The Last Innocent Man

1

“Nice of you to drop by,” Larry said sarcastically as soon as the guard shut the door to the private visitor’s room.

“Don’t, Larry,” Jennifer began. She wanted to say more, but her courage failed her. Larry started to say one thing, changed his mind, and shook his head.

“I’m sorry. It’s just with the trial starting…I just thought you’d visit more.”

Jennifer did not answer. She turned and walked to the far end of the narrow room. Larry followed her and touched her arm.

“I said I’m sorry, kitten. I’m all wound up.”

“I know,” she said quietly. He had lost weight, and he looked sad and defeated. She did not want to hurt him any more than he had already been hurt, but she knew she would have to.

“Larry, I don’t know if I can go through with it.”

Larry paled, just staring, his mouth partly open.

“What…what do you…?”

“It’s no good. They’ll see that I’m lying and it will make it worse for you.”

“No. No. You’ll do okay,” Stafford said desperately. “Nash believes you, right? He’s a pro. If we’ve got him fooled, the jury will be easy.”

Jennifer tried to say something. To talk to him. But her stomach was cramped with fear and self-loathing, and she felt short of breath. Larry just stared at her, afraid to speak. The silence in the room terrified him.

“Jenny, they can’t prove anything,” he said finally. “How will they know?” He stopped. He was pleading. “Besides, it’s the truth. I told you that, didn’t I? I swore to God.”

Jenny still could not speak. She could see the panic in his eyes.

“Goddammit,” he said, his voice rising, “you can’t change your story now. You’ll crucify me.

“Say something. It’s your fault I’m here. Do you want to bury me now?”

His voice rose in pitch and cut through her. She started to cry.

Larry grabbed her roughly by both arms. His fingers dug into her flesh, hurting her.

“Answer me, Jenny. Do you want me to die? Because that’s what’s happening to me here. I couldn’t stand prison, locked away. I can’t stand it now. The noise, the smells. This filth.”

He raised his arm like an accusing angel and pointed at the room.

“Do you hate me so much that you want me to live the rest of my life like some animal?”

She started to cry, turning her head from him, not wanting him to hold her or comfort her. He was right. She did not hate him. She was only tired of him. Disillusioned by the destruction of the love that she had once felt for him. She couldn’t let him end up in a place like this. Not even if he had…She could not complete the thought, because if Larry had killed that woman, then she was partly to blame.

“All right,” she whispered, her voice catching in her throat. “All right.”

Stafford let her go. He was afraid and alone, and he could see the strands of his slender lifeline unraveling before his eyes.

Ortiz slouched down in the passenger seat of the unmarked police car. He had on a heavy jacket and a sweater, and he was still cold. Beside him Jack Hennings blew into his cupped hands, then tucked them under his armpits for warmth.

“I can’t believe it’s this fucking cold,” he complained.

“Tell me about it,” Ortiz mumbled. He leaned forward and wiped a space on the windshield clean where it had fogged over.

“I don’t see why we can’t just bust in and arrest him,” Hennings said.

“I told you why. My snitch said T.V.’d have it on him. I’m not going to risk missing it in a search and have that asshole laughing at me up and down the avenue.”

“I’d rather have every nigger in the city laughing at me than have to sit out here for another hour.”

“Besides, Kermit is probably in there with him, and I want to be sure where he is when we move.”

“Monroe’s a pussy,” Hennings said. Hennings was big and talked tough, but Ortiz doubted he’d be able to take Kermit Monroe one on one.

“If you think it’s so easy, Lone Ranger, why don’t you go over there all by yourself and call me when it’s over?”

Hennings grinned. “Don’t get so nervous, Bert. I know karate.”

“Oh, Jesus, that’s all I need.”

“Besides,” Hennings said, holding up the Magnum he had placed on the seat of the car, “the man won’t be doin’ much wrasslin’ with his balls in China. Now, if-”

Ortiz sat up. The door to Johnson’s house opened, and two men were illuminated by the porch light. From where they were sitting, it was easy to make out Johnson in his ankle-length fur coat.

“Let’s go,” he said, and the two policemen left the car. Johnson and Monroe talked as they walked to the curb. Ortiz and Hennings moved quickly, trying to attract as little attention as possible as they approached. Monroe turned his back to them and opened the passenger door for his boss. The howling wind muffled the sound of footsteps. Monroe turned and made a move for his gun. He stopped when he saw Hennings poised in a shooting stance.

“Freeze!” Hennings shouted.

Johnson stood with his hands half-raised and a stunned expression on his face. Then he bent his head and squinted into the dark and cold.

“Is that you, Ortiz?”

“Shut up and spread against the car.”

“What the fuck you doin’, man? I’m clean.”

“I said, against the car. Both of you.”

“I ain’t humiliatin’ myself in no-”

Ortiz hit Johnson in the solar plexus as hard as he could, then kicked him in the crotch. The pimp looked as if he were going to be sick. He slipped to his knees. A quick look of surprise crossed Hennings’s face. Monroe started to lower his hands.

“Just try it, fuck face. I’d love to waste you,” Ortiz said, swinging his weapon in Monroe’s direction. The big man looked uncertain for a moment, then slowly leaned against the car as he had been told.

“Now, spread,” Ortiz commanded, pulling Johnson to his feet and shoving him against the car. Hennings kept a few paces back and Ortiz frisked Monroe. He handed a gun and a switchblade to his partner. Hennings placed them in his pocket. While Hennings’s attention was distracted, Ortiz slipped the plastic baggie from his pocket and palmed it. Johnson was still doubled over and in pain, but he was doing his best to spread-eagle in order to avoid another beating. There were no wisecracks now, Ortiz thought with satisfaction. No bad-mouth.

Ortiz reached around in front of the pimp and pretended to search inside his coat for a weapon. Suddenly, he pulled his hand out of T.V.’s pocket and waved the baggie toward Hennings.

“Bingo,” Ortiz said.

T.V. turned his head. His eyes opened wide when he saw what Ortiz was holding.

“What’s that?” he asked, surprise distracting him from his pain.

“Your passport to the penitentiary, T.V. Now, move over to that police car so we can escort you downtown.”

“You planted that!” T.V. said incredulously.

“Shut up,” Ortiz said softly.

“You in on this too, pig?” T.V. asked Hennings.

“Didn’t you hear Officer Ortiz tell you to shut your face?” Hennings asked.

Ortiz jerked Monroe’s hands behind him and cuffed the big man. He made sure that the cuffs were too tight. He gave T.V. the same treatment.

“I’m going to read you your rights, gentlemen,” Ortiz said as the prisoners were hustled to the police car.

“You are really a sick son of a bitch, Ortiz. You plant that shit on me, then talk about rights.”

Ortiz read the Miranda rights to the prisoners, then motioned them into the back of the police car. There were no handles on the inside of the back door, and a wire screen separated the back seat from the front. Hennings drove and Ortiz leaned back. Monroe looked out the back window, accepting his fate silently. Johnson slouched beside him with a sullen expression on his face. The whole thing was unfair. He expected a beating now and then. He had seen police lie on the witness stand when an arrest was legitimate but the defendant would escape on a technicality if the truth came out. But this was different. It was…was…unfair.

Johnson looked through the mesh at the back of Ortiz’s head. Ortiz wanted something. He had a feeling about it. Something he wanted bad enough to break the rules. He’d wait and see what it was. If he could, he’d do what Ortiz wanted; then he would wait for his chance.

“Why you plant that dope, Ortiz?” T.V. asked when they were alone in the interrogation room.

“I didn’t plant any dope on you, T.V. My informant said you’d have it on you and you did. Anyone who watches television knows you’re a notorious pusher. Why wouldn’t you be carrying narcotics?”

“My lawyer gonna tear that story apart. You got no case on me.”

“Oh, yeah? When you talk to your lawyer, ask him how he’s going to do that. A court won’t order me to tell you the name of an informant. It’s the law, T.V.”

T.V. was silent for a moment. His eyes darted nervously from one side of the room to the other, as if looking for some way out of his predicament.

“You ain’t nothin’ but a crooked cop, Ortiz.”

“Try and prove that in court. You think a jury will take the word of a nigger pimp against mine? You’re gonna do ten hard years on this, T.V., unless…”

T.V. looked up from the floor. “Unless what?”

“Unless you tell the truth about what that white man did to your whore friend.”

“You still on that kick?” Johnson asked, surprised.

“The truth, T.V., will set you free.”

“How? How you gonna arrange for me to beat this rap?”

“I found the evidence, I can lose the evidence. You play ball with me, and this case will disappear like one of Houdini’s card tricks. But you fuck with me, and I’ll see you in the penitentiary doing hard time. My word.”

“Your word ain’t worth shit,” Johnson said in a sudden burst of anger.

“Maybe,” Ortiz said with a broad smile, “but it’s all you’ve got.”

Johnson stood up and walked to the far wall. He turned his back on Ortiz. It was quiet in the soundproof room.

“And suppose I tell you what I know? Is that all?”

“No. You tell the jury. You testify.”

“I gotta…I don’t know if I can do that.”

“Well, you better decide fast. The trial starts tomorrow and you don’t have much time.”