Double Jeopardy

9

8:45 A.M.

TRAVIS BUMPED INTO CAVANAUGH as he hurried through the courthouse. He surveyed her stuffed attaché case and determined expression and drew the obvious conclusion.

“Not you again?”

“I’m afraid so, counsel. Double jeopardy doesn’t apply to prosecutors.” She placed her briefcase on the conveyor belt of the X-ray machine. “Blaisdell asked me to handle the Moroconi case weeks ago. You have a problem with that?”

“No. It just seems a little unfair. You can’t be in full fettle so soon after yesterday’s crushing defeat at my hands.”

They passed through the metal detector and started down the corridor to Courtroom Three. “Spare me the egomania, Byrne. Today’s case is a whole new ball game.”

“In what way?”

“Have you met your client yet?”

“Uh, yeah.”

She smirked. “Then you know. Face it, you’re going down in flames this time. Even if the evidence wasn’t all against you, which it is, your client is such a disgusting little creep the jury will send him to the slammer anyway. It’s hopeless.”

Travis tended to agree, but he wasn’t about to let her know that. “We may have a few surprises for you.”

“Don’t try to buffalo me, Byrne. You haven’t had sufficient prep time. It’s going to be a case of the blind leading the repugnant.”

“We’ll see.”

“And if you’re hoping to make a deal, forget it. We already tried. Your client refused all plea bargains. You’re stuck with him till the bitter end.”

Travis veered off toward the men’s room. “I’ll just have to make the best of it. See you in five minutes.”

“I’ll be waiting. With bated breath.”

Travis pushed open the door and entered the bathroom. It was a tiny room—one sink, one urinal, one stall. The walls were composed of a grungy green tile streaked with mildew. Given the seemingly permanent odor, Travis preferred short visits during which he could conceivably hold his breath for the duration.

The urinal bore an out-of-order sign, so he used the stall. After he finished, he pushed open the door and stepped out.

There were two men in dark suits standing outside the stall. Staring at him.

“Excuse me,” Travis said. He tried to push past them to get to the sink. The man on his left, an older man who was chewing a cigarette, leaned away from his much younger companion, blocking Travis’s way.

“Hey, what do you think—”

Before Travis could finish his complaint, the cigarette man slammed him back against the wall. Travis’s head thudded against the tile; bursts of light flashed before his eyes.

“Look,” Travis said weakly. His brain felt scrambled. He realized he was slurring his words. “There are … s-security guards outside and—”

The cigarette man drew back his fist and punched Travis in the soft part of his stomach. Travis cried out in pain and fell forward onto his knees. The man blasted his face with the back of his fist. Travis’s head smashed against the stall door. Blood trickled from his nose.

The younger man reached for Travis’s throat. Fighting to clear his blurred vision, Travis grabbed his assailant’s hand and squeezed down on a pressure point. The man cried out. Travis tried to wrench the man’s arm behind his back, but before he could finish, the cigarette man chopped the side of his neck with his flattened hand. Travis fell back against the wall, releasing his grip on the young man’s hand.

The cigarette man grabbed Travis again, this time by the collar of his jacket, and hauled him up to eye level. Travis’s stomach burned; every movement was excruciating.

“Lose, asshole.”

Travis tried to form words, but his lips were numb and unresponsive. “I don’t … understand. …”

“You unnerstand enough.” The man reached down and clamped his hand onto Travis’s groin. “Feel that? I want you to remember what that feels like. Your balls are in my hands.” He grinned malevolently. “In a minute, we’ll disappear. But don’t be fooled, asshole. Your balls will still be in my hands. You’re gonna lose.”

The man squeezed tightly. Travis screamed in pain. His knees weakened; he tumbled back down to the floor. The cigarette man shoved him away and started to leave, then whirled around suddenly and kicked Travis in the gut, in the same aching spot he had hit before.

Tears clouded Travis’s eyes. “What … do you want?”

The man sneered. “You know what we want. Now you need to figure out what you’re gonna do about it. If you decide not to cooperate, it’ll be the last decision you make. We’ve taken care of punks like you before and we’ll do it again.”

Travis wanted to shout for help, but found he had no breath, no voice. He clutched his stomach helplessly.

“Just remember. We’ll be watching, asshole.” The two men left the bathroom.

Travis lay in a crumpled heap on the floor beneath the sink. He was gasping for air like a drowning man. His groin and stomach were on fire. He wanted to crawl up to the mirror and see if there was any permanent damage, but he couldn’t manage it. He hurt too much.

He felt the warm blood flowing out of his nostrils, forming a sticky puddle around his mouth. He hoped his nose wasn’t broken.

After all, he was due in court in less than five minutes.