The Lost Years

68

Wally Gruber and Joshua Schultz sat across from each other, separated by an old wooden table, in the attorney-client conference room. “You look nervous, Josh,” Wally said. “I’m the one in Rikers Island, not you.”

“You’re the one who should be nervous,” Schultz snapped. “There isn’t one guy locked up in this rat hole who doesn’t hate a snitch. Billy Declar is already passing the word that you gave him up. You did it for a reason, but you’d better watch your back.”

“Let me worry about that,” Wally said dismissively. “You know, Josh, I’m kind of looking forward to driving out to New Jersey tomorrow. It’s supposed to be a nice day and I could use a breath of fresh air.”

“You’re not driving out, Wally. You’re being hauled out there in handcuffs and chains. It’s not an outing. No matter what you come up with, you’re still going to do some hard time. Okay, you were on the level about the jewelry. But if you’re lying about the face you claim you saw and nothing ends up coming out of the sketch, who knows? They might ask you at that point to take a lie-detector test to check out your story. If you refuse, or you take it and fail, they’ll think you’ve played around with them on a homicide case. If that happens you’ll be lucky if getting back that jewelry takes six months off your sentence.”

“You know, Josh,” Wally said with a sigh as he signaled to the guard standing outside the door that he was ready to go back to his cell, “you’re a born pessimist. I saw a face that night. I can see that face as clear as I’m seeing yours. And by the way, the person was better looking than you. Anyhow, if nobody they show the sketch to recognizes it, then the shooter was probably hired to get rid of Lyons, right?”

The guard had entered and Wally stood up. “Josh, I got one more thing to tell you. I got no problem at all if they want me to take a lie-detector test. My blood pressure won’t rise and my heart won’t skip a beat. That graph with all those lines running through it will be as smooth as a baby’s bottom.”

Joshua Schultz looked at his client with grudging admiration. Completely undecided in his own mind as to whether Gruber was pulling a fast one, he said, “I’ll see you in the prosecutor’s office tomorrow morning, Wally.”

“I can’t wait, Josh. I miss you already. But don’t go in there with a long face and act like you don’t believe what I’m saying. If you do, the next time I get in trouble, I’ll find a new lawyer.”

He means it, Schultz thought as he watched the retreating figure of his client being escorted back to his cell. He shrugged. I guess I should look on the bright side, he decided.

Unlike a lot of my other clients, Wally always pays my bill.