The Insurrectionist (7 page)

            Deni rested on his side and glanced over his shoulder at his leg as a nurse removed a bandage from a gunshot wound on the back of his calf. He had seen gunshot wounds before, mostly on his kill after hunting with his uncle, father, and brother. Gunshot wounds always seemed to be innocuous—a small hole pierced through the feathers of a pheasant, but he never noticed the damaged they did to the interior body.

            Now riddled with bullets, he reflected on the pain he had inflicted on unsuspecting birds. Had he known previously, he would have never picked up a rifle. Seeing the wounds on his leg, he was shocked he survived.
How ironic not one bullet was lethal? Unfortunately, I am fated to live or at least for some time. Perhaps it is only until they get out of me what they need and then they will kill me for sure. What purpose is it for me to be alive?

            The damage to Deni’s muscles and tendons made moving difficult and recovery long. He winced as the nurse applied more antiseptic and a new bandage. “Maybe you want to try salt,” he said.

            She said nothing as she dabbed the wound with antiseptic-laced gauze.

            “Ouch,” whined Deni.

            “At least you have legs,” she said. “Roll over onto your stomach.”

            Deni quietly obeyed. She exposed his ass to tend to the wound on his derriere. Being turned about like a slab of meat, it was exactly how Deni felt at the moment.

            Shortly after Nurse Cratchet left Deni’s room, his hospital door opened and a petite middle-aged woman with a short grayish blonde bob hairstyle entered. Her dress was business casual: lightweight casual black Capri pants, a short-sleeved sweater and Birkenstock style sandals. She was for the most part dowdy and highly unimpressive. She reached out her hand to Deni. “Hello, I’m Marsha Lentz, your public defender.”

            Deni sat up and grimaced from the freshly applied antiseptic to his wounds that still found parts of the open sores to sting. He shook her hand with a twisted, painful expression. “I was kind of hoping for someone like that hot red-head on SVU.”

            “Yes, of course. I was warned of your charm.” Marsha pulled up a chair to a small table alongside Deni’s hospital bed and pulled a large accordion file out of her brief case. “First I want you to get the hell off your soap box. If you feel the need to get something off your chest, you tell me. Got it?”

            “Got it,” said Deni.

            She started going through the papers in the file. “There is a lot to go through, so give me a moment and just a suggestion: if you were going to commit a crime, please have the decency to erase the porn you downloaded.”

            “Americans have such an obsession with sex,” said Deni.

            “And you seem to have an obsession with blonde cheerleaders.” Marsha pulled out Heather’s senior picture from Deni’s file and displayed it to him. “Pretty girl, it’s obvious you miss her.”

            “That’s disgusting,” he said.

            “You know the real curious thing is when the feds were going through your dorm room, they found all sorts of things, but you know what they didn’t find?” Marsha questioned.

            “What?” asked Deni

            “A Quran,” said Marsha.

            Deni patted his chest. “It’s in here.”

            Once again Marsha displayed Heather’s picture. “And this girl is not? That’s sad. What happened? Did she dump you? Refuse your advances? Is that the reason for the porn?”

            Deni angrily bit his lip. “You people are such perverts.”

            “It seems odd to me that someone with such a devotion to Allah, would spend his time masturbating to porn.”

            “Is it possible for me to have a different defender? Your services are highly questionable,” argued Deni.

            “Sure, but I’ll tell you most defenders will walk through the motions with you. No one really wants to defend you. They’ll just hand you to the meat-eating prosecution. I honestly care about your despicable hide. So what’s your choice, someone who doesn’t give a shit about you, or someone who will actually work for you?” asked Marsha.

            “Okay, so what’s with the questions? I don’t get it,” he said.

            Marsha sat back in her chair and studied Deni. “In order for me to defend you, I have to understand you. Everyone has a dark side and a bright side. You have so dramatically demonstrated your dark side; my goal here is to find your bright side.”

            “What’s my file say? Surely you have my bright side somewhere documented in that huge file of yours?” questioned Deni.

            Yes, there is an awful lot in this folder, but I’m more curious about what you think of yourself.”

            “Well perhaps we can discuss this over tea and crumpets. Are you a public defender or a nanny therapist?” questioned Deni.

            “No, the nanny therapist will come later,” replied Marsha.

            “Okay, first tell me, what is your dark side?” asked Deni. “Let me guess. You jaywalk. You don’t come to a full stop at stop signs.”

            “I lay awake at night and wonder how I can get away with murder. I come up with all sorts of plots on how to kill people. So you see, since I spend my time thinking about it, I can think of ways to get murderers like you off. In order to defend a criminal, I must be able to think like one,” she said.

            Deni laughed and pictured the dowdy spinster-like woman lying awake at night planning various murders. “So have you gotten many murderers off?”

            “A few, also many avoided the death penalty. I had one client years ago. She was a woman who survived the bombing of Berlin during WWII. She was raped several times and sometimes gang-raped by Russian occupying soldiers, but one day she met a handsome American who bought her home to be his bride. Throughout the years of marriage she suffered, emotional, verbal and even physical abuse. One time she just snapped and beat him to death with a meat tenderizer.”

            “How ironic, all she wanted was some tender loving care.” Deni laughed. “What happened?”

            “She was exonerated by extreme emotional distress and now living comfortably in an assisted living home.”

            “So then what are my chances?” asked Deni.

            “Not good, but you have a couple things going for you—your age, the fact your brother seemingly was pulling the strings and well, of course, your charm,” she said with a heavy dose of sarcasm. “The prosecution has a mountain of evidence against you, so you and I need to partner to turn all that evidence against them. Now, tell me something about your bright side.”

            He thought for a moment, but couldn’t come up with something.

            “There must be something that proves there is a  human being living in that shell you call a body,” she said. “You pick litter off the street; you don’t swat at flies.”

            Deni shrugged and thought for a moment. “Well, there was this girl in high school, Maria Shoenecker. She was, well, rather slow. One time I saw a couple guys leading her to the back of the school to a wooded area.”

            “They were going to rape her,” said Marsha.

            “I suppose. I guess. Anyway, I confronted the punks and told them to let her go. They didn’t want to get in any trouble over a retarded girl so they did. That chick ended up following me around the rest of the school year,” he said.

            “You were her hero,” Marsha said. “You saved her dignity and maybe even her life.”

            “It was nothing.”

            “It’s always nothing to the person who does the good deed, but it’s always meaningful to the recipient,” she said.

            “What’s the big deal? I kept a retarded girl…oh excuse me…a special needs girl from being raped. I’m still heading for death row. It doesn’t solve anything.”

            Marsha sat back in her seat and studied Deni. ‘“There was nothing there when I reached the age of falling in love.”’

            “Well that sure sounds gay. What the hell does it mean?” questioned Deni.

            “It’s a quote from a book, The Forgotten Soldier, an autobiography by an SS soldier during WWII. That was his reason for enlisting in the SS. It means that when there is no love in the heart, something else must fill the heart¾political ideology, religious fervor, drugs…porn. Seems to me you have a big ‘ole empty heart.” She looked at Deni. “Were you ever in love?”

            “Sure, I love my family and friends,” he said quickly.

            “That’s not my question. Were you ever
in
love?” Marsha asked again.

            Deni stared at the white wall across from his hospital bed and wondered about love and chuckled. “In love. It’s a romantic western notion; it has nothing to do with the realities of life. Again, how does this have anything to do with defending my case?”

            “Answer my question,” replied Marsha.

 

            The humidity hung in the evening air and it filled his lungs so heavily that Deni could barely breathe. He walked off the football field after catching a pass and then took off his helmet. Sweat poured from his forehead and his entire uniform stuck to every crevice of his body. He couldn’t imagine feeling more uncomfortable.

            At the cooler, he took a few deep breaths to cool and calm down and then poured himself a cup of Gatorade. Glancing up he saw Heather standing on the sidelines and holding her pom-poms limp at her side. She too was sweating profusely; her blonde bangs plastered to her forehead. Deni watched her take a deep breath and wipe her forehead with her arm. There was only one thing for him to do; he poured another cup of Gatorade and walked inconspicuously toward the sideline.

            He extended the cup of Gatorade to her. “Heather.”

            She smiled broadly and leaped to take the cup from him. “Thanks,” she said as she took a sip.

            “You look hot,” he said.

            Heather laughed and winked. “I am hot.”

            Deni raised his eyebrow, grinned and turned away from her. He walked back and stood just outside the white lines of the playing field. Dropping to one knee he looked up at the scoreboard, but it was all a blur. He didn’t see anything; he just felt this sweet sensation surging throughout his body. Bringing a smile to a girl’s face, doing something for her when she was in need was just so sublime. Hard to imagine love was that easy; too bad it was something he had to resist.

 

            “Deni!” Marsha called to get his attention. “You’re at the age of falling love. Were you ever in love? What was there for you?”

            Deni gazed directly into Marsha’s eyes. “God.”

            “Really? There doesn’t seem to be much evidence of that either,” replied Marsha. “I may not look like much, but being a good lawyer means getting beyond the words. You talk a lot, but you never really seem to be saying anything.”

            “I’m saying a lot, but people are not very good listeners,” Deni responded. “People only hear what they want to hear. Anything that is unpleasant, or against their agenda, they suddenly grow deaf.”

            “Surely there was someone who was a good listener, someone you connected with,” said Marsha.

            Deni lowered his head. “I can’t think of anyone.”

 

            It was a gusty October afternoon when there was a knock at the Daudov’s door. Kamiila opened the door to find Heather dressed in sweats, hair pulled back in a loose ponytail and a basketball under her arm. “Can Deni come out and play?” she asked.

            Kamiila opened the door, without inviting Heather inside. “Deni, a girl is here to see you!” she yelled in Russian.

            When Deni came to the door, Heather bounced the basketball on the Daudov’s front porch. “Are you up for a game of one-on-one?”

            “Sure, let me grab my sweatshirt.” He was only gone for a minute and then reappeared.

            They walked to Heather’s BMW which she had parked a few doors down. Deni had been hanging out with Heather so often now that it became second nature getting into her passenger side seat. Being driven around by her never really bothered him; he actually grew to like it, but he didn’t like the music she often played on the car stereo.

            Deni searched through Heather’s iPod for music. “Can we listen to something else other than girly music? What is that shit anyway?”

            “T’pau,” Heather said. “I downloaded some War for you. I know how you like the old stuff,” she said.

            “Well I am from the old country. I need some catching up,” he joked and then switched the song to Spill the Wine.

            Heather glanced over at Deni. “What does that song mean anyway¾take that pearl?”

            “Heather,” Deni sighed.

            She gripped the steering wheel. “Okay, got it. So how many pearls have you taken?”

            Deni laughed. “I’m a discerning diver.” He studied Heather’s profile while she drove. “I only go down when I’m certain I have found treasure.”

            “Wow, that’s almost poetic…almost,” she replied with a wily grin.

            “It’s about as romantic as I get,” admitted Deni.

            They gave each other fleeting glances and then arrived at the basketball court. Heather parked outside the court’s large chain-linked fence. She bounced the ball. “Okay, twenty one.”

            Deni got into defense position and said, “Twenty one for me, maybe two or three for you.”

            “Ha! Funny,” said Heather.

            She dribbled directly at him. He stepped aside and tried to block her with his shoulder, but she shot and scored. “That’s one, zip,” she said and then bounced the ball to him.