Robert Browne: Trial Junkies

Retribution was what he wanted. Retribution for the woman he had loved.

And had thrown away.

Where were you, Ethan?

Why didn't you return my-

"You gonna hide up here all afternoon?"

Startled, Hutch turned and saw a familiar face. He hadn't heard her come up the stairs and was thrown slightly off-kilter, immediately slipping into his old standby-the movie star smile. It wasn't appropriate for the moment, but he had little else to fall back on, and it helped cover the rage that was percolating inside him.

"Nadine," he said. "How've you been?"

The years had been good to her, but there was a hardness in her expression he'd never seen in their college days. "Let's play catch up later. Why don't you come down and join the rest of us?"

Then she turned and started down the stairs, pausing briefly to glance back at him. She and Jenny had been best friends once and had always resembled each other-so much so that people often mistook them for sisters. She had those same intelligent eyes that bore into you as if you were a hostile witness caught in a lie.

Now they were colored by sorrow.

"Well?" she said.

His smile gone, Hutch merely nodded, then followed her down the stairs.

If there'sone thing the Catholics know how to do, Matthew Isaacs thought, it's put on a good show.

Not that his own people couldn't tap dance with the best of them, but these folks had a knack for turning a ritual into an art form, complete with gaudy costumes, a full choir, and a kind of solemn pomposity that put most other religions to shame.

As he took in the pageantry from his fifth row pew, Matt wondered how they'd managed to throw this Mass together so quickly after Jenny's death. Apparently someone had made a hefty donation to the local diocese. Probably daddy dear. He had enough money to buy the whole church and half the block it stood on.

Judging by what Jenny had told them all in college, her father was very serious about his faith. But Jenny herself had been a lapsed Catholic. Was pretty much agnostic. In all the years Matt had known her, she'd never made a secret of her beliefs. Or lack thereof. He hadn't seen her in quite a while, but he doubted she had changed.

Not many people do.

But funerals are never really about the dead. They're designed to give your loved ones closure. A sense that the deceased's spirit is traveling to a better place, to a world where violence and disease and old age don't exist.

As much as he wanted to, Matt didn't believe any of it. Just like Jenny. In fact, he'd say he believed it even less than she had, convinced that religion and faith and dreams of an afterlife were nothing more than a panacea for fear. To his mind, when you were gone, you were gone, and no ritual created by man would change that simple fact.

Part of him hoped he was wrong. But he doubted it. And his lack of faith certainly didn't keep him from appreciating a good show.

It had started right on time, the choir launching into an appropriately solemn tune, sung in Latin, the voices of angels echoing through the cathedral. They were several stanzas into it when Andy McKenna nudged Matt in the ribs and whispered, "Alert the media. Look who the cat just dragged in."

Matt followed Andy's gaze and turned his head slightly to see two people moving toward them up the aisle-a man and a woman.

The woman was their old friend Nadine Overman, whom he had just spoken to outside. He knew she had taken Jenny's death hard, but she looked as stoic as ever.

The man, however, was a surprise. A guy wearing glasses so dark it was impossible to see his eyes.

Didn't matter. Matt would recognize him anywhere.

"You've gotta be kidding me," he murmured.

"Can't believe he has the nerve to show up here after all these years," Andy said. "You know I sent that asshole a screenplay and he completely ignored me? Didn't say boo about it."

Matt frowned. "Since when did you start writing screenplays?"

"Hey, you think all I do is crunch numbers all day? I got aspirations."

"You and twenty billion other people. The question is, do you have any talent? And I'm guessing no."

Andy frowned. "Remind me again why we're friends?"

"Because I'm the only one who puts up with you."

They faced forward as Nadine and Hutch moved past them to a pew on the left and sat down. Matt started counting to ten, wondering if Hutch would have the decency to take off the dark glasses. At the count of eight he did, focusing his attention on the priest who was stepping out in front of the altar as the choir continued to sing.

Matt was about to tell Andy what a narcissistic prick he thought Hutch was-even the way he sat seemed arrogant-but then he decided to keep his mouth shut. He didn't really know that to be the case at all. That was merely projection based on supposition and Matt liked to believe he was an objective observer, a rarity in the news business these days. He relied on facts to do his job and he really had no idea what kind of man Hutch was anymore.

Matt didn't pay much attention to celebrity gossip, but the last he'd heard, the poor guy was coming out of his second stint at rehab and was trying to revitalize a sagging career-a humbling experience for anyone. So maybe he should cut Hutch some slack, even if the guy had abandoned his friends the moment his star caught fire.

When it came down to it, Matt himself hadn't been all that communicative with the group over the years. Except for Andy. While most of them had stayed in Chicago, they had all moved on to their own careers, their own lives, marriages, divorces, kids…

Maybe the only reason they resented Hutch was because he was the most visible of them all. There was a time when you couldn't turn on the TV without seeing his face, or hearing about some new movie he had signed to star in.

Their reaction was a classic case of crabs in the bucket syndrome. They'd all seen Hutch climbing out and wanted to pull him back in. And when he finally broke free, they resented him for it.

Matt had seen it time and again at the Post . Just recently, Jim Kelsey, one of their top political reporters, started doing guest spots on CNN, and the rest of the staff almost went nuts with envy. Considered him a traitor.

But not Matt. He knew the newspaper business was a rotting carcass that hadn't yet been buried and he didn't begrudge Kelsey his success. Or Hutch, for that matter.

Why should he?

But he'd never say any of this to Andy. The entire dynamic of their friendship centered around the cynical put-down, an act they'd been perfecting since the moment they were thrown together in a dorm room in college. Jenny had quickly labeled them the Curmudgeon Twins, and it was a role they both enjoyed playing. So Matt figured that admitting to Andy that underneath the crust was a soft, doughy center, would probably crush the poor bastard.

And with this in mind, he dismissed all the nonsense he'd been thinking for the last few seconds and nodded toward Hutch, saying, "Look at the guy. He even sits like an arrogant douche."

Andy grinned. "Probably the stick up his ass."

Matt gave his friend an appreciative chuckle, then caught himself and remembered where they were and why they were here.

It wouldn't do to disrespect Jenny. She was one of the sweetest people he'd ever known.

He looked around at all the somber faces and saw that most of the old gang was present, including Monica Clawson, who had lost some weight but still had those glorious tits. Tom Brandt, who was teaching history at Circle, their alma mater-or the University of Illinois to virgin ears.

And, of course, Nadine and Hutch.

The only one missing was Ronnie. Matt had no idea what she was up to these days, no idea if she was even alive , but he was pretty sure he would've heard if anything bad had happened to her.