The Mayor of Lexington Avenue

Sixteen

Despite his initial trepidation (to put it mildly) when he first learned that Tracey James was going to represent Rudy, the Fourth had started to feel more confident each day as the proceedings moved along. He would still have to convince Harry Tuthill to stay on board but was confident he could. After all, Harry had come this far with him.

Tracey had filed a Motion to Set Bail that was a joke. Bail was set at $150,000 and Rudy remained in jail. She had also called him about having her psychiatrist see Rudy in jail.

“I could file a motion,” she’d told him. “But I’m hoping we can avoid that.”

“What are your grounds for the psychiatric evaluation?” Clay asked, knowing he had no basis to refuse. She was either trying to set up an insanity defense or a fitness to stand trial defense.

“I want to try to show that Rudy did not have the capacity to refuse to talk to Detective Brume.”

Clay almost started laughing into the phone. “I’m not sure I’m familiar with that motion.”

“I don’t know if it has ever been argued before.”

“Well, you certainly have the right to make the argument. Why don’t you send me a stipulation and I’ll forward it to the judge?”

“Fine.”

There was only one circuit judge in Cobb County, Gabriel Wentwell, and Clay had appeared before him enough times to know that the motion Tracey planned to file wasn’t going to fly anyplace but straight into the trash can. Judge Wentwell was a fine man in many ways: distinguished military career, church deacon, good family, and a good lawyer. His tenure as a judge had been marked with the same colorless consistency as the rest of his life. There were no surprises with Judge Wentwell-no politics, no favoritism. He was not the kind of man who was going to go out on a limb for some novel theory of law. He’d listen politely and he would pause appropriately to think about it, but ultimately he would just brush it aside in favor of the known, traditional rule of law.

Clay didn’t know-or care-what sort of evidence his opponent might present to try to make her point. His confidence was brimming again, and all he could think about was what a cakewalk this was turning out to be after all. But there were other things he didn’t know that might have given him more pause. He didn’t know that Ray Castro and Jose Guerrero had left town, because Wes had never told him. He also didn’t know that Pilar Rodriguez had come in for a lineup and failed to identify Rudy. As far as he knew, he had three witnesses ready and waiting.

Elena didn’t tell Rudy that she had lost her job and had to move out of the hotel. She thought it would upset him too much, but she underestimated her son. Rudy was doing well in the county jail sticking with his routine. He had made friends with the guards and some of the other prisoners, one of whom, Juan Morales, was a prison veteran. Juan, like Rudy, was Puerto Rican, a skinny little fast-talking, chain-smoking con man who had all the answers. He took Rudy under his wing and gave him some expert advice about how to handle himself if he ended up in the general prison population.

“In the beginning, you wanna act a little crazy. Most of ’em are afraid of kooks. All you wanna do is be left alone. I don’t wanna tell you this but you’re young and handsome, they’ll be on you like shit on flypaper.” Rudy tried to picture shit on flypaper but he couldn’t. He had no idea what Juan meant but Juan was on a roll. “You’re gonna be tested early. You can wait or you can make the first move.”

“The first move?”

“Yeah. You know, kick somebody’s ass. Pick a white guy. The blacks and Latinos will like that. Beat him good but not too bad. You don’t wanna create a vendetta or anything.”

“How do I start a fight with somebody I don’t know?”

“You catch his eye, then you say, ‘Are you lookin’ at me? Are you lookin’ at me?’ Say it louder the second time so everybody will hear you. The shower’s a perfect place because it gets the point across. Then you hit him and you don’t stop hittin’ him till he’s down. Pick a big guy. The biggest, toughest-lookin’ white guy you can find.”

Rudy certainly appreciated Juan taking the time to tutor him on prison life. One thing puzzled him, though: Juan was about five foot two and a hundred and thirty pounds soaking wet and he didn’t know karate like Rudy did. How did he get by? Something inside told him not to ask the question.

So Rudy was doing just fine, but he could tell from his mother’s face during her most recent visits that something was wrong and it wasn’t what was happening to him. At first she had handled his situation with a fighter’s disposition and had actually been upbeat when Tracey took the case. Now she was sad all the time, her shoulders slumped. When he asked about the hotel and all the regulars, her answers were short and didn’t really tell him anything. Usually she loved talking about the colorful cast of characters who breathed life into the old place on a daily basis. Rudy’s first inclination was to ask a direct question, but once again something inside told him to let it go.