David Ellis - Breach of Trust

Instinctively, Ernesto had accepted the envelope before I’d explained its contents. He stared at it and then looked up at me, shaking his head. “No,” he said. “I don’t-I won’t-”

“It’s your decision,” I said. “You can appear at that date and time, or federal marshals will come and escort you. And then you can explain to a federal judge why you’re different from everyone else who is subpoenaed.”

“No,” he repeated. He seemed to be in shock, only now catching up with what was happening.

“And if you lie about what you know,” I went on, “you could be charged with perjury.”

“You threatening my friend?” It was the bigger guy, the one with the torn tank. Up close, I could see the tiny tattoo of a dagger on the inside of his upper arm. He was a member of the Latin Lords. He had only a slight trace of an accent. He’d learned English and Spanish simultaneously as a child, I assumed.

Standing face-to-face, as we were now, I towered over him. I was six-three and he was five-ten at best. He had wide shoulders and some muscle tone, a scar across his forehead, a crappy goatee. He was meaner and tougher than me, but only one of us knew that for sure. I looked down at him, making eye contact for a long moment before I uttered two words with sufficient conviction that I was making it clear, I’d only say them once. “Back. Off.”

It threw him momentarily. He’d expected retreat. Now he was reassessing. In my experience with the gangs, they respect the well-dressed white man who marches onto their turf, because they assume he’s law enforcement. For all this guy knew, I was an FBI agent.

“Oye,” said Ernesto, placing a hand on his friend’s arm. “Permitame.”

“Buen consejo,” I said. Listen to Ernesto and back off.

“You can’t make me say something I don’t want to say,” Ernesto said to me.

I slowly took my eyes off Ernesto’s friend and looked at Ernesto squarely. “I can put you on the stand and ask you questions all day. I have a pretty good idea of where to start. I’ll get there sooner or later. If you lie, I’ll know. And if you refuse to answer, you’ll go to prison for contempt.”

“No,” he said. “No, you can’t-”

“I can and I am. My card’s inside that envelope,” I told him. “Including my cell. You talk to me now or I’ll see you in court.”

It was my best pitch. I drove back to my office. I wasn’t feeling great about what I’d done, but I was out of options. I was betting that compelling his testimony would ease whatever conflict was plaguing him. I’d be making the decision for him. You can’t ignore a federal subpoena. So with his back against the wall, he’d come clean. Maybe.

My cell phone buzzed as I was exiting the highway into the commercial district. Traffic had been murder at four o’clock on a Friday night. It reminded me of our trip to see Talia’s folks tonight. But the phone call wasn’t from Talia. The call was from Ernesto Ramirez.

“Hello,” I said with as little feeling as I could muster.

“You said before-you made me an offer before. I tell you what I know and you keep me out of it.”

“Right, I said that. The longer you take to tell me, the harder it will be for me to use the information, the more I’ll need your live testimony.”

“What does that-”

“It means tell me right now, Ernesto. Right. Now.”

There was a pause. Electricity shot through me. I thought it was actually coming.

“Not over the phone,” he said.

“Okay,” I said, trying to conceal my reaction. I’d broken through. Easy and calm was now the right approach. “Where and when?”

“Later today,” he said. “I’ll have to figure out how. No phones, though. Face-to-face.”

“Then make it very soon. I’ll meet you anywhere. Don’t keep me waiting, Ernesto,” I told him. “Do not keep me waiting.”

I hung up with ernesto and tried to keep my expectations low. He seemed ready to play ball, but a promise wasn’t anything more than a promise. Still, the more he’d held out, the more valuable his information appeared to be, the more my hopes rose in the air like they were filled with helium.

Talia called my cell as I was walking back into my office building. “Hi, babe,” I said. “I’m trying to wrap everything up. I’m at the finish line.”

“Great. Okay,” she said, somewhat distractedly. I could hear Emily making a yelping sound near the phone. “Remember it’s supposed to rain tonight. It would be good to get on the road as early as possible.”

“Right. I just have to wait to hear from that guy I told you about, Ramirez. I’m on his schedule, not the other way around.” Talia and I had been over this briefly this morning, but like most disjointed conversations while caring for a newborn, there had been no real resolution.

“And this matters, even if you’re at the finish line?”

“It depends on what it is he gives me,” I said. “We haven’t formally decided to rest our case, and even if we do, if I uncover something huge, the judge would let us reopen.”

Talia tended to Emily a moment. I was used to such interruptions. I waited her out.

“Does that mean you’re planning on working this weekend, too? I mean, if this is ‘something huge,’ does that mean you aren’t coming?”

I didn’t have a good answer to that. “I don’t know. He said he’d call me soon. I don’t know ’til I know.”

“That’s not very helpful, Jason.”

“I don’t know what else to say. These are unusual circumstances.”

“Are they?” Talia’s tone sharpened.

“Yes,” I said. “They are. This guy’s life is hanging in the balance, Tal. He’s being accused of murder and I might be coming upon evidence that proves it didn’t happen the way they say. I’d put that down as unusual circumstances. Wouldn’t you?”

“I’m just wondering if we’re going to have an evolving standard of ‘unusual.’ That’s all. Is there always going to be something? Am I going to be raising our children alone?”

“That’s not fair-”

“You know what? I’m tired and nauseated and cranky, and right now I’m not in the mood for you to tell me what’s ‘fair.’ I believe you told me last night that Paul told you to go with us this weekend, not to worry about anything else.”

“But that was before Ramirez agreed to-”

“Okay. Jason? Just-stay here, okay? Stay here and go the extra mile for a man who you think is guilty of just about everything they’re accusing him of doing.”

“Talia, just-just give me an hour or two, okay? Two hours,” I decided. “Two hours.”

Ninety minutes came and went. No call from Ernesto Ramirez. Paul Riley called my cell with a quick question about a document. Then, sensing something, he asked, “Where are you?”

“Office,” I said.

“I thought you were going with your wife this weekend.”

“I am. I’m just waiting for somebody.”

“Tell me what you’re doing.”

I sighed. “Ernesto Ramirez. You remember that guy I told you about?”

“Jason, Jason. He’s waiting to talk to Ernesto Ramirez,” Paul said to someone. I heard Joel Lightner laugh and call out, “Dead end, kid!” I heard our client, Hector Almundo, say, “Tell him to go with his family.”

“Well,” Paul summarized, “the universal conclusion of your senior partner, your client, and your private investigator is that you should forget about this guy and go be with your family.”

“I’ll take that under advisement,” I said.

“Hey kid-seriously. I know what you’re trying to do. You’re trying to pull a rabbit out of a hat. I’ve been you. But it’s late in the game, and I think your part is done. You’ve done a phenomenal job and your family has earned a day or two of your time.”