A Fool for a Client (25 page)

“Very well.
Does the DA have any objection to bail?”

“We do, Your Honour.
The suspect was very uncooperative with the police at first about
–
”

“The suspect does have the right to remain silent,” the judge pointed out forcefully.

“Yes but at first he wouldn
’
t even give his name.
Aside from that he is a citizen of a foreign country and as such he might not be inclined to show up for trial.”

“Mr. O
’
Brian?”

“Well Your Honour I was staying at an inexpensive hotel where people can easily get into other people
’
s rooms through the window and some one must have put the gun
–
”

“Mr O
’
Brian I
’
m not trying the merits of the case,” the judge cut in.
This is simply an arraignment appearance to determine whether or not bail should be granted.”

“Well I haven
’
t got a lawyer so I don
’
t know how you decide whether I get bail or not.
But if the DA is worried that I won
’
t show up for the trial I could always give you my passport.”

“A good point.
As their are no priors and the charge is only possession of a firearm rather than actually using it, I
’
m inclined to release the defendant pending trial.
However as he is a foreign citizen I won
’
t release on recognizance.
Bail is set at ten thousand dollars.
And the defendant
’
s passport is to be surrendered to the Court.”

Declan suppressed the urge to mouthe an obscenity.
In fact it would have cost him nothing.
The judge was too hardened a veteran of the bench to take notice of such things.

There was a bitter taste is Declan
’
s mouth.
Where am I going to get ten thousand dollars
.
He didn
’
t know about such creatures as bail bondsmen.
But he soon would, because several of the legal vultures were already circling in the air around him.

“You really screwed Abrams yesterday.”

Central park
was sweeping by as Rick Parker, tired beyond belief, struggled to keep apace with Justine. Her fitness astounded him.
Admittedly, long and tiresome law studies and professional practice had turned him into something of a couch potato.
But still it was humiliating to have to struggle to keep up with a girl.

“How do you mean?” asked Justine.

Even her breathing was shallower and easier than his heavy panting.
From her voice you couldn
’
t tell that she was running at all.

“The DA wanted to cash in on the publicity from your trial.
That was the whole idea behind his guest appearance.
He picked a safe witness whose testimony couldn
’
t easily be shaken in order to make sure that it didn
’
t blow up in his face.
Then you pulled the rug out from under him and ruined his golden moment.”

“I know,” said Justine.

“It
’
s all dirty politics with them of course.”

“I guess the DA was unlucky that Abrams didn
’
t have another witness lined up.”

“The idea was that the DA would draw it out till the end of the afternoon.
I don
’
t know how he hoped to accomplish that, but that
’
s sure as hell what he had in mind.
It may be that he
did
have another witness outside, but didn
’
t want to chance handing him over to the DA.
The idea was that the DA would question a witness whose testimony was solid.
The last thing Jerry wants is egg on his face in an election year.”

*     *

A few yards away Declan was poised behind a tree, waiting for the right moment with a mixture of excitement and apprehension.
One the shysters at the Hall of Justice had introduced himself and explained about “bail bondsmen” making a living out of putting up bail.
From that point on, it had been absurdly simple getting out of jail.
He had no intention of going back after making the hit.
That would merely expose him to further danger.
It was bad enough that he had to talk his way into a back room of a
Harlem
pub (or “bar” as they called it here) and hand over a wad of cash for an unreliable “Saturday night special” that he had stripped and oiled to make sure it
was still in working order.

He would hardly be using his brain if he went back to answer to some stupid firearms charge, even if he could be sure that all he would get was a fine or probation.
If some idiot who didn
’
t know him wanted to throw good money after bad getting him out of jail in the hope of seeing some return on the investment, that was his mistake.
Declan had already put up 10%, which he would forfeit by not showing up.
But that would be all he forfeited.
And the bail bondsman would lose a whole lot more.

Declan had decided that it would be best to kill Justine with a silenced handgun at close range.
Instead of having to dismantle a rifle and drive away with it, as that so-called “professional” would have had to do, he would just slip the gun back into the shoulder-holster beneath his loose fitting sweat shirt, and carry on running like any other early-morning jogger.

He hadn
’
t brought the field glasses this time. They would have aroused suspicion.
Joggers don
’
t usually carry binoculars.
Aside from that, they would have been an added burden, and he needed mobility.
Besides, he knew her routine well enough from his past observations, and he knew therefore that she was getting near.
He knew her schedule like the back of his hand.
Any second now she would come into view.
He would jog behind her, make sure that there was no one else around and execute the bitch.

She was in view now.
He started jogging a few yards behind. There was a man running along just behind her, black.
However, he appeared to be out of breath and she would soon open a distance between them.
Declan knew that all he had to do was keep up with Justine, while the black dropped back behind them..

“I
’
m glad you
’
re finally beginning to appreciate my style,” said Justine.

My God!
She
’
s onto me.

A feeling of dread swept over him.

“Well after what you did to Ostrovsky before that it was obvious that if you weren
’
t a medical student you
’
d probably make a very good lawyer.”

Not me, Declan realized, She
’
s talking to the black guy.

It took the Declan a few seconds more to recall where he had seen the black before.

So her lawyer
’
s jogging with her?

Now the whole task of execution became problematic.
Sure he could kill them both.
The Irish Nationalist movement had killed innocent people before, with bombs as well as guns.
In war
, he told himself,
there are no innocent bystanders, only the indifferent and the
wilfully
ignorant
.

But deliberately shooting a bystander so that he couldn
’
t testify was upping the ante.
It would seem like a cowardly act, not like the act of a soldier.
A soldier is ready to sacrifice himself as well as other people, like the hunger strikers who had starved themselves to death when they were denied the status of political prisoner in British prisons.
To kill to protect his identity would not arouse much sympathy in the
United States
.
The fact that the lawyer was a black would also count against them in the eyes of American liberals.
It wouldn
’
t be politically correct.

Declan despised American liberals and the concept of political correctness.
But sometimes they were both useful.
Like horse manure.
He put the gun back in its shoulder holster, inside his jogging suit.

*     *

Rick was working up a heavy sweat how.
It was an unfamiliar feeling, using muscles in his calves and thighs that he had almost forgotten existed.
He had never been one for exercise, or even late-night dancing.
His right arm was then only part of his anatomy that really knew what hard work was, and even then, a pen or telephone receiver was the heaviest object it got to work out with.
So now he found himself stretching his endurance to the limit just to keep up with Justine, while she ran ahead of him effortlessly.
He regretted having allowed himself to degenerate into so much of a couch potato.
It was not as if exercise would have taken that much time out of his studies.
She
managed well enough.

There was a cramp in his stomach and a burning sensation in his chest.
If he were running away from some life-threatening danger he would probably have found the strength to keep going.
But there was no such danger.
If anything it was pleasure rather than pain that kept him going.
And the sight of Justine was at the centre of that pleasure.

His eyes, which had been focused initially on Justine
’
s straight broad back, had now dropped to the curve of her buttocks.
He felt the first sensation of a hardening between his legs and looked away.
In his loose sweat pants it might not show, but he didn
’
t want such thoughts to undermine his ability to do his job. Getting involved with a client was the biggest no-no in the book.

Keep it strictly professional, he told himself.
Easier said than done, his libido answered.

“Justine,” he gasped.

“What?” asked Justine, flicking her head round to see how far behind he had fallen.

“Can we stop now... I
’
m kind of... exhausted... “

“All right Woody Allen,” she said with comforting sarcasm as she slowed to a halt.
“Mama
’
s gonna take you home.”

“Your place or mine?” he asked, as he covered the distance between them in five fatigue-laden steps.

He noticed the hard, angry glance given her by the tough-looking man who jogged past her, but didn
’
t understand it.
As Rick caught up with her she held out her hands to him, helping him steady himself.
He fell against her breasts all the same.

It was ten minutes later when they arrived back at Justine
’
s duplex.

“This is some place you
’
ve got here,” said Rick as he looked around the spacious lounge in awe.
He had just stepped across the threshold and was now turning around slowly, taking it all in.
The room had bronzed mirror
panelling
on the walls, creating the illusion of even greater space, and floor-to-ceiling windows giving a breath-taking view of the city.

It had been Rick
’
s idea that they jog together.
He had erroneously assumed that the stamina that sustained him during his research all-nighters would give him what he needed to burn shoe-rubber.
It had taken him less than two minutes of moderately-paced running to discover that he was wrong.

But jogging had not been his objective in any case, not as an end in itself.
It was Justine he was after. He wanted to solve the enigma.
Most importantly he wanted to win her trust and get her to let him help her.
He knew that he could help her, if only she would give him that chance.

“Look why don
’
t you take a shower while I rustle up some breakfast?” asked Justine walking towards the kitchen.

“I
’
ve got a better idea,” said Rick following her.
“Why don
’
t
you
take a shower while
I
prepare breakfast.”