Hardy parked across the street from Frannie’s door and turned his front wheels into the hill to prevent runaway. He sat shivering, hands tucked under his armpits, wondering if Glitsky might start to care again if he found out about the $85,000 insurance money. It sure couldn’t hurt to bring it to his attention…
But why? Why not be happy about Louis Baker being off the streets again? Wasn’t that the goal? Shouldn’t he just move back home and go back to bartending at the Shamrock on Tuesday and pick up his life where he’d left off and be grateful he’d survived?
Except what was he going to pick up? Frannie might have called this a “window in time,” and maybe for her things could go back to being the same-he didn’t really believe that. Frannie was in his life now in a far different way than she’d been before. And, of course, that had changed the space where Jane had been so carefully placed.
And what about old Diz himself? He’d always thought of himself as a pretty good citizen, a man of some principle, if not part of the solution then at least not part of the problem either.
But now, a little shake of the cart, and Diz the white knight is ready to give up Louis ’cause he’s done some bad shit sometime? Maybe not what they’re getting him for, but something. He wondered, not for the first time, how he’d feel if Baker hadn’t been black.
But, shivering in his Suzuki Seppuku, since he was being honest with himself, he knew absolutely how he’d feel-he’d feel outraged that Louis Baker was being denied due process, that Louis Baker was being railroaded because of his background. Not that he might not have done it, but whether or not he did, they weren’t checking it out the way they should.
So why wasn’t he outraged?
Is it, Diz, because maybe this black/white thing here in the liberated ’90s was really only a matter of degree? Turn the fear up a notch and take a look at your true stripes. Hardy perceives his life threatened by Baker-whether or not that’s reality-and to protect himself, Hardy is delighted to lock Baker away forever or sit him in the gas chamber.
But wasn’t that always the reason? You perceive that your way of life, your neighborhood, whatever, is threatened, and your instinct is to protect yourself. You don’t worry about justice, the right thing. You just want the damn threat to go away. The fear to go away.
And you don’t really care, finally, if the fear is baseless.
You just don’t want to be confronted by it. You don’t want to live with it or even see it. So you don’t let them on your bus. Or in your neighborhood. Or date your daughter.
Hardy rubbed his eyes, feeling defenses rise against this vision of himself. That wasn’t him. Some of his best friends, etc., etc. Look at Abe Glitsky, for Christ’s sake.
And remember that just last night Louis Baker had, in fact, shot at the police while breaking and entering Jane’s house. This wasn’t some poor lamb he was dealing with here.
Fine. Grant that. But is he a murderer? More particularly, did he kill Rusty and Maxine? What happened out at Holly Park doesn’t have shit all to do with Dismas Hardy, does it, Diz?
Yeah, but here’s what it does have to do with. If Baker hadn’t killed Rusty-and okay, maybe that was still a big ‘if-then the guy (or woman, thank you, Courtenay) that did it… Ray Weir, for instance… was sure getting helped out by Dismas Hardy pointing at Louis Baker and saying, “Trust me, I’m an ex-cop and that’s your man.” Which Hardy had in fact done.
If any of this was so, and if Baker, admittedly no saint, had not killed Rusty, then Hardy found himself in a position that pissed him off. Because somebody had put him in this thing, maybe even helped him set up Baker for a fall. He thought he’d like to find out who, and kick some ass.
Hardy opened his car door and stepped out into the street. He had no desire to go back to his house, or to start bartending in two days. He owed it to himself to find out what was really going on here.
He looked up at the stars. Louis Baker could personally rot for all he cared. He knew that. But the situation surrounding him was tying Hardy in knots, and until he could get some of them untied he wouldn’t be free to get on with his life.
Chapter Sixteen
It’s a fantastic opportunity!”
Manny Gubicza was afraid of this reaction. Treadwell was excited and didn’t seem to understand his lawyer’s reluctance. Manny should have asked him to come down at lunchtime to discuss this in person, but he had another appointment at lunch, and with his powers of persuasion all he would have to do to Treadwell was pass along the D.A.’s offer and explain how stupid it was-that is, if Treadwell listened to him.
“It’s a trap,” Gubicza said.
“How can it be a trap? I didn’t make this up, remember. The bastard did kill my Poppy!”
“I know.”
“Well?”
Fred was really hot for this. The lawyer spoke in a measured voice. “I think we can assume, Fred, that the D.A. isn’t suggesting a polygraph because they want to help your case.”
“But it doesn’t matter! Once I-”
“Please, let me finish. The offer is that you come down and go over the statement you’ve already made, and if the polygraph checks, they’ll proceed on the Medina angle.”
“Right. That’s what I want.”
“No, it’s not what you want.”
“Manny…”
“Fred, listen. They’re going to have to come up with at least a hearing anyway, and eventually an indictment. They’ve already got your statement. Medina did it and he’ll be punished for it.”
“But they said they weren’t going to. I know they didn’t believe me. They were going to interview Medina and he’ll deny everything and they won’t have any evidence and they’ll drop it.”
“They might try, but haven’t we been using the media to tell this story as much as anything else? Hasn’t that been working?”
He heard the change in his ear; Treadwell had switched him from the speakerphone. “Look, Manny, this whole thing hinges on my credibility.” Treadwell was whispering insistently. “You think I’ll let them get me on Raines and Valenti. No way! If you know it’s a trap, you use it for your own ends. I know you think only a lawyer can be any good under questioning-”
“That’s not true, Fred,” Manny lied.
“-but all I do is tell them what happened again, and they’ll see it’s the truth. Think what the media could do with that! It’s perfect for us!”
Manny punched up his own speakerphone, putting Treadwell on it, and stood up. He paced behind his desk. “Fred, here’s a hard truth. In the legal world, to the extent that something is not completely controlled by you, it’s the enemy. This is not a friendly little parlor game. Lives are at stake. Yours, for example. Valenti, Raines, Medina. People cheat in these situations.”
Manny didn’t think he had to point out that he and Fred were cheating from the git-go. That wasn’t the point. The point was to build your case from what you decide are the facts you’re going to use. They were doing that very well.
He didn’t want Fred anywhere near a polygraph. Though the results of a lie-detector test were not admissible at trial, it could be a damaging tool, especially at the pre-hearing stage. He stopped at his window, looked down the street, across at the Pyramid. He walked over to his desk again. “I can’t let you do it, Fred.”
“So we’re just going to pack it in, admit that we lied.”
“It’s not that!”
“It even seems like it’s that to me. Think what the D.A. will do with it.”
“The D.A. will just continue plodding along.”
“And drop Medina.”
Gubicza hung his head, putting his weight on the back of his chair. “They will probably not pursue it with much vigor,” he admitted.