Robert Browne - Trial Junkies

Hutch looked up at Waverly. "Was there something else you wanted?"

"I ran a background check on you."

"You did, did you?"

"Now I understand why your friend was so shocked at the station house that first night. When I didn't know who you were."

"If this is a pitch for money, you can go to hell."

Waverly didn't flinch. "I wouldn't dream of asking you for money, Mr. Hutchinson. And neither would Ronnie. You made your feelings very clear after the arraignment."

"Then what do you want?"

"I'm just passing along a message," she said. "But I also wanted to tell you that I may've made a mistake."

"About what?"

"About what I said at the police station. When you asked me if I thought Ronnie was guilty."

"I don't think there's any question about it at this point. Do you?"

She shrugged, and Hutch got the sense that maybe she'd had a change of heart as well. The exact opposite of his. Which would mean she surely knew something he didn't, because the evidence he'd read about was pretty damning.

"Well?" he said. " Do you?"

"I can't say any more than that. But I really do think you need to see her. She's a bit of a mess right now."

"Good," Hutch said, then got to his feet. He dumped what was left of his sandwich in a nearby trash bin, then started back toward the courtroom.

He was halfway down the hall when he stopped himself.

What was he doing?

Why was he being so obstinate?

Why not go see Ronnie?

It would give him a chance to tell her one-on-one exactly how he felt. To let her know how her actions had affected his life. All of their lives. How he would applaud when the guilty verdict came down, and would make sure to attend her execution. Sit right next to Jenny's old man and give him a high five when all was said and done. It wasn't quite the same as a bullet to the brain, but he'd gain some satisfaction from it. Small but significant.

Of course, the moment these thoughts came forward, the usual Hutchinson guilt kicked in. It was a trait he'd inherited from his mother, who had constantly second-guessed every decision she made.

But why feel guilty? He hadn't asked for any of this, had he?

It was all on Ronnie.

He turned around and saw Waverly still standing by the bench, watching him. As if she had known he'd reconsider.

"When and where?" he asked.

"After court today. Downstairs in the lockup."

"Tell her I might say some things she doesn't want to hear."

"I think she has a pretty good idea where you stand."

"Just tell her," Hutch said, then turned and walked toward the courtroom.

At 5:25 that afternoon, Hutch said goodnight to Gus and met Waverly at the mezzanine elevators.

They had a car to themselves, and as they rode down to the basement, Waverly said, "A word of warning. They're only letting you in because they think you're assisting me with the defense. So please don't do anything to get me in trouble here."

Hutch wasn't quite sure how to take this. "What do you think I'm gonna do?"

"I don't know, Mr. Hutchinson. Hopefully, just listen. And talk. But you don't strike me as the most agreeable man in universe."

"Gee, I wonder why."

She studied him patiently. "Look, I know you've had a loss here. And I know you think Ronnie's to blame for that loss-"

"Which makes two losses, if we're counting."

She paused. "Right. The point is, all I'm asking is that you be on your best behavior and try to have an open mind."

"What does that mean?"

"I didn't want to say anything upstairs, but now that we have a little privacy, I just want you to know that the evidence against Ronnie is not as cut and dried as the nightly news makes it seem."

"I thought you didn't watch television?"

"I don't, but I've seen enough to know what they're saying about Ronnie, and I can tell you that most of it's wrong."

"Except for the part about her killing Jenny, right?"

Waverly sighed. "You're just being difficult for the sake of it, aren't you? What is it-some kind of actor thing?"

Hutch frowned. "Actor thing?"

"You've been playing the part of the grieving former boyfriend so long, God forbid you ever break character. No wonder I don't watch television."

Hutch reached over and punched the STOP button on the elevator panel and the car braked to a halt. Waverly's eyes widened slightly.

"You know, I'm doing you and Ronnie a favor here. She asked to see me and I agreed. I didn't have to do that."

"I know," she said.

"So if you're offended by the way I present myself, then I'm sorry, but this isn't an act. You don't think I'm agreeable? Fuck you. I'm here, aren't I? But if you want me to turn around, I'll be happy to do that, too."

She was quiet a moment. "How about if I just keep my mouth shut and let you talk to Ronnie?"

Hutch hit the button again and the car resumed its decent. "Sounds like a plan."

A moment later the elevator came to a stop, then the doors slid open and they stepped into a small room with a reception desk. A Sheriff's deputy was stationed there-an older guy with a thick wall of glass and a security door behind him.

Hutch could see the cell block beyond.

The deputy smiled and said hello to Waverly, then gestured to the registration book in front of him. "Sign in, please. And put your keys and cell phones in the tray."

They both did as they were told, the deputy eyeing Hutch carefully.

Hutch knew what was coming next.

The deputy's eyes brightened. "Hey, you're that guy, right? The one from Code Two-Seven?"

"That's right," Hutch said.

"You did a couple movies, too. That one with Bruce what's-his-name-you played the bad guy. The guy with the limp."

"That was me," Hutch said.

"So, you still acting?"

Apparently the man didn't follow the tabloids. Hutch shot Waverly a glance. "Some people seem to think so."

"Wait till I tell my wife I met you. We used to watch Code Two-Seven all the time. Still catch the reruns when we can. We're big fans of Jack Van Parkes. What's he up to these days?"

"Collecting social security would be my guess. Not that he needs it."

The guard chuckled. "No shit. Guy's been in show business what-fifty years?"

"Something like that."

"So what's he like? Nice guy?"

Hutch couldn't remember how many times he'd been asked this question, and he always answered with a lie. "One of the nicest I've ever met."

"I figured as much. He's got that look, you know? Even when he was younger. Got a friendly face like that Marcus Welby guy. You remember him?"

"I think he was a little before my time," Hutch said.

The deputy nodded thoughtfully. "Now you-you got that dangerous look. The kind the women always go for." He gave Waverly a wink. "Isn't that right, Karen?"

"Right as rain, Sam. He's a regular Hollywood bad boy. Can we go in now?"

The deputy nodded again, then reached under the edge of his desk. A bell rang somewhere beyond the glass, then the door clacked open and Waverly stepped toward it.

"Let's do this," she said.

As Hutch started to follow her, the deputy called out after him. "So is this what you do now?"

Hutch turned. "What's that?"

"Between acting jobs. You work for Karen?"

Hutch hesitated. "Yeah," he said. "Gotta pay the rent."

The deputy smiled. "Don't you worry, hot shot, you'll be back on top again. I can feel it. If it means anything to you, the wife is gonna be thrilled when I tell her. Who knows, I might even get a little action tonight."

The thought gave Hutch pause. Not an image he wanted inside his head.

"Good luck," he said, then followed Waverly through the doorway.

The courthouse lock-up was small but efficient, nothing more than a couple rows of cells that were occupied by defendants waiting to be returned to jail after their day in court.