Judging Time

20

Wally Jefferson did not find Julio that day in any of his usual hangouts in Queens. He found him in the Magic Club off Broadway in West Harlem at 9:39 in the evening. Julio was leaning against an un-painted side wall, drinking a Corona from the bottle. From the way he was standing it did not look like the beer was his first. But the five or six other men weren't standing at all. They were sprawled on chairs scattered around the otherwise unfurnished room in various states of nodding off. Only one grizzled grandfather was watching the basketball game on the TV in a corner, smoking a cigarette and talking to himself.

As Wally gave the signal to the one vigilant man at the door and was let in, Julio turned away from him. He wore a scarf with three knots tied on his head. Wally knew the knots were some kind of code for bad. He'd been frightened by Liberty and chilled from his daylong search and Julio's lack" of acknowledgment. He wasn't in the mood for a display of bad dude. He crossed the space between them on the tips of his toes like the boxer he used to be.

"Hey, man, I told you I needed to talk to you."

Julio's eyes were dead. He shrugged. "Diga me."

"Don't give me any of this Spanish mierda. I need that car back. And I need it now."

"Why need?"

"Because my boss is dead and so is Liberty's wife."

"So people die."

"These people are muy importante, Julio. You have Liberty's car. He reported it stolen. His wife is dead

and because of the damn car he thinks I had something to do with it."

"Thees is no my problema."

Wally bunched his broken hands. "This is your problem. The car has to go back."

"Why?"

"I told you. He and the police think I killed them. I ain't going to prison for killing no woman."

Suddenly Julio smiled. Seven gold teeth flashed at Wally. "Man, wo-man, what difference?"

"Hey, I didn't have nothing to do with this killing."

"No se nada."

"Don't give me that shit, man. They're going to tie this all together, they're going to tie you into it. You're not safe if that car doesn't go back to the garage."

Julio laughed. "Thees is no my problema. Is yours."

"Okay, you want to see it that way, just tell me where the car is. I'll pick it up."

"Thees is the problema. I don't know where the car. "

"What do you mean you don't know? You used it. Where did you put it?"

"Other guy take."

"What guy took it?"

"Don't know name."

"The guy took the car?" Wally was stunned.

Julio nodded. His hollow eyes held a glimmer of amusement. "Took limo."

"You let him take my car?" Wally couldn't believe it.

"Not your car."

"Jesus, are you crazy? The guys in the garage know me. They know me on the street. Why'd you let him take it?"

Julio shrugged.

"What happened? Did something go wrong?"

"Yeah, went wrong."

Wally looked around and took a deep breath. No one was interested in their conversation. Wally's buddies were all too wasted to join a fight on either side. Julio was a small man who owed him a car and a lot of money. "Went wrong" didn't sit well with him. He considered busting Julio's head, then decided to be smart.

"I want the car and my share of the money."

Julio shook his head. "Don't know about the car, but I'll get you some money. You take off. Okey-doke?"

Wally nodded. "Fine, but don't shit me. I want the whole amount."

"Okeydoke. I'll get."

"When? Don't make this hard," he warned.

"Sabado."

"What the hell is that?"

"Saturday. "

"How about tomorrow? .

"Saturday."

Wally chewed on his lips, looked around at his wasted buddies, then nodded. He didn't want to push this Julio too hard. The little man was known to carry a machete under his jacket. Saturday it was.

As the elevator door opened, Rick Liberty could see that the reception area was empty just as Marvin had promised it would be. The door to Marvin's office was open. He sat alone at his enormous desk, his head bent over some papers. Rick pushed back the hood covering his head and the lower part of his face. He unzipped his down jacket that covered the laptop he clutched close to his chest. Underneath the parka, he was dressed in the same well-tailored gray trousers and sweater he'd been wearing for four days.

By rote he'd taken the clothes off to shower several times when he tried to cleanse his mind and find a way out of the tunnel. But the showers didn't help. He was deep inside a pit of darkness and couldn't find a way to go. The stock market had taken a huge dip of 350 points in the last two days on the threat of a rise in interest rates. The market fall looked like a major correction. His clients' portfolios were lined up like soldiers in his laptop computer, demanding his attention and review. But he didn't care about the market.

Other thoughts disturbed him, and he wanted to hide away like a wounded animal. Tor and Merrill were dead, and Rick Liberty knew there was something wrong with him. In the instant of their death he'd been robbed of himself. The famous Liberty, who'd always known how to tum a bad situation into a good one, was suddenly completely at odds with the world, too ashamed to face it.

Marvin looked up and gestured him in. For some reason the gesture frightened Rick. Suspicious of some kind of trick, he quickly pulled the door toward him and looked behind it, then felt stupid to see the space was filled with a Health Rider. Something new in the lavish private office of Marvin Farrish, president and chairman of the board of FCN, the largest black-owned cable-TV network in the country.

"Come in, Rick. Don't worry, no one else is here." Like a cat stretching, Marvin unfolded his compact body from the tilt and swivel orthopedic chair specially designed to ease his lower back pain. The chair and the Health Rider clashed with the massive brass-and tortoiseshell-inlaid French Empire desk and the rest of the priceless antiques. Everything fought for attention in the huge and ornately decorated office that had its own kitchen and private elevator to which only a few of Marvin's closest associates—and his bodyguard—had access.

Marvin Farrish liked to tell white folks that because he had not been tall enough to be a basketball player, dense enough to be a football or baseball player, musical or funny enough to be an entertainer, or handsome enough to be a movie star, he had had to invent some new little thing for a man, black as coal, to be. The white folks usually laughed uneasily when he said this, not sure exactly where the barb was aimed.

"We missed you at the funeral." Marvin opened his arms and crossed the room, eyeing his famous friend as uneasily as white men sometimes regarded him. He tried to give Rick a hug but was prevented from getting close by the computer Rick still held to his chest as if it were the only thing keeping him alive. Drawing away, Marvin waved a hand at one of the two huge armchairs placed in front of his desk.

"Go ahead, sit down. You look like you need a drink."

"I need more than a drink, Marv." Rick sat in the chair, making it look small.

"You sure? I have everything." He waved at the liquor cabinet hidden behind closed doors.

"I know you do."

"Okay." Marvin sat in the other chair, making it look large. "What did you do to your hair?"

Rick reached for the top of his head. "Nothing. What's wrong with it?"

"You've gone gray, man. What happened?"

Gray? Rick was startled and lost his train of thought, didn't know what to say. There was no sound in the office but the ticking of a clock that told the time in six major cities around the world. The ticking clock reminded Rick of the shrink, Jason Frank.

"You're going to need time, a lot of time to deal with this, Rick," Jason had told him. "There are a lot of stages people go through after a death, before they begin to feel better." Jason had never sounded so clinical to Rick before. Since his interview, he now understood where they were going with these questions, what he was looking for. He hadn't told Jason everything. How could he?

Rick listened to the clock and knew his time was running out. As Merrill was being buried in Massachusetts, the police had been in his building all afternoon. The Chinese and the Latino rode up and down in the elevator, timing the trip from his apartment to the basement. From his bedroom window, he had seen the two cops cross the garden that had won so many design awards to the matching building facing Fifty-sixth Street. He'd seen them exit through the gate to the street at a walk, at a run. He'd heard from the doorman that they'd also tried the underground routes through the basement and the garage. There were at least six ways out. He'd heard they tried them all. Then they interviewed the people in the building about his and Merrill's habits, even people in the neighboring buildings. By now they would have found out about the fights and Merrill's screaming. One of the maintenance men and a garage attendant apologized to him for having to tell bad things about Merrill.

"I'm sorry for your loss," Marvin said to break the silence. "She was a good woman."

"Yes, she was," he said with no hesitation.

"It looks bad when a man doesn't go to his own wife's funeral."

"You did a nice job covering it," Rick said. "I appreciate it."

"Her folks are good people." Marvin grimaced and rubbed the small of his back. "It was a long ride to the cemetery and back. ... It took me all day to go, my friend. You had a lot of friends there. We needed to show that, didn't we? Wouldn't be good for the community not to show respect."

"Well, I appreciate it."

"You're looking real guilty, man."

Rick was startled. "What are you talking about?"

"Merrill's folks believe in you, Rick. Why'd you let them down?"

Rick shook his head. "I spoke with Merrill's parents several times. They agreed that under the circumstances my presence would be more inflammatory than soothing."

"I'm not sure that I agree."

"You can be assured that I will visit them as soon as I can. It's a private thing."

"No, it's not a private thing, Rick. You're Liberty, understand? You're public property. You belong to this community. You've got to do what's right. You can't let your friends and your community down and then expect me to protect you."

"I don't need your protection, Marv. I didn't do anything wrong."

Marvin looked around his crowded office, his whole face a question. "Then what you doing here, man?"

Rick was engulfed by hellfire. He could feel it licking at him, teasing him with eternal damnation. He squeezed his eyes shut. "Okay, I do need help." He had to grit his teeth to say it. "I need help, okay?"

"Oh, now you need help. Why not go to your partners? Won't they help you now that you're not Mr. White Nigger?"

Rick's jaw worked on his fury. He didn't want to let go and kill a friend. Involuntarily, Marvin moved his chair back. Rick knew how scary he must seem.

"Oh, they'll help me. But I don't want that kind of help."

Marv made a church and steeple with his fingers. "Give me a hint. What kind of help?"

"I don't want to hide behind a criminal lawyer."

"Really? Why not?"

"Because I didn't kill my wife."

"You think I'm a dumb nigger?"

"Shit, don't start that nigger stuff with me. I hate it. Can't you ever let it go?"

Marvin's first slammed down on his beautiful desk. "No, I can't."

"Shit. You're as bad as they are. Makes me sick."

"Fuck you, asshole. You done a lot of things wrong here. Maybe you're the dumb nigger. You didn't answer my calls. What do you think I am?"

Now Rick pushed his chair back. "Where are you going with this, Marv?"

Marvin glanced at the laptop in Rick's arms, then gave him a hard look. "Why did you let your friends and your community down?"

"I'm the victim here!" Rick's voice rose in fury. "Don't you get it? I'm being set up. The net is closing in. The police are all over my life. You understand? People I haven't seen for ten years have left messages on my machine telling me the cops called about incidents"—he raised his hands—"things that happened—"

"They're doing a background search. So is every TV network, every tabloid." Marv shrugged, then he laughed. "So are we."

"Why? Why?" Rick closed his eyes against the heat of hell.

"Just in case," Marv said. "Just in case." He paused for a moment, then he said, "What do you want, my friend?"

Rick took a deep breath and exhaled. "You have resources. You know what's going on. You have to find out about this guy Wally Jefferson, Petersen's driver. I know he's involved somehow. He says he left Merrill and Tor in the restaurant on the night of the murders. But Tor promised me he'd bring Merrill home in his car. Tor knew I didn't like her out on the street at night. Why would Tor let the driver go home on such a bad night? It doesn't make sense."

"Maybe you're making too much of it."

"The man stole my car while I was in Europe."

"Your limo?"

Rick nodded.

Marvin stroked his chin. "Hmmm. How'd that happen?"

"I was away. He took the car out of the garage. I don't know what he wanted it for." Rick changed the subject. "I need to drop out of sight for a day or two."

"You want me to use my sacred position in this community, where I'm respected as an honest man, to hide a suspected murderer?"

"Oh, come on. I can't even kill a cockroach."

"You almost killed me a few minutes ago, my friend."

As sudden as a tiger, Rick lunged out of the chair, his fist clenched. From behind his desk, Marv watched him without flinching. Rick stopped in mid-gesture. He fell back into the chair, shaking his head. "I'm under a lot of stress."

"Watch the antiques," Marv said softly.

"Okay, think of it this way," Rick said wearily. "When I'm proved innocent, you'll be the only one in the country with the story. How does that sound?"

Marvin turned his head toward the window, but the magnificent view from the high floor was shrouded by heavy velvet drapes drawn against watchers and the night. "Looks real bad when a man doesn't attend his own wife's funeral," he murmured.

"Doesn't mean I won't love her as long as I draw breath."

"You should try a black woman next time."

Rick shook his head. "It never was about color for me. It was about her, but you'll never get that. You're a dumb nigger. You're as dumb as they are."

"Still, I'm the dumb nigger you came to. You haven't been to my home for dinner in a while. Elsie also missed you at the funeral. She'll be glad to know you're all right." Marvin rose and hit a switch, dousing the lights as they left.