls? He'd had a week. He sunk lower until his elbows rested on his knees. Millie wiped her cheeks with a tissue. A quiet minute passed.

“What about the tape?” Hoppy asked.

“Of you and Moke?”

“Yes. That tape."'

“I'm not worried about it,” Nicholas said confidently, as if he was now Hoppy's lawyer. “Legally, there are lots of problems with the tape.”

Tell me about it, Hoppy thought but said nothing. Nicholas continued, “It was obtained by false pretenses. It's a clear case of entrapment. It's in the possession of men who themselves are violating the law. It was not obtained by law enforcement officials. There was no search warrant for it, no court order allowing your words to be recorded. Forget it.”

What sweet words! Hoppy's shoulders jerked upward and he exhaled mightily. “You're serious?”

“Yes, Hoppy. The tape will never be played again.”

Millie leaned over and clutched Hoppy, and they hugged without shame or embarrassment. Her tears were now of unbridled joy. Hoppy jumped to his feet and bounced around the room. “So what's the game plan?” he asked, cracking his knuckles, ready for battle.

“We have to be careful.”

“Just point me in the right direction. The bastards.”

“Hoppy!”

“Sorry, dear. I'm just ready to kick some ass.”

“Your language!”

SUNDAY BEGAN with a birthday cake. Loreen Duke had mentioned to Mrs. Gladys Card that her thirty-sixth birthday was approaching. Mrs. Card called her sister out in the free world, and early Sunday her sister delivered a thick chocolate caramel cake. Three layers with thirty-six candles. The jurors met in the dining room at nine and ate the cake for breakfast. Most then left in a hurry for four hours of much-awaited worship. Some had not been to church in years, but felt drawn by the Spirit.

One of Poodle's boys picked her up, and Jerry tagged along. They headed in the general direction of some unnamed church, but as soon as they realized no one was watching they went to a casino instead. Nicholas left with Marlee, and they attended Mass. Mrs. Gladys Card made a grand entrance at the Calvary Baptist Church. Millie went home with good intentions of dressing for church, but she was overcome with emotion at the sight of her kids. No one was watching, so she spent her time in the kitchen, cooking and cleaning and doting on her brood. Phillip Savelle remained behind.

Hoppy went to his office at ten. He had called Napier at eight Sunday morning with the news that he had important trial developments to discuss; said he'd made much progress with his wife and she was now scoring major points with other jurors. He wanted to meet with Napier and Nitchman at his office to give a full report, and to receive further instructions.

Napier took the call in a run-down two-room apartment he and Nitchman were using as a front for the scam. Two phone lines were temporarily installed-one as the office number, the other as their residence for the duration of their hard-charging investigation into corruption along the Gulf Coast. Napier chatted with Hoppy, then called Cristano for orders. Cristano's room was at a Holiday Inn near the beach. Cristano in turn called Fitch, who was delighted with the news. Finally, Millie was off dead-center and moving their way. Fitch had begun to wonder if his investment would pay off. He green-lighted the meeting at Hoppy's office.

Wearing their standard dark suits and dark sunshades, Napier and Nitchman arrived at the office at eleven to find Hoppy brewing coffee and in great spirits. They settled around his desk and waited for the coffee. Millie was in there – fighting like hell to save her husband, Hoppy said, and she felt quite confident she had already convinced Mrs. Gladys Card and Rikki Coleman. She had shared the Robilio memo with them, and they had been shocked at the man's deceit.

He poured coffee as Napier and Nitchman dutifully took notes. Another guest quietly entered the building through the front door, which had been left unlocked by Hoppy. He eased along the hall behind the open reception area, stepping lightly on the worn carpet until he came to a wooden door with HOPPY DUPREE painted on it. He listened for a moment, then knocked loudly.

Inside, Napier jumped and Nitchman set down his coffee, and Hoppy stared at them as if startled. “Who is it?” he growled loudly. The door opened suddenly, and Special Agent Alan Madden stepped in, said loudly, “FBI!” while walking to the edge of Hoppy's desk and glaring at all three. Hoppy kicked his chair back and stood as if he might have to get frisked.

Napier would've fainted had he been standing. Nitchman's mouth dropped open. Both turned pale as their hearts stopped.

“Agent Alan Madden, FBI,” he said as he opened his badge for all to inspect. “Are you Mr. Dupree?” he demanded.

“Yes. But the FBI is already here,” Hoppy said, looking at Madden, then at the other two, then back at Madden.

“Where?” he asked, scowling down at Napier and Nitchman.

“These two guys,” Hoppy said, acting brilliantly. It was his finest moment. “This is Agent Ralph Napier, and this is Agent Dean Nitchman. You guys don't know each other?”

“I can explain,” Napier started, nodding confidently as if he could in fact make everything satisfactory.

“FBI?” Madden said. “Show me some identification,” he demanded, shoving forward an empty palm.

They hesitated, and Hoppy pounced on them. “Go ahead. Show him your badges. Same ones you showed me.”

“Identification please,” Madden insisted, his anger growing by the second.

Napier started to stand, but Madden returned him to his seat by pressing down on his shoulder. “I can explain,” Nitchman said, his voice an octave higher than normal.

“Go ahead,” Madden said.

“Well, you see, we're not really FBI agents, but instead-“

“What!” Hoppy screamed from across the desk. He was wild-eyed and ready to throw something. “You lying sonofabitch! You've been telling me for the last ten days that you're FBI agents!”