Personal injuries (48 page)

"Judge," he said, "what can you tell us about Brendan Tuohey?" Skolnick's mouth flapped around. "Tuohey?" he asked weakly.

"Judge, have you ever had occasion to deliver money to Brendan Tuohey personally or received instructions from him of any kind--explicit or implicit about how he wanted you to deal with a lawyer or a case?"

"
Per
-sonally?" He seemed astonished, even flattered by the notion. "I barely talk to the man. My brother, Maurice, you know, Knuckles, he talked to Tuohey. Me? I talk to his schmuck. Whatchamacallit. Kosic. I talk to Kosic. "

"But you do talk to Brendan Tuohey, you say, from time to time. You could have a conversation with him? You could try, for example, to ask his advice about how to deal with us, what to say?" Skolnick's reddened eyes enlarged as he got the picture.

"With a jimjick on my stomach like him?" He pointed at Robbie. "Oh, sure," Skolnick moaned.

"Sure. I'd be dead for sure. I'll have a bullet through my brain."

"This is the government of the United States," said Sennett. "No one's killing anybody here."

"Oh, right, hotshots. What, am I going to live with bodyguards and a nose job and a new name?"

"You'll be safe where you are. And afterwards your security can also be assured."
Afterwards
. Skolnick's mouth fell open when he realized that Sennett was speaking about the penitentiary. He had not even considered that. He had been thinking about shame and scandal. Ugly gossip. About losing his judgeship and his pension. Now another intense spasm constricted his face. With a humbled moan, he fell again to uncontrollable tears.

"I think you should consider some other people," Sennett said. He pointed to the display shelves with the family photos.

"Ach!" remarked Skolnick in apparent rejection of Sennett's suggestions. He started to stand up, and it was only as his hand suddenly shot to his throat that Evon could see he was in trouble. His left leg came out from under him and he canted backwards at an oblique angle, lingering an instant, like a leaf in an updraft. Then gravity took hold and he tumbled heavily to the floor, his shoulder striking the arm of his new sofa and his hip flipping over the coffee table on which the court documents rested.

Everyone rushed toward him. He was conscious when they eased him to his side. He seemed able to respond, but for the fact that he was again overcome by weeping. He cried in great waves.

"Should we call 911?" Clevenger asked. It was only then that Skolnick spoke, getting to his knees and weakly waving a hand.

"Angina," he said in a wee voice. "I get light-headed. I'll take a pill. I just need some time. I need some time with this thing." McManis had him by an arm now and pulled him back up to the sofa. They all stood in a circle around him while the old man held his face in his hands and poured out tears.

Eventually McManis motioned to Sennett and Evon, and Tex came as well. They stood like the infielders around a manager and the pitcher at a tense spot in the late innings. The only one not part of the circle was Robbie, who'd taken a seat on the bottom tread of the stairwell, appearing far too blown out to absorb much.

"Stan," said McManis quietly, "if we keep this up, we'll croak this guy."

"For Godsake!" responded Sennett. Tomorrow, tonight, while the bad guys were all scrambling like ants after their nest was flattened, something might slip. Once they were organized, layered off by lawyers who'd share information and forbid the government to contact their clients, nothing of value would happen. "Give him a few minutes. He'll calm down." He asked Clevenger to get Skolnick water, but McManis detained Tex.

"Stan," said McManis slowly, "Stan, this is not our guy. He can't do Brendan. Not face-to-face. He never talks to him. Tuohey will see hin coming a million miles away. He'll do the three monkeys, the same way he did with Bobbie. And this guy won't be one-tenth as good as Feaver. It could be the
Titanic
. By the time Tuohey's done with him he'll have Skolnick swearing Brendan didn't know anything "

Sennett stared bitterly into a comer of the room.

"Stan," said McManis quietly, "this guy can testify. We can make him a witness. Let's preserve that possibility. Let's not kill him tonight."

"Shit," said Sennett. He thought another moment, then gave in with one of his unpredictably ugly remarks. "I suppose that's not the first headline we want to make." Skolnick in the meantime seemed to have made up his own mind. He was wandering drunkenly toward the narrow, paneled stairwell.

"I can't do this. Not now." He wobbled and braced himself, applying both hands to the walls. His wedding band glistened under the basement track lights and seemed to attract his attention. "Oh God, Molly," he said. He took the first step and wavered again, clearly on the brink of collapse. Robbie, who was nearest him, reached Skolnick before he could go down. He threw an arm around the old man and, once the judge was righted, helped him up the first stair.

"One at a time, Barney," Robbie said. "One at a time. Let's just take it slow." With their arms entwined, they slowly made their way up together.

CHAPTER 40

SHERM CROWTHERS LIVED IN ASSEMBLY Point, a spit of land jutting into the Kindle River which had been the site of a French fortress in the pre-Colonial days and of various tanning facilities when the city was first settled. By the 1930s, as barge traffic diminished, it had become the most prominent enclave of Kindle County's small black middle class. After the Second World War, some pioneering residents who were not afraid to mix-or to bear what inevitably went with itmoved to University Park, one of the first integrated neighborhoods in the United States. Later, there was some exodus to other areas of the city which had become more welcoming. Recently, a strange transformation had started in Assembly Point, with younger white and Asian families buying houses here, prompting outcries from some long-term residents that the Point was losing its ùnique character.'

For African Americans, however, Assembly Point retained a special significance. Many had been raised within earshot of envious conversations about the Point, the better life lived there, and the events-the country club golf, the debutante balls--that were otherwise alien to African American life. A large number of black folks of means still refused to consider residing anywhere else. Sherm Crowthers was one of them. His house on Broadberry was a mammoth redbrick Georgian, replete with white columns that supported a portico three stories above the circular drive. When Evon and the rest of Sennett's company arrived, it was only a few minutes shy of midnight, but Stan and McManis had agreed to proceed. Not only timing, but tactics, compelled them. They wanted these men at home unaware and literally undressed, in the bosom of their families, close to the comforts from which they would be exiled in the penitentiary. This was one of many hardball maneuvers Stan had learned while he was at the Justice Department in D.C., supervising prosecutors around the country. After indictment, Stan loved to swoop down on white-collar defendants-presumed innocent by lawand lead them off in handcuffs before waiting cameras. He called it a deterrent. Despite the howls of protests arising from the defense bar-me included-the Court of Appeals continued to tolerate these harsh techniques as if they were wartime necessities. Robbie had been directed to the remote shadows of the front lawn, while the remainder of the party continued to Sherman's front door. The Crowthers household was thrown into an uproar as soon as Sennett touched the doorbell. A dog bayed and lights filled several windows. Finally, the porch's overhead lamp snapped on and a voice boomed through the heavy oak door, demanding to know who was there.

"It's Stan Sennett, Judge Crowthers. The United States Attorney for this district. I need to speak with you. It's urgent."

"Stan Sennett?"

"The U.S. Attorney."

"What kind of emergency is this?"

"Judge, why don't you open the door so I can discuss this with you without waking your neighbors. I'm standing right under the light and you've got a security eye in that door. I know you can see it's me."

"And who-all is that with you?"

"They're FBI agents, Judge Crowthers. Please open the door. No one here will hurt you." At that, the latches and bolts were quickly slapped back. Looking no smaller to Evon than he did on the bench, Sherm Crowthers loomed barefoot on his threshold. Behind the front screen, he had a chromed pistol in his right hand. He wore boxer shorts, decorated with small red emblems, and a sleeveless undervest taut over the vast hummock of his midsection. His eyes were somewhat watery, so that it appeared he might have been drinking. At the sight of the gun, Evon had changed her position. Beside her, Clevenger opened his coat and put a hand on the holster over his hip.

"You think I'm scared of
you
?" Crowthers asked Stan, clearly inflated by rage. "That what you imagine, Constantine? I'll have tits 'fore I'm scared of you." Sennett, assessing the situation-and mindful perhaps of the pistol-chose not to answer. "Now what kind of damn emergency is this, six minutes of midnight?"

"Judge, you know, I'd feel just a little more comfortable if you would put down that firearm. Would you mind doing that?"

"Hell, no, I'm not doin that. I'm standin in my own home. It's six minutes to midnight. You a bunch of damn intruders, whether you're the U.S. Attorney or not, and I got a permit and registration and a constitutional right to this pistol and you can go head and check that. Now speak your piece and get."

Evon had gradually crept up close behind Sennett to look at the gun. Crowthers was waving it around, but eventually she recognized it, a Beretta 92 SBC double-action semiautomatic. He'd dropped it to his side after telling off Sennett and she could finally see what she'd wanted to: the extractor was flush with the slide and no red was showing, meaning a round was not chambered. She whispered to Stan that the gun wasn't ready to fire, reminding him it might yet be loaded. Sennett made fishlike circles with his mouth while he thought things over, then pointed to her briefcase for a document.

"Judge," he said when he had it, "this is a federal grand jury subpoena which requires your appearance tomorrow morning downtown."

Sennett held the white sheet right up to the screen so Crowthers could read it. He'd calculated correctly that this would alter the momentum somewhat.

"Gimme that here," said Crowthers and reached outside. He snapped the paper from Sennett and rang the screen shut, locking it before he bothered to study what he'd been given. He took only a second to do that, and opened the screen again, tossing the subpoena, which he'd grabbed into a tight ball, outside the cone of light on the front porch. It landed somewhere in the row of low yews that fronted the perimeter of his brick home. "Ain't no subpoena served after midnight gone require somebody to be somewhere at 10 a.m. You know that and I know that. So now you done your business, go on." He pointed again with the Beretta and stood back to close the door. Sennett stepped forward to grab the screen's handle but, considering the pistol, resisted the impulse to pull the door open.

"Judge, if you have an objection to a subpoena, then you better take it up with Chief Judge Winchell in federal court in the morning. You and I both know
that
. And frankly, Your Honor, when you go on trial, I don't think the jury is going to think very highly of a sitting judge treating a lawfully issued subpoena as a piece of rubbish." At the words `trial' and `jury,' Sherm had briefly allowed his head to fall back, revealing the full bushy depths of his gray mustache. "Judge, you're about to be indicted for racketeering, extortion, bribery, and mail fraud. By my calculations, the sentencing guidelines will keep you in the penitentiary for about eight years. And we came here because I wanted to talk to you before it happens. Now may we come in the house?"

"I hear you fine where you are, Constantine." Somewhat more subdued, Sherm eyed everyone else on the porch. At a signal from McManis, Clevenger had stepped into the bushes. Equipped with a rubber glove, he was placing the balled subpoena in a plastic evidence envelope. "I don't know a damn thing about any kind of racketeering or bribes. Or whatever else you say."

"Would you like to refresh your memory, Judge? We can play you a recording? It's right here." He waved at that point, and Robbie, with his hands sunk deep in his pockets, emerged into the light. He looked only a little less unhappy than he had at Skolnick's. He did not come all the way to the porch. He'd undoubtedly seen the pistol and had had his fill of guns for one day. He stood about twenty feet from the stoop, just close enough that Crowthers could tell who he was. And then, as he had at Skolnick's, he opened his jacket and his shirt.

Crowthers said nothing at first. And then his craggy, smoke-stained teeth made a brief appearance as he bitterly smiled. Sennett again offered to play the tape.

"I don't need to hear nothin, Constantine. I knew exactly what that lowlife was up to." He looked toward Bobbie through the night, assailing him with savage eyes. "Goddamn fool that I was," Sherm quietly added.

"Judge, that's your option. There are a lot of things we want to ask you. But the most important is to know where the money goes after it gets to you. Because we're very certain all of it doesn't remain in your hands. And if you're willing to cooperate with us, right now, right here.-Crowthers gave his big head a single solemn shake.

"You'll hear from my attorney in the morning. There idn't nothin else to say now."

"Judge, I can't make you the same deal tomorrow. You have to do it now. You'll pay a high price for protecting your friends-"

Crowthers, facing all of this-the grand jury, trial, the penitentiary-laughed out loud. He even put the pistol down on a side table near the door.

"Listen, I don't have friends, Constantine. Never have. I got a wife and a sister and a dog and that's it. I don't owe nothin to anybody else and I don't expect anything from them either. That's how it is."

"Then help
yourself
," Sennett implored, raising his voice for the first time. Crowthers laughed again. He appeared sincerely amused.