William Bernhardt - Double Jeopardy

“Shee-it.” Moroconi blew air through his teeth. Bits of spittle flew across the room. “All you’re interested in is covering your ass. Just like everybody else.”

“I assure you that isn’t—”

“Just keep the goddamn trial going. Can you do that?”

“I’m not sure I understand—”

“Just keep the trial going, asshole! How long will the feds’ case take?”

“Three or four days.”

“Fine. Throw in a lot of objections and make sure it doesn’t end any sooner. I’ll take care of myself.”

“I don’t think that’s a very good strategy—”

“Are you my mouthpiece or ain’t you?”

Travis hesitated. “I’m your court-appointed attorney—”

“Then do what I say.”

“I think I could help you—”

“You better just try to help yourself, jerkwad.”

Travis’s head twitched. “What do you mean by that?”

“I mean exactly what I say. People are trying to get me, in case you haven’t figured it out, chump.”

Oh great, Travis thought. A conspiracy theory from the paranoid defendant. I suppose the rape was committed on a grassy knoll. “Why do you assume—”

“Why do you figure I got hauled in by the police?”

“I understand there was an anonymous tip. …”

“What a lucky coincidence. Shit. They saw a chance to nail my butt to the wall and they took it. In spades.”

“I really don’t understand—”

“Are you blind? Jesus, why do you think you’re here? Do you really think my last lawyer just disappeared? Decided to go to Tahiti or somethin’? There are people who want me gone, asshole. That’s why they framed me for this rap, and that’s why they’re gonna make sure I do serious time for it.”

Travis frowned. “And who are these alleged people?”

“They’re people who’d cut your fuckin’ heart out just to see what it looks like, that’s who!”

Travis heard the guards returning. Time was up already. Sad thing about it was he was relieved—although the trial would start shortly and he hadn’t gleaned any information he could use in court. “I don’t feel I can adequately represent you without more cooperation on your part, Mr. Moroconi. The judge won’t like it, but perhaps I should withdraw. He’ll deny the motion, but if I just don’t show up—”

Moroconi sprang out of his chair and lunged at Travis. Travis jumped, falling backward in his chair. Moroconi tried to dive after him, but the handcuffs restrained him.

Guards ran down the corridor and shoved the key into the cell door. Moroconi twisted and strained on the tabletop, spitting and cursing, looking as if he might burst free at any moment. Thank God for those handcuffs, Travis thought. The handcuffs I wanted removed.

Moroconi fought the guards as they hauled him to his feet. “Just make goddamn sure you’re there today, shyster. I don’t care what you do, I don’t care what you say. Just keep the trial going. Understand?”

Travis nodded slowly.

“Good.” Moroconi smiled, baring his yellow teeth, as the guards dragged him out of the cell. “See you in court.”

9

8:45 A.M.

TRAVIS BUMPED INTO CAVANAUGH as he hurried through the courthouse. He surveyed her stuffed attaché case and determined expression and drew the obvious conclusion.

“Not you again?”

“I’m afraid so, counsel. Double jeopardy doesn’t apply to prosecutors.” She placed her briefcase on the conveyor belt of the X-ray machine. “Blaisdell asked me to handle the Moroconi case weeks ago. You have a problem with that?”

“No. It just seems a little unfair. You can’t be in full fettle so soon after yesterday’s crushing defeat at my hands.”

They passed through the metal detector and started down the corridor to Courtroom Three. “Spare me the egomania, Byrne. Today’s case is a whole new ball game.”

“In what way?”

“Have you met your client yet?”

“Uh, yeah.”

She smirked. “Then you know. Face it, you’re going down in flames this time. Even if the evidence wasn’t all against you, which it is, your client is such a disgusting little creep the jury will send him to the slammer anyway. It’s hopeless.”

Travis tended to agree, but he wasn’t about to let her know that. “We may have a few surprises for you.”

“Don’t try to buffalo me, Byrne. You haven’t had sufficient prep time. It’s going to be a case of the blind leading the repugnant.”

“We’ll see.”

“And if you’re hoping to make a deal, forget it. We already tried. Your client refused all plea bargains. You’re stuck with him till the bitter end.”

Travis veered off toward the men’s room. “I’ll just have to make the best of it. See you in five minutes.”

“I’ll be waiting. With bated breath.”

Travis pushed open the door and entered the bathroom. It was a tiny room—one sink, one urinal, one stall. The walls were composed of a grungy green tile streaked with mildew. Given the seemingly permanent odor, Travis preferred short visits during which he could conceivably hold his breath for the duration.

The urinal bore an out-of-order sign, so he used the stall. After he finished, he pushed open the door and stepped out.

There were two men in dark suits standing outside the stall. Staring at him.

“Excuse me,” Travis said. He tried to push past them to get to the sink. The man on his left, an older man who was chewing a cigarette, leaned away from his much younger companion, blocking Travis’s way.

“Hey, what do you think—”

Before Travis could finish his complaint, the cigarette man slammed him back against the wall. Travis’s head thudded against the tile; bursts of light flashed before his eyes.

“Look,” Travis said weakly. His brain felt scrambled. He realized he was slurring his words. “There are … s-security guards outside and—”

The cigarette man drew back his fist and punched Travis in the soft part of his stomach. Travis cried out in pain and fell forward onto his knees. The man blasted his face with the back of his fist. Travis’s head smashed against the stall door. Blood trickled from his nose.

The younger man reached for Travis’s throat. Fighting to clear his blurred vision, Travis grabbed his assailant’s hand and squeezed down on a pressure point. The man cried out. Travis tried to wrench the man’s arm behind his back, but before he could finish, the cigarette man chopped the side of his neck with his flattened hand. Travis fell back against the wall, releasing his grip on the young man’s hand.

The cigarette man grabbed Travis again, this time by the collar of his jacket, and hauled him up to eye level. Travis’s stomach burned; every movement was excruciating.

“Lose, asshole.”

Travis tried to form words, but his lips were numb and unresponsive. “I don’t … understand. …”

“You unnerstand enough.” The man reached down and clamped his hand onto Travis’s groin. “Feel that? I want you to remember what that feels like. Your balls are in my hands.” He grinned malevolently. “In a minute, we’ll disappear. But don’t be fooled, asshole. Your balls will still be in my hands. You’re gonna lose.”

The man squeezed tightly. Travis screamed in pain. His knees weakened; he tumbled back down to the floor. The cigarette man shoved him away and started to leave, then whirled around suddenly and kicked Travis in the gut, in the same aching spot he had hit before.

Tears clouded Travis’s eyes. “What … do you want ?”

The man sneered. “You know what we want. Now you need to figure out what you’re gonna do about it. If you decide not to cooperate, it’ll be the last decision you make. We’ve taken care of punks like you before and we’ll do it again.”