Untitled (39 page)

  "They want me to win the case, Roberta. Yes, I'm sorry I didn't tell you before, but I couldn't trust you."

  "Great. Obstruction of justice, jury tampering. No, I can't take this anymore," said Roberta.

  "Roberta, calm down. We have to figure out what to do about this."

  "I want out of this, Marshall. Let's go to Nate and Sommers."

  "How do we know they're not involved?"

  "They can't be," said Roberta. "This is somebody outside of all this. I can't sleep, I can't do anything. I swear someone's watching my place."

  "Just hold on," said Marshall. "I'm working on something."

  "Look at me. I'm a mess. I can't wait. Every day I walk by Nate's office and his door looks like a confessional. If I go in now, maybe I'll just get suspended for five years or so."

  "Roberta, you know that's not true. If you go in now, you'll be disbarred and jailed—and so will I. I haven't disclosed anything. I'm in this too, whether I like it or not."

  Roberta looked at Marshall with a surprised expression. She had not thought of it that way until now. She had gotten her friend into her dilemma.

  "Jesus," she said. "Marshall, I'm sorry. Maybe you can pretend that you just caught me."

  "That will lead to other more embarrassing questions, and how do we know they won't say I helped you steal that money? No, it's too risky. Now, you go back upstairs and finish whatever you were doing, then go home and get some sleep. Do you have the gun I told you to get?"

  "It's in my car."

  "Good. Now go. I'm right behind you."

  Roberta walked off. Marshall waited a few minutes, then went back to his office. He went back to work for a half hour or so before Walter came by.

  "What's with the open door?"

  "Just needed some air," said Marshall. He got up and walked to Walter. He didn't want to talk in his office. Marshall strolled about the bull pen with Walter.

  "So, is Roberta okay?" asked Walter.

  "I guess," said Marshall. "Why do you ask?"

  "No reason. She was just acting strange."

  "Really," said Marshall.

  "I was coming by to give you the supplement on the DNA test when I heard her inside. She said something like, " 'Go to hell.' " Then she ran out of your office and headed down the stairs. And get this. There was no one in there with her."

  "How long ago was that?" asked Marshall.

  "It was a while, a half hour or so. Hey, I think maybe she was on your phone."

  "Yes, probably," said Marshall calmly. "Let me go see if I can catch her."

  Marshall got his things and went to the parking garage and drove away, headed to Roberta's condo. What was she doing? he thought. She'd obviously talked to the bug in his bookshelf. Had she told her blackmailers to go to hell to antagonize them? She had snapped, he reasoned. The pressure of the situation was too much for her. He remembered how shocked she looked when she realized that he was in as deep as she was legally. She had gotten herself into trouble, and the thought of dragging him in also was too much for her. He blamed himself. She was obviously not equipped to deal with the situation. And what he was doing was certainly not the smartest thing.

  Marshall got on the Chrysler Freeway and hit the gas. Roberta lived in Troy, and he'd have to push it. He took out his cell phone and called her house. He listened as her answering machine came on.

  He hesitated. He didn't want to leave an incriminating message of any kind.

  "Roberta, Marshall. Look, call me at home this evening, okay? I need to ask you a question." He hung up the phone and punched the gas harder.

  Suddenly, traffic slowed, then it stopped. It looked like an accident. He got over in the right lane to exit the freeway. An ambulance whizzed by on the shoulder.

  It never failed, he thought. Whenever you were in a hurry this happened. Then, panic struck him. Marshall pulled his car on the shoulder and raced toward the accident ahead.

  He stopped at the scene. There on the median was Roberta's car, a tangled mess of steel and glass. He looked for another car, but there wasn't one. It was a one-car accident.

  Marshall jumped out of the car but was stopped by a police officer.

  "What the hell do you think you're doing?" said the officer.

  "U.S. attorney. The driver is my coworker." Marshall flashed his ID.

  "Sorry, sir," said the cop. "I think she's gone."

  "But the ambulance is right there."

  "No, gone the other way. Dead. I think she's dead."

* * *

"Gimme them guns," said a voice from behind Danny.

  Danny knew he had only a second to act. He dropped himself to the ground, turning at the same time. Behind him, he saw a fat kid holding a small .22. The kid fired but missed Danny. Quince and the other two kids hit the ground.

  Danny fired the Glock, hitting the fat kid in the arm. The gun flew from his hand, and he yelled loudly. Danny got up to one knee and saw Quince with a gun in his hand, running out of the yard. Quince fired over his shoulder at Danny but missed.

  Danny fired the revolver and hit a wooden post as Quince passed by it. Splinters flew into the air. Quince kept running.

  Danny got up and ran behind him. Quince was at a car and ran to the driver's side. Danny fired both guns at the car, shattering the windshield and flattening one tire. He could have hit Quince, but unfortunately, he needed that bastard in good health. Quince ran away from the car and down the street. Danny ran behind him.

  Quince ran to the corner and ducked into a vacant house. Danny got to the place and heard yelling inside. He went carefully inside and saw Quince holding a homeless man with his gun to the man's head. Several other homeless men cowered against the walls.

  "Give it up," said Danny.

  "Fuck you," said Quince. "I'll shoot his ass."

  "You think I care about some homeless muthafucka? Go ahead, drop him if you want. Because in three seconds, I'm gonna shoot you no matter what."

  Quince shoved the homeless man at Danny and ran. Quince fired a shot that went into a wall, blowing a big hole in it. Danny threw the homeless man aside, and ran after Quince.

  In the back room, Quince was at a door that was boarded up. Danny entered the room and Quince fired several times at him. Danny fell to the floor in the next room, avoiding the blasts.

  Danny heard Quince kick the door open and run outside. Danny followed and then heard a man groan. He stepped out the back door and saw Quince flat on his back. A tall, thin black man held Quince's gun. Danny stopped. The man looked to be one of the homeless squatters. Danny put his guns away. The homeless man walked toward him and raised Quince's gun.

  "Take this," he said to Danny in a voice that was surprisingly soft. "We don't need trouble."

  "What did you do to him?" asked Danny.

  The tall homeless man raised a small baseball bat.

  "Thanks, man. What's your name?"

  "Gordon," said the man. "Please, don't come back here," said the man. "We're peaceful men, and we don't like to be disturbed."

  The man spoke in an elegant manner, which didn't fit his dirty, ragged appearance. Many homeless men were merely unlucky people who were disconnected from life. This man had been educated in his former life and had not lost all of his polish.

  "Fine," said Danny. "But he comes with me."

  "You can put him in this," said the tall man, pointing to a shopping cart. Danny pulled out some handcuffs and put them on Quince. He had to get him to his car quickly before any police came in response to the shooting. He lifted Quince into an old shopping cart, and rolled him off.

* * *

Marshall sat in the intensive care waiting room with Ryder and Walter and Roberta's family. Roberta had survived the car crash but just barely. The cops said it was a hit-and-run of some type and were looking for the owner of the other vehicle, a black Chrysler.

  Roberta was banged up pretty badly. Her legs and one arm were broken. Her internal organs were damaged, and she had already lost a kidney. The doctor's prognosis was not good.

  Marshall begged the doctors to let him see her. They did, but only for a moment. She was in a coma and didn't know he was in the room. She lay on the bed, tubes and wires everywhere. It was a mess.

  He was angry and scared. He could not let it go now, he reasoned. Whoever these people were, they were not going to kill and hurt people with impunity.

  He went close to Roberta and promised her that he'd get the people who did this to her. And he said the words knowing that it meant putting himself in the line of fire.

M
arshall stood across the room from Lewis Quince, who was tied to a chair in Marshall's basement. His workout equipment had been moved to make room for the hostage.

  Danny sat on an old chair and drank a beer. He seemed surprisingly happy. He'd called Marshall's house and left a message, cheerfully telling him that he had found Quince. Danny then set up bringing Quince in.

  Marshall left Roberta and her family at the hospital, but not before calling the U.S. marshal and persuading him to put a guard on Roberta. He was very unsure of things at this point and he wanted to insure her safety as much as he could. He hoped it would be enough.

  Danny rolled up soon thereafter with Quince locked away in his trunk. Then they went and got Quince's car and parked it in a lot several miles from Marshall's home. Every so often, Quince would curse and slam his fist into the trunk lid. Danny would respond by hitting the brakes. They could hear Quince's body slam into the walls of the trunk.

  They had returned to Marshall's house and took Quince inside. Danny had sent Vinny home, knowing that she didn't need to know what they were up to.

  Marshall's head was spinning from Roberta's near-death accident and the events within the trial. He was still looking good to convict Mbutu for a crime he probably didn't commit, and now he and Danny were coconspirators in a kidnapping. Not bad for one week.

  "We don't want to hurt you, Quince," said Marshall. "All we need is some information."

  "Fuck you," said Quince. "You couldn't beat me on that case, so you send this black-talking white boy to kill me."

  "If I wanted to kill you, you'd be dead," said Danny.

  "All I want to know is where my brother went," said Marshall. "We got word that you saw him in the city."

  Quince laughed. "Is that all? You snatch me for a piece of shit like him?"

  "Then tell me, if it's no big deal," said Marshall.

  "No," said Quince. "I got my ass kicked, and your boy here fucked up a perfectly good sale to some customers. I want to be compensated for my loss."

  "You was sellin' guns to kids," said Danny. "Fuck you."

  "Drug dealers," Quince corrected. "Fuck how old they are. They sell, and they all kill. That's my business. Deal with it."

  "What do you want?" asked Marshall.

  "Are you kiddin', Marsh?" asked Danny. "We can't pay this muthafucka. Let me beat it out of his sorry ass."

  Marshall took Danny aside. He saw how pumped up Danny was. It was dangerous to let him loose. He took him into a corner, out of Quince's earshot.

  "I have to get this thing going," said Marshall. "It's only a matter of time before the people who got Roberta figure out I know something."

  "Yeah, but this guy is a—"

  "I know what he is. Believe me, he'll end up in prison one day soon no matter what we do here today."

  Danny thought about it. The need to get Quince was still very much in his eyes, but he seemed to accept Marshall's logic.

  "All right," said Danny. "But I still say we should beat his ass."

  Marshall smiled a little. Having a friend to do random violence was a good thing and sometimes amusing as well. He walked back over to Quince. "Okay, what do you want?"

  "Three thousand," said Quince. "And I want a guarantee that if I'm ever picked up again, you'll let me off."

  "I'll give you a thousand," said Marshall. "No guarantee if you catch a case, and if you don't take it, my man here gets to try it his way."

  Quince contemplated the deal, checking Marshall's face for signs of lying. Marshall's expression was resolute and didn't waver under Quince's glare.

  "Okay," said Quince. "Untie me from this damned thing."

  "Tell us what we want to know first," said Marshall.

  "I can think a lot better if my circulation comes back," said Quince.

  Marshall untied Quince. Danny pulled his revolver and showed it to Quince as a reminder to behave.

  "Okay," said Marshall. "Where is he?"

  "He's holed up with a friend of his, a small-time dealer named Half over on the east side."

  "Why do they call him Half?" asked Danny.

  "Cause he's half black and a lot of other stuff," said Quince. "A mongrel, like you. He lives off Conant near Six Mile."

  "I can find him easy," said Danny.

  "Anything else?" said Marshall.

  "Yeah," said Quince. "I think he's been up to his old tricks. He was following these two men, but he didn't know I was following him. They all went into a house in Rosedale Park, but only Moses came out."

  "I'll check that," said Marshall.

  "The money," said Quince.

  "You can have it," said Marshall. "Or you can trade it for what we found in the trunk of your car."

  "What the fuck is this?" asked Quince. "That wasn't part of the deal!"

  "That's my point," said Marshall. "You want the grand, fine, but we keep the stash."