James Grippando - The Pardon

“Anything further from the defense?” the judge asked.

Manny rose slowly, feeling the familiar twinge that all defense lawyers feel when it’s time to either put their client on the stand or rest their case. But the specter of Gina Terisi gave Jack and Manny no choice, really-and, more important, the governor had given Jack all the defense he needed. “Your Honor,” Manny announced, “the defense rests.”

The judge looked to the prosecutor. “Any rebuttal, Mr. McCue?”

McCue sighed as he checked the clock. “Judge, it’s almost one o’clock, and the governor has shocked everyone-including me. I’m simply not prepared to rebut something as unforeseeable as this. I would like a recess until tomorrow morning.”

The judge grimaced, but this was a rather extraordinary development. “All right,” she reluctantly agreed. “Both sides, however, should be ready to deliver closing arguments tomorrow. There will be no further delays. We’re in recess until nine A.M.,” she announced, then banged the gavel.

“All rise!” cried the bailiff. His words had the same effect as “There’s a fire in the house!” Spectators flooded the aisles and exits, jabbering about what they’d just seen and heard. Journalists rushed in every direction, some to report what had happened, others to pump the lawyers for what it all meant, still others to catch up with the governor. A few friends-Mike Mannon and Neal Goderich among them-shook Jack’s hand, as if the case were over.

But Jack knew it wasn’t over. Manny knew it, too. And one other man in the courtroom knew it better than anyone. He lingered in the back, concealing his shiny bald head and diamond-stud earring beneath a dark wig and broad-brimmed hat.

He glared at Jack through an irritated eye.

“Should have been Raul,” he muttered to himself, “not you, Swyteck.” He took one last look, imagining Jack telling his pretty girlfriend the good news. Then he stormed from the courtroom, determined to give the Swyteck family something else to think about.

The parking lot at Jiggles strip joint was full from the Thursday evening crowd, so Rebecca had to find an empty spot on the street. She was wearing baggy jeans and a sweatshirt, her usual attire on her way to and from the bar. There was just one cramped dressing room inside for all the dancers, which was a hassle-but it was safer changing in there than walking the parking lot in some skimpy outfit that was sure to invite harassment or worse. Rebecca checked her watch. Ten after ten. “Damn,” she muttered, realizing she was late for her evening shift. She locked her car and started across the parking lot. In one hand she carried a gym bag, which held her dancing clothes and makeup. In the other was her mace, just in case.

“Hey, Rebecca,” came a low, husky voice from somewhere to her left.

Her body went rigid. Her name wasn’t really Rebecca, which meant that it had to be a customer calling. She quickened her walk and clutched her can of mace, making sure it was ready. She jerked to a halt as a man jumped out from between cars.

“Get back!” she shouted, pointing the mace.

“It’s Buzz,” he said.

She took a good look, then recognized him beneath his hat and behind the dark, wraparound sunglasses that he wore, even after dark, to conceal his irritated eye. “Let me by,” she said sternly.

“Wait,” he replied, his tone conversational. “I have a proposition for you.”

“Not now ,” she grimaced, her jaws nervously working a wad of chewing gum. “I’m supposed to punch in by ten, or I can lose my job. Come inside.”

“Not that kind of proposition,” said Buzz. “This is something different. I want your help.”

“Why should I do anything for you?”

“No reason. But I’m not asking you to do it for me. I want you to do it for Raul.”

Rebecca averted her eyes. The name clearly meant something to her. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about revenge. I’m gonna nail the fuckers who put Raul in the chair.”

Her shoulders heaved with a heavy sigh, then she just shook her head. “That’s history, man. Raul was a punk. He treated me like dirt, even when I was giving it to him for free. Shit happens to punks.”

Buzz stifled his fury. He would have liked to put her in her place with the hard truth that to Raul she was just a free blow job, but that wouldn’t advance his purpose. “Fine,” he said with a shrug. “Just go on pretending you weren’t nuts over him. Don’t do it for him. Just do it for the money.”

Her interest was suddenly piqued. “How much?”

“Ten percent of my take.”

Rebecca rolled her eyes. “I’ve heard that one before. Ten percent of nothin’.”

“Yeah. But ten percent of a quarter million is more money than you’ll ever make sucking cocks.”

She flashed a steely look, but she was more interested in the proposition than in refuting the insult. “Don’t bullshit me. Where you gonna get that kind of money?”

“I’m not bullshittin’ you. I’m serious. We’re talking high stakes. And all you gotta do is make one phone call. That’s it. A cush job.”

She paused. “I don’t believe it.”

“ Believe it. I’ve already conned sixty grand out of him. I’ll show it to you. Count it, if you want. It’s all right in my van. And that’s just the tip of the iceberg. So what do you say? You in?”

Rebecca pressed her tongue to her cheek, mulling it over. “Sure,” she said with a crack of her gum. “But I want ten percent of the sixty grand you already got, up front. Then I’ll know you’re for real.”

Buzz flashed a thin smile. “I’m for real. You can have your six thousand. But you gotta come with me now.”

She twitched, practically kicking herself for not having asked for the whole sixty thousand. “I can’t come now. I gotta go to work.”

“Six thousand dollars,” he tempted her. “You can come now. Fuck work.”

She cracked her gum, then sighed. “All right. I’ll go. But I want my money.”

He smiled and nodded toward his van. “Just get in.”

“And I want to know more about what I’m getting into,” she said as she heaved her gym bag over her shoulder and started walking. “I want to know everything. ”

He focused on the wiggle in her rear end as she reached the other side of the van, his eyes narrowing and a smirk coming to his face. No way you really want to know everything, he thought.

Cindy received a bouquet of flowers when she arrived at the studio that Friday morning. They were from Jack.

“Please be there for me today,” the card read. “I need you.”

She wanted to pretend that the message didn’t affect her, but it did. Leaving Jack hadn’t made her stop loving him. In fact, leaving him was the easy part. It was staying away that was the test. Tuesday morning, after attempting to be cool and distant with him, she’d felt her resolve eroding. Gina’s death had reminded her of how little time there is to do anything in life-of the purposelessness of grudges and resentment. Gina had probably died believing that Cindy hated her. Cindy didn’t want the same thing-God forbid! — to happen to Jack.

By the time she received the phone call, at ten o’clock in the morning, she’d already made up her mind to go over to the courthouse.

“Miss Paige,” a woman said over the phone. “This is Manuel Cardenal’s paralegal. Sorry to bother you, but he asked me to call you right away.”

“Yes,” she said with trepidation, afraid the trial had already accelerated to a verdict.

“Both Mr. Cardenal and Mr. Swyteck are in court right now, so they couldn’t call you themselves. But they need you to come down to the courthouse. Mr. Swyteck needs you to testify for him. It’s extremely important.”