THE OVERTON WINDOW (14 page)

From the sound of it, this new call was either to an assistant district attorney or the DA himself, but before he could pick up the gist of the conversation something grabbed Noah’s full attention through the thin window by the door frame.

Out in a common area, a dozen or so men were gathered together having coffee and a collegial chat with some uniformed police. He stood and stepped closer to the glass, trying hard to believe his eyes.

In this surreal gathering was every heckler, every troublemaker who had made himself apparent during the speeches at the bar. Every one of them was dressed similarly, the differences being confined to the inflammatory slogans on their clothing and their selection of cracker-chic accessories. When scattered among a larger group they’d been harder to spot as co-conspirators, but all together like this, with their guard down, their costumes were obvious and their mannerisms out of character. It looked like the after-party of a Larry the Cable Guy stunt-double audition at Central Casting.

One of them matched a picture in Noah’s memory to the very last detail. He was sure this time: the man was wearing a loud flannel shirt, a hunter’s vest, a do-rag torn from the corner of a Confederate battle flag, and a shoulder holster.

He heard the call end and the phone snap closed behind him.

“Okay,” Charlie sighed. “Let’s sit down and talk about this, Dillinger.”

“Charlie—”

“Correction. You stay quiet and let me talk to you.”

They sat, with Noah taking a chair that preserved his view to the

hall.

“I don’t know what you did or didn’t do,” Charlie said, “and I don’t
want to know. What matters is what they could charge you with, which is putting your hands on a cop while he’s doing his duty, and that’s a first-degree felony in this state. Look at me. If you did that, in the eyes of the law it doesn’t matter
why
you did it—self-defense, heat of the moment, temporary insanity, doesn’t matter—conviction is a virtual certainty.

“Now, I called in some major favors, and they still wanted to charge you with something less egregious, simple assault, disorderly conduct, whatever. Then I called in some more favors and we worked that out, too. You’re going to walk out of here tonight like this never happened.”

“Listen to me for a second—”

“This is a big deal, Noah. And I’ll tell you something else: this is it. I spent all your get-out-of-jail-free cards tonight. Until further notice if you so much as jaywalk, miss a trash can with a gum wrapper, or play your car stereo too loud, and any of these guys get wind of it? Forget about it. Starting now, if you step out of line below Thirty-fourth Street there won’t be much I can do for you.”

“I understand, and thank you. Can I say something now?”

Charlie checked his watch. “Go ahead.”

“This whole thing was a setup.”

“I don’t care.”

“Those guys, right out there”—Noah pointed through the glass, and Charlie looked briefly in that direction—“they were at this meeting tonight, where all this happened, and they were there specifically to start something. When they got tired of waiting for the people to get violent they did it themselves.”

“Let me see if I understand you. You’re saying that you think an undercover New York City police officer discharged his weapon in a crowded bar to incite this whole incident?”

“Yes.”

“No way. Absolutely not.”

“Okay, not a cop, then. I didn’t see any badges on the men who burst into that place, maybe they were … I don’t know, contractors, hired security men who did the dirty work and then turned us all over to the NYPD—”

“Noah,” Charlie said. His voice was patient but firm. “Calm down. Whatever really happened, none of this matters to you.”

“How can you say that? That guy right there, the one with the visitor’s badge and the holster under his vest, that’s the guy who fired the shots that started all this! Then the men in riot gear came busting in immediately, there was no call to nine-one-one, no delay, they were right there waiting outside the door. And the press—all those reporters were already here outside the station; how would they have known—”

“Okay, so it was a setup. And what do you think we can do about that, you and I? Who are you now, Nelson Mandela? News flash, son: there’s no Santa Claus, no Easter Bunny, and no Legal Fairy who cares about what you think you saw. Injustice exists in this world, and while you’re lucky enough to be insulated from the worst of it, most people aren’t.” He patted Noah on the arm. “Your righteous indignation is noted and filed. Now come on, let’s go count our blessings and get a slice of pie, somewhere uptown.”

“I’m not leaving.”

“I’m sorry … what?”

“Not without everybody else who was brought in with me.”

Charlie didn’t respond right away.

“You’re sure about what you saw,” he said at last.

“Positive.”

“Because if I open this can of worms again and I come up empty-handed? There’s a good chance we’re going to blow this deal I just made.”

“Charlie, I’m sure.”

“Okay,” the lawyer said quietly. “Let me look into it and I’ll see what
I can do. But I’ll tell you right now, whatever I find out, this is going to take a lot more chips than I’ve got in my pocket. That means I’ll have to call your dad.”

That wasn’t welcome news, but Noah took a deep breath and nodded his permission.

CHAPTER 14
 

He’d kept calm as he walked down the last long hallway toward the exit of the First Precinct, but as Noah finally stepped out onto the sidewalk his heart began to work so hard he could nearly see it pounding beneath his borrowed shirt.

Injustice exists,
Charlie had said, and for that fact his young client was now profoundly thankful. If it had been an abuse of power that put him in jail for most of the night, then it was surely a second abuse that had coerced the authorities to let him go. But, however it was won, it was still freedom, and maybe for the first time he fully understood the meaning of that word.

According to Charlie, after he’d started digging, a group of cops had eventually come forward to corroborate Noah’s version of the evening’s events: they’d apparently wanted to play no part in the railroading of this harmless group of like-minded citizens. Just as a minor rebellion was threatening to break out between the actual uniformed officers and the contract security forces who’d been working the scene, a phone call had come in from some high echelon, and right away everything was abruptly and quietly settled.

Noah stopped near the street, suddenly spent and unsteady, and
leaned against a lamppost for support. He took in a deep breath of the cold, sobering night air, right through a thin dagger of pain that jabbed hard between his ribs. It hurt, but not as though anything was permanently damaged in there; bent for sure, but not broken.

All the others had begun filtering out behind him, checking their watches, counting and pocketing their returned personal effects, everyone looking thoroughly relieved and happy and hardly any the worse for wear. The out-of-towners were scanning the urban horizon for landmarks as though they’d been airdropped into the darkest corner of Borneo without a compass. But one by one they helped each other, and before long most of them seemed to have gone their separate ways to sleep off the evening’s adventure, safe and sound in their own rooms instead of a prison cell.

Noah was surprised by how different things appeared outside. Hours ago it had been stormy, bleak, and miserable, but now the sky was clearing with the soft lights of the predawn metropolis outshining all but the brightest stars.

Something lightly brushed his arm and the contact shook him out of his reflections. As he turned to see who’d touched him he found himself needing to look up to make eye contact.

“Just wanted to say my thank-you,” Hollis said. If he’d still had his hat he would have been clutching it shyly in his hands.

“Hey, don’t mention it.”

“No, no.” Hollis shook his head solemnly. “I’m in your debt.”

“I’ll make a deal with you,” Noah said. “Tell me what time it is and we’ll call it even.”

The big man looked up and seemed to take a bearing on a number of celestial bodies before ciphering a moment. “I’d say she’s nigh onto half-past four in the morning, give or take some.”

“Four-thirty. Should I assume that’s Mountain Time?”

Hollis smiled politely, as though a good friend had made a joke that wasn’t very funny. “Good night, now,” he said.

“Take care.”

Up the street a few blocks Noah saw his car round the corner. He raised a hand to make himself known to the driver and watched the Mercedes blink its brights and signal toward the curb.

Noah took a step toward the car, but stopped when he heard familiar voices behind him. He turned to see Molly and her mother saying goodbye to the last of their departing compatriots. The two of them had apparently stayed back to make sure everyone made it out to the street. When they saw him standing there Molly whispered something in her mom’s ear and they walked up to him together.

“We were never properly introduced,” the older woman said. “I’m Beverly Emerson.”

“Noah Gardner.” They shook hands. “It goes without saying, but I wish we could have met without all this trouble.”

“I understand we have you to thank for going to bat for all of us tonight.”

“That makes me sound a lot more noble than I feel.”

“I appreciate what you did, very much.” She gave her daughter a small motherly nudge with an elbow.

“So do I,” Molly said. There was something hard to place in the way she was looking at him; it wasn’t quite an apology in her eyes, but something like it.

For his part, he was feeling more and more uncomfortable with all the misplaced gratitude, as though he’d done any more than throw his father’s weight around.

“I’ll pass your regards along to my lawyer when I see him again. He’s still inside cleaning up after me.” The car arrived, eased up to a smooth stop, and its door locks clicked. Given the circumstances he would have preferred less of a showboat, but the dispatcher had sent one of the silver S600 Pullmans from the downtown garage, a vehicle only slightly less ostentatious than a Richie Rich stretch limousine. “Could I offer you two a ride somewhere?”

“Oh, that would be fantastic,” Beverly said.

Molly took the seat across from him, with her mother beside. The interior of this particular car was designed as a four-person conference room and workspace. Even so, its amenities were every bit as over-the-top as any limo devoted to simple luxury. Every point of contact was hand-worked leather and rare polished wood. Each of the four seats, arranged two-facing-two, was bordered by glowing flat panels ready to provide access to a dizzying array of information or entertainment. Touchscreens were embedded seamlessly in the armrests and consoles, poised to order up any conceivable human need. The entire vehicle was a rolling monument to the comforts of First World business royalty; for the cost of the custom work alone within these few cubic feet, you could easily buy a nice house almost anywhere in the world.

“I don’t always get to travel like this,” Noah apologized as the car got under way. “But just for perspective, my dad wouldn’t be caught dead in a Mercedes. He rides in an armored Maybach 62, or he walks.”

It turned out that their destinations were all in nearly opposite directions. When the driver asked “Where to?” over the intercom Noah guided him first to the nearest of the three, the Chelsea Hotel. Meanwhile, the two women were looking around at their lavish surroundings, seeming hesitant to touch anything for fear that if they broke it they might have to buy it.

“You’ll like this,” Noah said, as he opened a center compartment by his side. Behind the sliding door was a neat pyramid of Turkish hand towels, kept constantly warm and moist like fresh dinner rolls. With a set of tongs he passed one to each of them, and then unrolled his own and pressed the steaming cloth to his face, rubbed in the heat, leaned back, and breathed in the faint scents of citrus and therapeutic herbs. His riding companions did the same, and soon there were long sighs from across the compartment, the sounds of unrepentant indulgence, comfort, and relief.

He knew exactly what they were feeling, though he was managing
to keep somewhat quieter about it. The physical sensation was nice enough, but a great mental weight had also been lifted, and that was just now sinking in. The bad night had officially run its course and all three of them were still standing.

For the next round of refreshment Noah opened the side bar and passed across a soft drink for each of them. Several blocks whispered past the long windows; despite the occasionally rugged pavement and the never-ending city noises outside, the car’s interior was pin-drop quiet and steady enough for major surgery.

“Molly tells me that you’re a creative writer.”

Noah had been in the midst of a sip, and nearly spit out his ginger ale.

“Oh, is that how she put it?”

“It’s such an interesting business you’re in,” Beverly said. “What’s a typical day like, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“Typical day,” he said, considering. “Looking at Friday, yesterday now, let’s see … I can’t really discuss what I did early in the morning, same with the afternoon, but at midday I wrote some talking points for a man, a U.S. senator from out west who’s about to become the subject of an ethics investigation.”