Lassiter

59 The Dark Side

Amy was back in her holding cell, probably gagging on her lunch. Two slices of bologna on white bread with a packet of mustard, a half pint of milk, and a small bag of potato chips. Yeah, I hate how we pamper our prisoners.

Judge Duckworth was off to the Bankers Club, sliced tenderloin with a tangy horseradish sauce, a Caesar salad, and a martini, straight up. The jurors were downstairs in the cafeteria, escorted by the bailiff.

The courtroom abandoned, I sat alone at the defense table, surveying the wreckage of my case. Basically, I had a client who wouldn’t level with me, and she had an incompetent lawyer.

I was riffling through my file folders, as if I could find a scrap that would win the case. There was nothing in the paperwork. There seldom is. I opened Kip’s research files, pulled out the forty-year-old photo of Max Perlow and Meyer Lansky walking into the very courtroom where I now sat brooding. Then another photo, an aged Lansky, in dark slacks and light sweater, walking a little dog on a leash.

“Bruzzer!”

The voice from over my shoulder startled me. I turned and saw Castiel.

“Lansky’s dog was named ‘Bruzzer,’ ” he said. “Spelled with two ‘z’s.”

“I know. Max Perlow told me that. Said he used to go with Lansky on his dog walks.”

Castiel eased into my client’s chair, propped his feet on the defense table, and leaned back, both hands behind his head. “Not like you to skip lunch, Jake.”

“Not like me to step on one of your land mines, either.”

“You’re overly aggressive. Sometimes it works. And sometimes …”

His shit-eating grin made me want to slug him. “Tell me the truth, Alex. Did you tell Tejada to stop by Althea’s truck with his lawyer this morning?”

“I might have mentioned something about Althea’s high-octane Cuban coffee.”

“Shit. You suckered me.”

“I’ve been watching Althea feed you plantains and state secrets for a dozen years.” He gave me his politician’s laugh. “I know you too well, amigo.”

Funny thing was, I didn’t know Castiel at all. Until Amy Larkin came to town, I hadn’t known just how closely my pal had been tied to shady characters like his Uncle Max and the Prince of Porn.

“Is Tejada really gonna do time?” I asked.

“Doubt it. He’s a professional snitch. He’s got others to rat out.”

Other bears to outrun, I thought. “Dammit, Alex, you played me.”

“Coming and going.” He whipped a Cuban Torpedo out of his suit pocket and grabbed his gold lighter, that fancy gift from General Batista to Bernard Castiel. “Just wanted you to know I’m a better trial lawyer than you. Always have been.”

“Should I drop my shorts? ’Cause I didn’t know we were having a dick-measuring contest.”

“No need. I’ve got a slam-dunk case, old buddy.”

Oh. I hadn’t seen this coming.

When a prosecutor turns boastful, he’s worried about something. The whole Tejada shtick was a misdirect, like a play-action fake on a passing play.

“So what are you offering, old buddy?” I asked.

“Your client gets convicted, she’s looking at life. But I’ve been doing some soul searching …”

“Let me know when you find it.”

He flicked the lighter, watched the orange flame, then snapped the top shut. “I’d be amenable to Manslaughter, seven to ten years.”

That caught me by surprise. I wondered what happened to: “I’m taking her down, and I don’t give a shit if I take you down with her.”

“Strange, you making this offer right before Charlie Ziegler is gonna testify.”

“Got nothing to do with him.”

“Sure it does. He’s out of control.”

“I met with him last night. He’s strong and steady. Sticking to his testimony.”

“That could have been the Chateauneuf-du-Pape talking.” I was showing off, letting him know I wasn’t clueless about his dinner date.

From the door behind the bench, the bailiff poked his head into the courtroom, checked us out, and said, “Mr. Castiel, if you’re gonna smoke that thing, I’ll get the air freshener.”

“It’s okay, Oscar.” Castiel slipped the cigar back into his pocket. The bailiff left and Castiel turned back to me. “Charlie feels remorse for whatever happened to Krista Larkin. Amy showing up brought it all back to him. Messed him up.”

“Why not just admit it, Alex? You don’t trust Ziegler. You’re scared shitless of what he’s gonna say.”

“The matching bullets are enough for conviction. I don’t need Charlie.”

“Fine. Don’t call him.”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you, old buddy?”

“You bet. In closing argument, I’d remind the jury that you promised an eyewitness. Or maybe I’ll call Ziegler on my case. Helluva chess match, Alex.”

“What about it, Jake? Will you recommend your client take the plea?”

“Amy swears she didn’t shoot Perlow. Whenever I can avoid it, I try not to send innocent people to prison.”

Castiel sighed and looked genuinely sad for his old buddy, namely me. “So many bad choices.”

“Maybe, but they’re my choices.”

“You’re gonna lose, and Larkin’s gonna get new lawyers. They’ll file an appeal claiming ineffective assistance of counsel, and you’ll be in the papers.”

“My clients don’t read the papers.”

Another click of the lighter, the flame dancing. Castiel’s pyromaniacal habit was getting on my nerves. “Just looking out for you, Jake. Didn’t expect you to listen.”

“You’re saying I should learn from Perlow? First, save myself.”

“It’s not bad advice. Uncle Max started telling me that when I was nine years old. Lansky had been telling him that for thirty years.”

I pondered his words. The me-first philosophy had been passed from gangster to gangster to prosecutor. Nothing out of line about that in Castiel’s world. He’s the one who believed that life is a constant struggle of the valiant side versus the dark side. Ever since that first day in his office, I’d been wondering which team was winning in the battle for Castiel’s soul.