T. Bunn - The Great Divide

“That’s not true.”

Slowly, Suzie Rikkers approached the stand. The next question was put almost delicately. “Of course, there was nothing left of your Lexus to auction, was there?”

“No.” To his dismay, the blinding tendrils of fatigue began to whither, leaving him acutely aware of the witness box. Trapped in a wood-lined cage, stalked by Suzie Rikkers. “There was not.”

She closed in, and smiled. “Let’s speak about the events that led to your wife’s hospitalization.”

He heard Judge Nicols’ chair creak as she angrily shifted her considerable bulk. But she could not save him. No one could. Marcus had no choice but to sit and endure and hope it would not take too long.

At the plaintiff’s table directly in front of him, one woman remained seated beside the chair vacated by Suzie Rikkers. His former mother-in-law observed him with cold loathing. Behind her, Logan Kendall watched Marcus’ torment with bitter pleasure.

Suzie Rikkers kept to one side, so as not to block his vision of the pair. “You were down at Figure Eight Island for the weekend. You were there with several new clients. Your wife and children were with you. Is that correct?”

His children. The words left him unable to draw breath.

“Mr. Glenwood, are you with us?”

“Yes.”

“What happened on the way home from that weekend?” No answer.

“You were involved in an accident, were you not?”

He nodded.

“Answer the question, Mr. Glenwood. Were you involved in an accident?”

“Yes.”

“A terrible accident.” Her smile drifted in and out of focus. “Was it your fault?”

“The police said no.”

“I didn’t ask what the police said. I asked you. Was the accident your fault?”

“No.” It was only this hope that made the day possible.

“But you had been drinking, had you not?”

“Not that day.”

“The night before. And all the previous day. You had drunk almost continually that weekend. In fact, drinking was pretty much a constant in your life.” When he did not respond, she asked, “Do you have a problem with alcohol, Mr. Glenwood?”

“No.” Not anymore.

“I suggest that you do.” She moved closer so that Marcus could not help focusing upon her. “I suggest that your chronic problem with alcohol fogged your thinking and resulted in a tragedy that wrecked your wife’s life and destroyed her hopes for the future. The accident was therefore entirely your fault, Mr. Glenwood. You are the guilty party here. Is that not correct?”

The questions were drawn from the horrors of his dark hours. Marcus struggled but could not find the breath to respond. Which was just as well, since he had no idea what to say.

Suzie Rikkers leaned closer still. “Didn’t you feel horrible when it happened? Couldn’t you have driven better? Couldn’t you have saved their lives?”

The gavel banged with such force that both of them jumped. “All right, that is enough!”

Suzie gathered herself. “Your Honor, I am trying to establish-”

“I know precisely what you are trying to do, Ms. Rikkers. And I will not allow this travesty to continue!” She rose and drew the court with her. “I will see you and Mr. Glenwood in my chambers.”

“But Your Honor-”

“Now, Ms. Rikkers. Right this very instant.”

Outside the judge’s chambers, Marcus kept his distance from Suzie Rikkers by standing inside the cramped cloakroom. On one wall a cracked mirror rose to mock him. The stranger glaring back had the chiseled face of a Marlboro Man’s younger brother and the body of a college athlete. Hidden away was a soothing voice, a good mind, a better smile. For years he had treated them all with casual pride. Now they fit like clothes borrowed from an intruder.

The door to the judge’s office opened, and the strong voice said, “All right. Both of you get in here.”

The office was a narrow jumble of boxes and books and piles of papers. Before Marcus was seated in a chair across from the judge’s desk, Gladys Nicols honed in on him. “You shouldn’t need me to tell you that proceeding without an attorney is like playing football without a helmet.” When Marcus did not respond, she snapped, “Are you paying attention to me, Mr. Glenwood?”

“Yes, Your Honor.”

“That’s good, because I detest wasting my breath. And I particularly resent such a disruption to my last day in this courtroom.” Judge Gladys Nicols had recently been elevated to the federal district bench, the first black female in the state’s history to ever achieve this status. Even those who loathed her sharp tongue and even sharper mind had to agree that Judge Nicols was one of the most competent jurists in the state. And one of the toughest. “You’ve been around these courts long enough to know what happens to pro se litigants. Now am I right there?”

A pro se litigant was someone who insisted on representing himself at trial. Charlie Hayes, Marcus’ earliest mentor and former best friend, had once described a pro se litigant in divorce proceedings as a person who wanted to light a cigarette while sitting in a bathtub of kerosene. “Yes, Your Honor.”

Judge Nicols turned her dark gun-barrel gaze onto Suzie Rikkers. “You have focused your questioning upon some highly emotional issues that are absolutely irrelevant to this divorce hearing.”

Suzie Rikkers did not back down. “Your Honor, if you will allow me to proceed to my intended conclusion, the facts will speak for themselves. Marcus Glenwood is a murderer. He deserves to roast in hell. Since we can’t arrange that, we will settle for everything he has.”

“I’ll tell you what the facts are,” Nicols lashed back. “Your client out there is rich as Croesus. She’s not after money. She’s after revenge. She wants to break this man out of spite.”

“That is her privilege, Your Honor. And he deserves it.”

“Not in my courtroom.” She pointed one bony finger at the door. “You get out there and tell your client she has two choices. The first is, I will put this case on indefinite hold until the wife herself appears before me.”

Suzie Rikkers showed unexpected dismay. “Your Honor, the former Mrs. Glenwood has granted her mother full power of attorney. She herself has been seriously injured through the actions of Mr. Glenwood. She is in no state-”

“Save it. I don’t care if this case freezes up until everybody involved is dead and gone, do you hear what I’m saying? Her alternative is to accept a proper settlement. Say, half of what Mr. Glenwood presently holds in liquid assets.” She glared across the paper-strewn desk. “Go out there and tell it to her like it is, Ms. Rikkers. You’ve got ten minutes.”

When Suzie Rikkers had stormed out and isolated them behind a slammed door, Gladys leaned back in her chair and sighed. “Marcus, Marcus, what on earth am I supposed to do with you?”

Because she was a friend, and because she had gone out on a limb to help, he was compelled to respond. “I had no choice. Appointing counsel would only drag this out longer. My only hope was to let her do her worst and get it over with as swiftly as possible.”

Gladys Nicols reached for her phone. Up close it was possible to see the fine wrinkles marring her stern features and the feather strokes of silver in her tight black curls. She punched a number and said, “Bring me those New Zion papers, please.” She hung up, inspected him anew, and declared, “You were expecting me to stop her, weren’t you?”

“I’m not certain I understand.”

“Don’t you try your foolishness with me. This was all calculated and planned. You knew if Suzie Rikkers started in, with you sitting there all broken and defenseless, I’d have no choice but to pull her up short.”