James Patterson - Judge & Jury

JOEL GOLDENBERGER'S EYES were wide."This is your best pal, Mr. Machia. You're telling me he stole the plates for this hit from you? "

"I said we had known each other since we were kids, Mr. Goldenberger. He was my oldest, not my best, friend, and he wasn't the smartest guy."

Snickers of disbelief erupted. Andie glanced up and could see Judge Seiderman hiding a smile again. Finally, when the courtroom calmed down, the prosecutor shook his head."So, Mr. Machia, go on."

"After my wife called me, I called Stevie up and said, ‘Stevie, what are you, fucking nuts?' Sorry, Your Honor. Anyway, what he told me was that his mom had found the stolen plates and threw them out and he'd panicked. He only lived down the block, so he knew our place like his own. I guess he found my wife's plates in a box on the side of our house and figured, who would ever know?"

There was a stunned silence for a few seconds-the sound of total disbelief. Then the prosecutor continued."So what happened when the cops came to your house?"

"My wife told them someone must've jumped the fence and stolen them."

"Your wife's a pretty quick thinker, Mr. Machia."

"Yeah, and she was pretty damn pissed, too." He shook his head and smiled.

This time, no one could hold back. Andie figured everyone had the same image: the gangster's wife coming after him with a frying pan. She put a hand over her face and averted her eyes. She caught a glimpse of Cavello. He was smiling, too.

"And so the cops were satisfied with that explanation? That someone else must've taken the plates?"

"I don't know if you would call it satisfied. I had a record. It wasn't exactly hard to pin me as someone who hung around the family."

"This couldn't have gone over very well with Ralphie D."

"I would call that an understatement, Mr. Goldenberger. Everybody was pissed as hell. I met up with Stevie later that night, and he was saying stuff like ‘I know I screwed up, but if something comes from this, I'm not going alone.' Crazy stuff. Stuff he knew better than to say. He was just worked up."

"And how did you respond?" the prosecutor asked.

"I kept saying, ‘Christ, Stevie, you can't say things like that. People are gonna hear.' But he was nervous. He knew he screwed up. I never saw Stevie act like that."

"So what did you do?"

" Me? Truth was, Mr. Goldenberger, I had my own situation to worry about. I told Ralphie, don't listen to the guy. He won't do anything stupid. He's just freaked out, that's all."

"You told Ralphie about Stevie?"

"I had to, Mr. Goldenberger. If he got nabbed and started to talk, he could bring us all down. But I needed to get myself an alibi, too. I had this knee thing in those days. I needed surgery. So I went right into Kings County Hospital up to this doctor I knew, that we knew-he owed us some money-and I told him, you cut me open right now and the tab is clean. But I need the records to say I've been in here since this morning."

"Let me get this straight, Mr. Machia. You got a doctor to falsely admit you into a hospital to provide an alibi for killing Samuel Greenblatt?"

"Yes."

"And he agreed?"

"Well, I had a gun to his head, Mr. Goldenberger."

Andie couldn't believe it. The laughter got wild.

"So, getting back to Stevie Mannarino, Mr. Machia, your lifelong pal." The prosecutor took a few steps toward the witness."You told Ralphie D. you would cover for him. What'd Ralphie say?"

"He said not to worry. He'd talk it over with the Boss. He said they'd get him somewhere where he could lie low for a while, 'til it all blew over. He told me just to focus on myself, get better. I was in this leg brace. Truth was, I was a little nervous I was never coming out of that hospital myself, if you know what I mean."

"So what happened?" Goldenberger went over and picked up Steven Mannarino's picture. He held it there for the jury to fix on."Tell the court, Mr. Machia, what became of your pal?"

"I don't know." Louis Machia shrugged. He reached for the water bottle and cleared his throat."I never saw Stevie again."

IT WAS ALMOST FOUR. Judge Seiderman looked around the courtroom. She stopped the questioning."Mr. Goldenberger, I think that's a good spot to leave off for today."

She cautioned the jury not to discuss the case or read the papers. Then they all filed back into the jury room. A few of them hurried off for trains, saying hasty good-byes.

Andie packed up her bag and put on her sweater."See you tomorrow, everyone. I have to pick up my kid. Anyone taking the IRT?"

A woman named Jennifer said she was, and together they hurried over to Chambers Street and hopped the Broadway number 1 uptown. Jennifer, who sold advertising in the city, got off at 79th, and Andie continued on uptown, to the walk-up brownstone on West 183rd Street overlooking the George Washington Bridge, where she and Jarrod had lived for the past four years.

Andie got out at the 181st Street station and walked down a couple of blocks to 178th to pick up Jarrod at Sandra's. Sandra's son, Eddie, was in Jarrod's fourth-grade class at Elementary School 115.

"Hey, Ms. Law and Order, " Sandra said, laughing as she opened the door."You get a part?"

"I got a sentence." Andie rolled her eyes."Eight weeks."

"Yikes!" Sandra exclaimed."I got 'em to do their homework, at least part of it. They're in Edward's room. Playing Desert Ambush. " The two women stuck their heads in.

"Mom," Jarrod crowed,"check it out. We're on level six."

"Well, I'm afraid we're going to have to level six it out of here. Mom's beat."

Out on Broadway, she and Jarrod headed back to their apartment. Dinner was in their future, and she didn't feel like cooking.

"So, what are we up for, mister? Nachos? Deli? I got forty bucks from the U.S. government that says dinner's on me."

"They gave you forty bucks?" Jarrod seemed impressed."So, what's the trial about, Mom? Anything cool?"

"I shouldn't say, but it's about this Mafia guy. We heard these lawyers talk. Just like on Law and Order. And I got to meet the judge. In her office."

Jarrod came to a stop just in front of their building. He cried out,"Mom!"

Their car was parked on the street, a ten-year-old orange Volvo wagon. Sluggo, they called it, because it didn't go very fast and looked like it had taken quite a few punches. They kept it on the street. The local cops always cut them slack.

Someone had smashed the entire front windshield in.

"Oh my God," Andie gasped. She hurried up to the station wagon in disbelief.

Shards of splintered glass were all over the pavement. Who would do such a thing? She'd kept it on the street for years. Everyone on the block knew it. Nothing like this had ever happened. She placed a hand on Jarrod's shoulder.

Then Andie felt a knot tighten in the pit of her stomach. She thought of Cavello sitting there in the courtroom with his calm, indifferent stare. Like he had it all under control. And the stories Louis Machia had told. He had murdered for Cavello. Something like this was child's play to the mob, wasn't it?

"Mom, what's wrong?"

"Nothing, Jarrod." She pulled him close.

But he didn't believe her any more than she believed herself. All they would have to do is follow you home.

Maybe they had.

RICHARD NORDESHENKO HAD a very good plan, which was why he was sitting in a fashionable bistro on the upper East Side, watching an attractive, middle-aged woman from the relative safety of the bar.

There were three others with the woman at her table, talking and laughing. The place was jammed with an affluent, successful-looking crowd. The two men with her wore nicely tailored suits, expensive dress shirts, gold cuff links. She seemed to know the other woman in her party quite well. The conversation was lively, familiar. The wine flowed. How nice for all of them.