Phillip Margolin - Fugitive

Gary watched the Russian’s face. The sweat that suddenly dampened his captive’s brow and the way his pupils were snapping back and forth, as if searching for a way out, let Gary know that Mikhailov finally got it.

“See, Ivan, you’re affecting Julio’s profits and we can’t have that. Before you appeared on the scene, Julio had a nice thing going. He’s got a supplier in Colombia who’s happy with him, a snazzy house, and plenty of pussy, not to mention the biggest television set I’ve ever seen. If you still had eyes when I finished with you I’d take you over to watch a game. Anyway, Julio wants me to make sure he doesn’t have to cancel HBO because your shenanigans are eating into his bottom line.”

Gary walked behind Mikhailov and wrapped tape around his mouth. That was when the Russian started to scream, but the muffled cries were barely audible.

“That’s why I gagged you, Ivan,” Gary said. “I knew you’d wake the neighbors, and unlike you, I am very considerate of other people.”

GARY GREW TIRED of playing with the Russian after a few hours. The so-called tough guy hadn’t been so tough after all and had ceased to be a challenge during the preliminaries. Gary would have killed him to stop his whimpering but Julio wanted his rival to suffer, so he’d plugged away, not really enjoying himself but earning his pay.

After tidying up, Gary made an anonymous 911 call to the police. Julio wanted the murder publicized so no one else would try to move into his territory, and he couldn’t scare anyone if no one knew what happened to Ivan.

Gary was tired and not particularly satisfied with the evening when he locked the door of his seedy hotel room. The paint was peeling, the mattress sagged, the only window looked out on an air shaft, and the porcelain on the sink was chipped. The room was depressing but it was in a hotel where no one noticed anything, and he would be gone by morning.

After showering in the narrow bathroom, he turned on the television to see if the media knew about his handiwork yet. Gary was fully awake within seconds of seeing the lead story on the late news. Charlie Marsh was back in the US of A only a few hours from Seattle down the I-5. The same Charlie Marsh who had skipped out without paying Gary for the use of his life and who’d been sunbathing on some African beach, sipping piña coladas, while Gary was compelled to scratch out a living getting rid of other people’s problems.

Gary walked over to the window and stared down the shaft at the years of accumulated trash. He had no trouble imagining Charlie’s broken body rotting down there.

Kate drove Dennis Levy to the bail hearing so Amanda could discuss the case with Charlie, but Charlie didn’t feel like talking during the ride to the Washington County courthouse. He spent most of the time staring at the scenery with the window rolled down, even though Amanda’s car had air-conditioning. The wind on his face and the smell of fresh air were physical manifestations of the freedom that could be snatched from him later that morning if Amanda couldn’t convince the judge to grant him bail. Between his prison stretch and the psychological prison he’d inhabited in Africa, Charlie realized that he’d enjoyed very little real freedom in the past fifteen years. It made him wonder about the life he’d led.

Amanda worried about fighting her way through the crowd of reporters at the courthouse, but Karl Burdett unintentionally created a diversion by pontificating to the press at the front entrance. That made it easy for Amanda to smuggle Charlie through a little-used side entrance. She could have been angry at the DA for using the media to bias the jury pool, but she couldn’t feel too self-righteous after yesterday’s fiasco at the airport.

Amanda threw curt “no comments” at the reporters who were camped outside the courtroom door as she hustled her client to the relative sanctuary of their counsel table. Charlie had his head down, so he didn’t see the slender African man in the back row of the spectator benches until he turned to watch Karl Burdett and a female district attorney push through the courtroom doors. Charlie experienced a violent urge to rush to the restroom the second he made eye contact with Nathan Tuazama. Then Burdett and his assistant passed between the two men. Charlie turned away quickly and shivered.

“Are you okay?” Amanda asked when she saw Charlie’s ash gray complexion.

“I’m just nervous,” Charlie lied as he imagined Tuazama’s eyes boring through his back into his soul.

“Good morning, Karl,” Amanda said as Burdett tossed his attaché case onto the prosecution table.

Burdett nodded but didn’t return her greeting. Then he turned his back on Amanda and began organizing his papers. Amanda wondered why the DA looked tense when he had the edge at the bail hearing. Before she could puzzle out the problem, the bailiff rapped his gavel and the Honorable Marshall Berkowitz hurried out of chambers to take the bench. The judge, who was short and grossly overweight, wheezed as he waddled to his position on the dais.

“Good morning,” he said with a friendly nod to both parties. If Judge Berkowitz was intimidated by the large contingent of reporters in his courtroom and the publicity his case was receiving, he didn’t show it.

“Good morning, Your Honor,” Burdett said as he rose to address the court. “This is the time set for the bail hearing in State v. Charles Lee Marsh aka the Guru Gabriel Sun. Let the record show that the state is represented by Karl Burdett and Rebecca Cromartie. The defendant is present, represented by his attorney, Amanda Jaffe.”

“Good morning, Your Honor,” Amanda said. “As a preliminary matter, I’d ask the court to strike Mr. Marsh’s aka. He took that name years ago to promote his book and seminars and he hasn’t used it in over a decade.”

“It’s how people know him, Judge,” Burdett countered. “We’ll have witnesses referring to him as Gabriel Sun or the guru. Besides, Miss Jaffe hasn’t given me notice so I’m not prepared to argue this issue, this morning.”

“I’m inclined to agree with Mr. Burdett,” the judge told Amanda, “but you can file a motion with some law if you’re concerned.”

Amanda wasn’t really concerned about the relatively benign aka in the indictment. What did worry her was the possibility that any juror who remembered Charlie’s alias would also remember that the tabloids had started calling her client Satan’s Guru as soon as he was accused of murder. But she decided to fight that battle another day.

“Let’s get to the matter of bail,” the judge said.

“I think I can save the court some time,” Burdett answered before Amanda could get a word out. “If Mr. Marsh surrenders his passport, the state will not oppose bail in light of his voluntary return to face trial.”

Amanda was shocked by Burdett’s concession but she was also surprised by his tone. The DA sounded like he regretted giving Charlie a break. If he felt that way, why was he agreeing to bail?

“That seems to take care of your motion, Miss Jaffe,” Judge Berkowitz said.

“It does, and I want to thank Mr. Burdett for being so reasonable.”

Burdett didn’t respond to Amanda. Instead, he told the judge that Charlie would have to be booked into the jail so he could be fingerprinted and have a mug shot taken. Then the DA suggested a bail amount that was well within Charlie’s means. Amanda agreed to the sum quickly and the judge told his clerk to prepare the paperwork. As soon as Amanda and Burdett agreed on a trial date, the DA and his assistant left the courtroom, followed by a pack of reporters.

“Am I free?” Charlie asked, unsure of what had just happened.