16 Hitman (23 page)

"I told you. They'll lie. And we have no witnesses."

"What about Sean?"

"Who?"

"The director."

The porn director. "What about him?"

"Won't they believe him?"

I blinked. "I thought he was the one who told the doctor not
to operate."

"That's right."

"So he's on the doctor's side."

"No, he's not. He out for hisself. Doctor did what he wants. Don't
mean he'll do what the doctor wants. We could get some cash."

"We?"

"Enough for a video. Make me a star."

I blinked. "Wait a minute. You're saying the director will testify
against the doctor, in return for which you'll split the settlement
with him and he'll make a rap video with you?"

Her smile was enormous. "And everybody's happy."

Everybody except me.

What had I done? In my do-gooder, white-knight, Stanley-tothe-rescue mode, largely influenced by the fact that everything else
had gone to hell, I had ignored Richard's better judgment, my own
better judgment, and, had she known anything about it, Alice's
better judgment, and committed myself to furthering the interests
of a gold-digging wannabe porn star eager to feather her nest by
winning a shaky medical malpractice case with the help of perjured testimony. Or, at least, paid testimony. And, while medical
experts were paid for their time on the stand, porn directors
weren't. When you paid for the testimony of a porn director, it
wasn't something you could let the opposing counsel bring out in
court, and say, so what, everybody does it. Everybody didn't do it,
and if anybody found out you did it, your ass was grass.

My stomach felt hollow.Was it all for this that I had blackmailed
my boss? Into a sleazy deal. Both for him and for me. A lose-lose
situation. Him taking a case he didn't want. Me testifying to things
that weren't true. Or, if not testifying to them, at least holding my
tongue. Concealing evidence to bolster a client's case.

Well, wasn't that what lawyers do? Lawyers, yes. They present
the facts they want and suppress the ones they don't. Argue that
those presented by the opposition are meaningless. But I'm not a
lawyer. I'm a private investigator. And that is not my job. My job
is to tell what I know. Put on the stand, my job is to answer questions truthfully. Granted, I need answer no more than I'm asked.
Even if I know what I will be asked. And what I won't be asked.
And what not to touch on cross-examination. I can do that
without feeling sleazy, can't I?

But this?

To have bartered that for this.

And to have come here, today, with police escort, at my own
peril, in spite of threats of death and Alice's pleading.

I wanted to tell her to go to hell. I didn't even have the guts to
do that. I just smiled and got the hell out of there.

My cop buddy was waiting right outside.

"Where to?" he said.

I had no idea.

ALICE WAS NO HELP. Odd for Alice. Alice usually has the answer
for everything. I wondered if it had to do with the comeliness of
the client. Which I hadn't particularly emphasized. Unless it had
to do with the fact I hadn't particularly emphasized the comeliness of the client. Alice is rather astute in these matters. Of
course, she might have got a hint from the fact the girl did skin
flicks. A detail I was not quite able to leave out of the narrative.
Even though I started with rap videos. Which in Alice's view is
bad enough. Alice is not a huge fan of the rap video. Or the rap
song, for that matter. She is not even willing to concede that it
is a song. While I find this hard to dispute, just as I find all things
hard to dispute with Alice, I am somewhat reluctant to agree, as
it seems to push us even further down the slippery slope toward
old fogeyhood.

Anyway, Alice had little or no sympathy for my plight. She
couldn't believe I even cared.

"Stanley, they're shooting at you. And you're worried about a
client."

"I'm not worried about the client."

"Then why did you bring it up?"

"You asked what's bothering me"

"So you are worried about it."

"Give nie a break. Someone fired a shot at me. Meanwhile, life
goes on. This happened today. After the shot. Perhaps not as
important as the shot, but, hey, life goes on"

"Bra"

"Huh?"

"`Obladi, oblada, life goes on bra.' You know. The Beatles."

"I'm glad I didn't say that"

"Yeah. It's a Stanleyism."

"You're really scared, aren't you? Or you wouldn't be driving
me nuts."

"That's not true."

"Right. You always drive me nuts. Look, suppose I take some
time off."

"Because of this woman?"

"No! Because someone tried to shoot me"

"Oh, yeah? That happened, you couldn't care less. You went
rushing right out there. Then this porn star pulls a number on you,
you wanna climb back in your shell."

"She's not a porn star"

"So now you'd like to cut back on your cases?"

"Wouldn't you prefer if I did?"

"Yes, I'd prefer if you did. I'd prefer if you had today, before you
went to see this girl, who's got you so confused you don't know
what you're doing"

"I'll call Richard, I'll cut back on my cases"

"Don't cut back. Stop. Stay home. Let the cops sort this out.You
got hitmen and mobsters involved, this is a little bit out of your league. No offense meant. But you're not going to solve this thing
by walking around with a bull's-eye on your back."

You mean stay in?"

"You're very bright! That's why I married you"

"I have to walk the dog," I protested.

"I'll walk the dog"

"I don't want you to walk the dog."

"Don't worry. I'll take the cop."

"He won't go."

"He will if you're not going anywhere. Just call him in and
tell him."

I sighed. "Alice, I can't stay holed up forever."

"Not forever. Just until they catch this jerk." Alice went to the
door. "Zelda's gotta go out. I'll get the cop, you tell him take me
to the park"

"I don't like your going"

"Okay, I'll get the cop, you tell him to take Zelda to the park."

I shook my head. "This won't work."

"Maybe not, but it's what we're doing. At least for now. And
tomorrow you call Richard and tell him you can't work. At all.
You're not just cutting back. You're off the clock until further
notice.

I grimaced. "Oh"

"What's the matter?"

"I can't do that."

"Why not?"

"I have to be in court."

I FELT LIKE CHARLES BRONSON in The Valacchi Papers, marching
into court under armed guard to testify against the mob. After all,
I had police protection. And there I was, going through the metal
detectors up to Part 24. But here the resemblance endeth. I wasn't
testifying against the mob, I was giving evidence in a negligence
suit. No one would go to jail as a result of what I had to say. People
would just lose money. Aside from that, it was pretty dramatic, and
if I wanted to feel like Charlie Bronson, I certainly would.

It wasn't easy. For one thing, the courtroom wasn't jammed, the
way it would have been in a Mafia hearing. The plaintiff wasn't
even there. Richard had tried every trick in the book to get him
into court, but the judge wasn't biting. A severe, needle-nosed lady
in a black robe, who lacked only a black hat to pass for the Wicked
Witch of the West, Judge Epstein was not easily swayed. For her
money, a quadriplegic who could not breathe on his own, and who
required elaborate medical apparatus just to keep him alive, did not have to be there. Still, I'd have laid you 8 to 5 on Richard's getting
the sucker into that courtroom before the trial was over. In the
meantime, he'd get a lot of mileage out of his client's absence.

Richard's loyal opposition consisted of three starchy-looking
lawyers and one rather ratty-looking defendant whose age
couldn't have been more than twenty-five and whose IQ might
have been less. This unprepossessing young man was unlucky
enough to own the building in which Richard's client had fallen,
and would be on the hook for damages in the event that we won.

In the gallery, witnessing this historic battle, were three, count
them, three spectators: a plump woman knitting a sweater, perhaps
the defendant's mother; a young woman dressed as a prostitute,
either the defendant's wife or a prostitute; and a drunk sleeping it
off. Not the most menacing group imaginable; still, my bodyguard
checked them out.

Richard hurried up to me. "Is this really necessary?" he said,
indicating the cop.

"Speak to him."

"Could you give him a little room?"

No.

Richard raised his eyebrows. "Excuse me?"

"I'm doing my job. You got a problem with that?"

"Not now, I don't. But when the jury's brought in, he looks like
he's in custody."

"Just explain that he's not."

"Oh, sure," Richard scoffed. "If I try to tell them he's involved
in a murder case, the judge won't let the jury hear it. If the judge
does let the jury hear it, the defense will object and ask for a mistrial. They may not get it, but they'll get a continuance."

"What's wrong with that?"

"I got a kid on a ventilator needs money. These guys are going
to pay it. The defense is using every trick in the book to stall. I'm
not going to give 'em one on a silver platter."

"That's too bad."

"Yes, it is. So could you cut me a little slack?"

"What do you want?"

"Do you have to sit next to him?"

"I could sit behind him."

"That's almost as bad."

"Do you want it or not?"

Richard sighed. "Look, could you wait out in the hall?"

"Huh?"

"There's no reason for him to be in here anyway. Until you're
called to the stand. Why don't you guys wait outside? Any objection to that?"

The cop shrugged. "Works for me"

"When he is called, think you could avoid marching him in?"

"I'm coming in when he does."

Richard wasn't happy with the answer. "He's going on the
stand. Where are you going?"

"I'll sit in the closest available seat."

"Fine. Instead of escorting him down the aisle, do you think
you could poke your head in the door like maybe you're one of
the next witnesses to be called? Or maybe you just wanted to sit
and read? I don't suppose you could carry a New York Post?"

"Give me a break."

"All right, but you get the picture.You think you can do that?"

The cop said, "Yeah, sure," but he muttered "Lawyers" under his
breath as we headed up the aisle.

There was a bench right outside. We sat on it, my bodyguard
next to me, defending me against the world, a small world consisting of a few cops, some extremely young prosecutors, and a few
perpetrators, easily identified by their new suits, recent haircuts,
and the handcuffs on their wrists.

I wished I had the New York Post. I could do the sudoku in it.
Yeah, I'm hooked on 'em, too. Isn't everybody?

A few hours passed and nothing happened. Except once Richard came out to tell us nothing happened. We probably could
have figured that out for ourselves. Except when he said nothing,
he meant nothing. The jury wasn't even in yet. He and the defense
counsels were still arguing about procedure.

Richard went back in and nothing continued to happen for
quite some time.

I was just nodding off when I was roused from my slumber by
the patter of feet. Not little feet. Big-girl feet. As in heels that go
clack, clack, clack. I hadn't been hearing many of those. Female
ADAs, though well-dressed in skirts and pantsuits, opted for more
practical footwear, knowing they'd be on their feet most of the day.
I glanced up to see what newbie hadn't gotten the message.

My mouth fell open.

It was her. My favorite teacher.What's-her-name. Sheila Blaine.
Miss Perky Breasts. Boy, was she a knockout in a pale green sheath
with a low-cut top. Hair up on her head. Just as if she was going
to the senior prom.

Her eyes widened when she saw me. I was sitting on the bench
with a cop. I must have looked like I was under arrest.

"What are you doing here?" she asked.

"Just a witness. What are you doing here?"

She made a face. "I got jury duty."

"You're kidding. On this case?"

"What case?"

"This one. The one I'm testifying"

"You're testifying?" She sounded impressed.

"No big deal." My eyes twinkled. "There is no dress code,
you know."

She looked puzzled, then smiled. "Oh.Yeah"

"What's with the outfit?"

"I don't want a criminal case. I thought if I looked like this, the
defense attorney wouldn't want me"

"You're probably right. So, what case are you on?"

She shook her head. "I'm not on a case. I just got rejected."

"Then it wasn't this case. The jury's already selected."

"I don't know. It was a chain snatching. Is that you?"

"No. This is a civil suit. How come they didn't want you?"

"Too much education."

I said to the cop. "You mind if I talk to her alone? I think I can
handle myself."

He gave me a look.

I ushered her to the next bench, sat her down.

"So he is with you"

"Yeah."

"Because of Marty?"

"Among other things."

"What other things?"

"The cops think I know something."

"Do you?"

"Not a damn thing."

"I don't understand."

"The cops think someone's out to get me just like they're out
to get Kessler."

"Why?"

"Does Kessler know why?"

No.

"There you are. It's a comedy of errors, a case of mistaken identity, just one colossal fuckup. But the bottom line is I got cops
babysitting me."

"But . .

"But what?"

"You think they're after you just because you were involved
with Marty?"