Alibi II (6 page)

Day Three

T
ommy rolled over as he began to wake from a good night’s sleep. Vivian was lying on her side, her back to him. She was still asleep. He leaned on her, taking her body in his arm and caressing her breast as he buried his head in her neck. She felt him moving his hand down her stomach to her legs as he rubbed between them.

“Ohh, Tommy.”

“I’m going to fuck the shit out of you,” he whispered, spreading her legs open as he mounted behind her. She hadn’t completely awakened, but then again, he didn’t need her to. She gave him what he wanted, never saying no, even when she wasn’t in the mood. Luckily that was never.

“Ohh, Tommy, fuck me, fuck me harder,” she said as he stroked her, now on his feet, banging her out doggie style. That’s how she got it, every morning. He squeezed her hips, squeezing his hands into her hip bones, thrusting in and out of her, moving her the way he wanted. He pulled his dick out, quickly reinserting it into her ass, fucking her like a virtual reality doll.

“Tommy, please, Tommy,” she said as he came inside her before collapsing on top of her.

A Channel 10 news reporter was standing outside the Catholic church, reporting the finding of another abandoned baby.

“Oh jeez…you got to be kidding me,” said Vivian as she rolled over in Tommy’s bed.

“What,” asked Tommy, his heart pounding, wondering if she knew he had snuck out in the middle of the night.

“Another baby. I just got handed that bank robbery case and the abandoned church baby case yesterday,” she said, sitting up and watching as the news reporter interviewed Sister Catherine, the nun who had discovered the baby early this morning.

Tommy’s heart dropped when he heard her mention the bank robbery case. He turned his head and looked at her watching the news.
Nah, nothing, don’t even mention it.

Tommy picked the remote off the nightstand, breathing a deep sigh as he sat down on the edge of his bed. Vivian reached over and began rubbing his back. The Channel 10 news crew flashed and was now in front of City Hall. Today would be the start of a very long and very newsworthy day. Not only did the city of Philadelphia have a string of babies being abandoned all over town, the Somerset murder case had now taken a completely new turn.

“It now appears that in as little as twenty-four hours Bernard Guess, who had been pinned as a vicious murderer and was facing life in prison, is now looking more and more like an innocent victim who needs to be rescued from persecution. Closing arguments in this case are scheduled to begin at nine this morning. Who knows, the city might have a verdict as early as this afternoon or this evening, Renee. Don’t worry, I’ll keep you posted. This is Bob Daskins reporting live for Channel 10 news.”

“Get the fuck outta here!” said Tommy, throwing the remote at the television.

“Tommy, what the hell? You’re going to break the television,” said Vivian, looking at the remote control he had just thrown lying on the floor. “Nice,” she said, shaking her head in dismay.

“Shut up, Viv,” said Tommy before he picked up the battery back of the remote and two batteries and laid them on the dresser, ignoring her as he went back to the bathroom.

“They’re gonna let this fucking guy off, Viv! I can’t believe this shit. Why the fuck do I even waste my time chasing down these fucking scumbag criminals if they’re just going to let them go, scot-free. You gotta be kidding me. Fuck me!”

“Yeah, see, we don’t have those kinds of problems where I work,” she joked, her reference to working for the FBI completely ignored. “If we come for you, you’re going to prison, usually for a long, long, time in what we call penitentiaries.”

“Closing arguments my ass, I gotta get down to the courthouse.”

Beverly awoke to the sound of the phone ringing. She reached over a pillow, patted the top of the nightstand, and fumbled with the receiver before picking up the phone.

“Hello,” she whispered. It was a friend of the family calling about a party she was invited to.

Beverly wrote down the woman’s number, promising to call her back, before disconnecting the call.

She peeled back the bed covers, exposing the naked ass of her boyfriend, Tyrone.

“Come on, now, it’s cold,” he fussed as he threw the covers back over his head.

“I got to go, I forgot all about court,” said Beverly.

“Court, what you going there for?” said Tyrone, eyes shut, still half asleep.

“What you think? My son is on trial and closing arguments is today,” said Beverly as she cupped her perfect size Cs in their holder and fastened her bra around her back.

I know she not messing up perfectly good sleep for that no-good sorry-ass don’t know what the hell to call him son of hers.

She slipped her legs into a skirt and put on a button-down top, looking more professional than most working women with a nine to five. “You act like you don’t know what’s going on.”

“I wish you had told me that shit, I could have stayed at my momma’s house last night and got some damn sleep,” he said groggily, planting his two feet on the floor, scratching his head with one hand and his groin with the other.

“What?” he asked wondering why she was staring at him.

“I forgot. I’m sorry. Come on, I got to go,” she said, ready to throw him outside, his clothes right behind him.

“Shit, man, you fucking me all up,” said Tyrone, still not fully awake.

“No, you fucking yourself up, now come on, I got to go,” she mumbled from the bathroom while brushing her teeth. She walked down the hall, knocked on the door to Nard’s room, making sure Crystal was up and ready.

Tyrone pulled on his pants and threw on his shirt. He put on his socks and his sneakers and grabbed his jacket from the back of a chair.

“You ready?” asked Beverly as she finished combing her hair, looking at Tyrone in frustration.

“Man, don’t worry about me, is you ready?”

“Come on, you gotta go,” she said, ushering him out of her bedroom, wondering why she even bothered with him. “You get on my nerves, you know that, right?” she asked as they made their way down the flight of steps to the first floor.

“Hey, Mr. Guess,” said Tyrone, showing respect to the old head as he made his way out the door. “Call me when you done,” he hollered at Beverly.

“All right,” she said as she fumbled with a bottle of high-blood-pressure pills her uncle was suppose to take twice a day.

“He’s a fool if I ever seen one in my life,” said Uncle Ray Ray, referring to Tyrone. “A goat,” he added, spooning a teaspoon of sugar into his morning cup of coffee. “What’s that story, the girl with the goats?” he asked calmly, his brain working slowly this early in the morning. “Heidi, that’s it,” he said, laughing. ’Cause you is a goat herder with that nigga right there. Heidi,” he said now in a full robust laughter.

“Dag, Uncle Ray Ray, I can’t get the cap off,” she said as she read the safety warning, completely ignoring him. “Oh, here it is.”

“Ignore me all you want to, Heidi,” he said, still laughing at the very thought of Tyrone.

She handed him the pills and then made two slices of toast with grape jelly before passing him some cream.

“Good morning Uncle Ray Ray,” said Crystal, making her way through the kitchen carrying nine-month-old Dayanna on her hip.

“Yeah, good morning to you,” he answered, being as polite as he was going to be this morning.

“This the last day of the trial, closing arguments today, Uncle Ray Ray.”

“I don’t know what to say about that boy,” Uncle Ray Ray retorted, feeling sorry for the youngster. “You know these young people today don’t make much sense to me,” he said, looking at Beverly as she slipped on a pair of black heels and her jacket. “Look at Bernard, he could have been anything he wanted to be, but he wanted to run in them streets and be a gangster. Now, he’s facing life in prison. Just don’t make no sense, no sense at all.”

“All right then, I’ll be back in a few hours,” she added, a little louder.

Ray Ray looked up from his cup of coffee, wishing Beverly would stop talking so loudly. All she was doing was yapping. He could hardly hear the television.

“Uncle Ray Ray, did you hear me, make sure you take your pills, too,” she added, watching him mosey into the living room.

“Dagnabbit! I told you, I told you,” he said, pointing at the game show host on the television.

Beverly stopped and looked at the television monitor at a young woman who was jumping up and down for joy.

“Did you hear me, Uncle Ray Ray? You got to make sure you take your medication.”

“I sure do wish you’d go on somewhere,” said Uncle Ray Ray, now clapping and laughing at the television.

“I got your go somewhere,” mumbled Beverly as she opened the door, letting Crystal and the baby pass. They walked to the corner and hopped the bus, which was visible from two blocks away. It was a dreary, chilly fall day, and it had begun to rain just as soon as she parked the car. Beverly pulled her jacket hood over her head and made her way to the front entrance of the courthouse. She zipped through security and rushed upstairs to the fourth floor. She opened the left side of the heavy wooded double doors. Judge Means’s courtroom was packed. She walked inside and took a seat next to Crystal and the baby. She looked at her best friend, Donna, seated on the other side of Crystal.

“Don’t worry, it’ll work out,” whispered Donna, as if she had been given a sign from God and could predict the future.

The district attorney was already on his feet. As Beverly settled into her seat, she heard him directing the jury to find her son guilty. He kept repeating that the only person one could blame for the deaths of Jeremy Tyler and Lance Robertson was Bernard Guess, as it was his gun that had killed both of them. However, the jury had technically already heard that story when Nard took the stand claiming self-defense, and then his lawyer, Bobby 
DeSimone
, backed his theory with hardcore evidence of the break-in. After Zone finished his closing argument, Bobby DeSimone took to the floor. His demeanor was confident and sure. He had everything he needed to remind the jury that they could not find his client guilty of murder in the first degree, and with the way things looked, he could possibly get the kid off altogether based on the claim of self-defense.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, the state has done a wonderful job of wasting our time in this courtroom,” he said, indicating Zone, seated to his right. “And all this time was wasted attempting to prove a double homicide occurred on the night in question. However, that simply is not fact and it certainly is not the case. As we clearly proved to you, my client was left with no options by the hands of two intruders with loaded handguns. And while the state would have you think differently, you can’t, because the evidence clearly shows the truth. Remember when you go back in that room, you have a young kid’s life at stake. The state has a job to do, they are suppose to prove to you beyond a reasonable doubt that my client murdered those men in cold blood, and, you know what, ladies and gentlemen?” he said, spinning around and pointing his finger at them, staring each in the eye. “They just haven’t done that.”

DeSimone smoothly turned around and strolled back to his table. If he wasn’t in a court of law he’d smack high fives with Nard himself.

“We got ’em, you’re gonna be all right, kid,” whispered 
DeSimone
 as the judge gave out instructions. The courtroom watched as the jury rose before deliberating.

It was 10:21 and DeSimone wanted a cup of coffee. “I’m going downstairs, don’t worry, kid, they won’t be too long.”

“You think they’ll make a decision before the day’s out?” Nard asked hopefully, as the sheriff came to cuff him and escort him into the back holding area.

“I think they’re gonna make a decision in the next hour.” 
DeSimone
 smiled, winking at Nard.

DeSimone had barely taken his first sip of coffee before the vibration of his pager caught his attention. He reached in his jacket pocket and looked at the number of his office. He went over to the pay phone and called Sandra, his secretary.

“They’re ready,” she said, hearing his hello.

“The verdict’s in on the Somerset case already?”

“That’s what they called and said,” she said, a slight hint of aggravation in her voice.

“Great.” He hung up the phone, went back over to the tiny newsstand inside the courthouse, placed fifty cents on the counter for his cup of coffee, and headed back upstairs.

It had only been thirty-five minutes that the jury had deliberated. The case didn’t need a group of rocket scientists to conjure up a verdict, DeSimone had made sure of that. He had done his job, and Zone; well, let’s just say that in DeSimone’s opinion, Zone had put all his eggs in one basket, a stripper named Daisy Mae Fothergill, and thought he had an ace in the hole, but he was terribly wrong. DeSimone flipped the tables on the courtroom, fed the jury what they needed to hear so they could give him what he wanted—a not guilty verdict—and that’s exactly what had happened.

“Have you reached a verdict?” asked Judge Means, peering over the frame of his reading glasses as he questioned the foreman responsible for reading the verdict to the courtroom.

“Yes we have, Your Honor,” said the colored man now standing, reading a three-by-five index card in his hand. “On the charge of murder in the first degree of Lance Robertson, we find the defendant not guilty. On the charge of manslaughter, we, the jury, find the defendant guilty.” The foreman then sat down as the courtroom began to buzz with the finding.

“Sentencing will take place in two weeks, counsel, you’ll be notified of a date, court is adjourned!” The judge banged his gavel, rose from his chair, and walked off the stand, through a door, and into the back offices.

“Yes!” exclaimed DeSimone as he hugged Nard. “This is great, just great. I told you, you’d be okay. Do you fucking believe it, even with the girl turning state and testifiying against you, we still won!” DeSimone was so elated he couldn’t help but hug Nard again. Nard, on the other hand, didn’t seem too happy.