Blackjack

73

The remainder of July 3 was spent in the judge’s chambers with Lawrence LaCroix.

LaCroix was still hurting from the beating he received from Black. His arm was in a sling and his leg was in a splint. His eyes were dark from having a broken nose and busted jaw, and it was painful for him to speak, but he was talking fairly clearly out of the corner of his mouth.

“Let me get this straight,” the judge said. “You are not British?”

“No,” he said. “I’m not...”

Callison shook his head and looked over to Virgil, Valentine, and me.

“Where are you from, Mr. LaCroix?”

“I was born and raised in Milwaukee, Wisconsin.”

“Actually, let me ask you first before we get into more insanity, what is your real name?”

“Ben Salter.”

Callison nodded.

“Ben Salter?”

“Yes.”

“We can believe that?”

He nodded.

“We can assume you have no reason to lie about that?”

“No reason.”

Callison shook his head.

“And, according to Mr. Pell here,” Callison said with a glance to Valentine, “you have no idea who paid you to lie?”

“No,” he said.

Callison looked at him for a moment, then sat back in his chair.

“You are a worthless piece of shit,” the judge said. “You do realize that, don’t you?”

He looked at the judge and lowered his head.

“I have been a judge longer than well water, and in that time I have never come across anything as despicable and atrocious as you.”

Ben Salter’s chin was on his chest.

“I needed the money,” he said quietly.

“Come again?”

Ben looked up, making eye contact with Callison.

“I needed the money.”

The judge shook his head in disbelief.

“You testified in that room out there,” the judge said with a point toward the courtroom, “to send an innocent man to hang.”

Ben Salter looked to the three of us, then back to the judge.

“It was him or me,” he said.

“What do you mean by that?”

“I was over my head in debt,” he said.

“Go on.”

“Gambling debt, to some very unsavory men that were going to kill me. They’d killed others. I knew this, but I... had no choice.”

“Where was this?”

“Saint Louis.”

“You did not come here from Denver?”

“No, I did come in from Denver, I made the trip to Denver before I came here. I went to the police in Denver and told them I was an eyewitness, that was part of what I was supposed to do and then I came here, but I’m from Saint Louis.”

“Why did you not just leave Saint Louis and get away from these men instead of doing what you did?”

He shook his head and started to cry.

“I have a wife and kids.”

Callison shook his head.

“How was it this... anonymous... opportunity came about for you?” Callison said.

“I received an envelope with half the money that I owed,” he said.

“How much money?”

“Twelve hundred dollars.”

“Continue,” Callison said with a roll of his finger.

“In the envelope was a letter with instructions on how and when, if I performed convincingly, as I had performed in... in the play, I would receive the other half.”

“An additional twelve hundred?”

“Yes.”

“And what made you think that there would be the money waiting for you?”

“There was the promise of a five-hundred-dollar bonus.”

“And you believed this?”

“Yes, the fact there was twelve hundred was good enough for me.”

Callison looked to us and shook his head dramatically.

“For the life of another man?”

He nodded.

“I fucked up.”

“Oh, yes, you did,” Callison said.

Callison glared at him for a moment.

Callison turned in his chair and pointed to the painting.

“This is not yours, I presume?”

Ben looked at the painting and shook his head.

“And you are not a painter?”

He shook his head.

“No.”

“So how was it you acquired the... this Bloom Where You Are Planted painting you showed here as evidence?”

“The note had instructions for me and what I was to do.”

“Which was what, exactly?”

“Arrive here,” he said. “Check into the hotel and I would find further instruction. If I performed convincingly, I would get the rest of the money and the bonus.”

“And what was the instruction?”

“There was the painting and a note detailing what I was to do with it.”

Callison shook his head again.

“What is your profession?”

“I’m an actor,” he said.

Callison’s eyes got big.

“My God,” he said. “A thespian?”

“Yes,” he said.

“In Saint Louis?”

“Yes.”

“Where did you receive this letter?”

“At the theater,” he said. “In Saint Louis. The Saint Louis Theater.”

“Explain,” Callison said.

“I was doing a play,” he said. “And after an evening performance I went back to my dressing room and I found the letter, with the money.”

Callison turned and looked to us and shook his head slowly from side to side, then looked back to him.

“Where did you have this gambling debt?”

“All over town, really,” he said. “I would borrow money, and I just kept borrowing, and I thought I would get ahead, but I didn’t. For a while I was in very good favor, but then my debt got bad and I was kicked out of most places.”

“Did you gamble in the casino that was opened by Mr. Black?”

“Yes.”

“Yet you did not know Mr. Black?”

“No, I never met him. He was gone from Saint Louis before I ever went into the place.”

“You say you were in good favor? What do you mean by that?”

“I had a credit line, but then it was called and I was barred from going into most places, including Pritchard’s place.”

“And you did not go to the police, I take it?”

He stared at Callison.

“No.”

“You are in serious trouble,” Callison said. “You understand this, don’t you?”

“Yes,” he said.