Bagmen (A Victor Carl Novel) (4 page)

CHAPTER 7

TROOPERGATE

N
ow Trooper Trumbull,” I said in my cross-examination of the arresting officer, “you testified today that the car you stopped with Mr. Frost driving was swerving wildly across the road. Is that right?”

“That’s right.”

“Back and forth and back again?”

“That’s what swerving means.”

“And the pronounced swerving, which you described on the stand just now, was reason enough all by itself to stop the car, isn’t that right?”

“I believe so, yes.”

“But according to your testimony, that wasn’t the only reason you stopped the defendant’s car.”

“No,” he said with a smile. “There was more.”

Trooper Trumbull was in full uniform, his shoes polished, the brass on his uniform shined ready for a parade. There is the sloppy cop, the disinterested cop, the overweight cop, the corrupt cop, the earnest cop, the creepy what-the-hell-is-she-doing-with-a-gun cop, but the polished cop is a species all his own. Every answer is as perfect as the shine on his shoes, and that’s his flaw; there is nothing so brittle as someone else’s perfection.

“You also stated that the car’s rear taillight was out, isn’t that correct?”

“That is what I wrote in the report.”

“And that’s what you testified to here, in this citadel of justice. And, of course, you also believe that an unlit taillight would have been reason enough all by its lonesome to stop the car, isn’t that right?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And yet you put them both in the report just to be sure that no one could object to the legality of the stop. One after the other. First the light and then the swerving, like a dollop of insurance. Are you wearing a belt on that shiny uniform of yours, Trooper Trumbull?”

The prosecutor stood to object, but before he could get out a word, the judge said, “Sustained.”

“You’re not even going to wait to hear what objection Mr. Fedders had to my question?” I said.

“I didn’t need to wait,” said the judge. “I know a bum question when I hear one. Whether or not State Trooper Trumbull is wearing a belt has no bearing on this case.”

“I was just curious if in addition to his belt he’s also wearing a pair of suspenders, just to be sure his pants don’t fall down.”

“Are we done here yet, Mr. Carl?” said the judge over the gratifying laughter from the spectators.

“Just a few things more, Your Honor,” I said. “Let’s talk about this taillight, Trooper Trumbull. You say you noticed it was out as you followed Mr. Frost’s swerving car?”

“That’s right,” said Trumbull.

“And that was the reason you stopped Mr. Frost’s car.”

“That and the swerving.”

“And all you wrote in your report was that the light was out.”

“That’s correct.”

“But when the car was taken into the impoundment garage, it was noted that the taillight wasn’t just out, but that the bulb was broken and the glass was cracked.”

“That’s the way it was when I stopped it.”

“When you stopped it? Are you sure?”

“That’s what I said.”

“Now, after Mr. Frost pulled the car over, you checked what you needed to check about his license plate on the computer, right?”

“That’s routine.”

“And you found nothing of interest, because there was nothing in your report.”

“That’s right.”

“And then you got out of your car, put on your hat, took your nightstick, and headed to Mr. Frost’s car.”

“That’s the procedure.”

“And on the way, you gave the light a tap with your nightstick just to indicate that it was out.”

“No, sir, I did not.”

“Well, maybe it was more of a tap then, maybe it was good swift crack, enough to break the glass and shatter the bulb and give yourself a pretty good talking point if ever you had to defend the stop in court, just like you’re defending it now.”

“That’s not correct, sir.”

“Just in case the swerving wasn’t swervy enough to pass muster with the judge as providing reasonable suspicion to warrant a stop.”

“If you’re not going to listen to my answers, then why ask the questions?”

“Indeed,” said the judge with a nod of his head.

“Then maybe you broke the light walking back to your car,” I said. “Gave it a shot after you realized you had a live one, and you wanted to make extra sure you got the conviction, like you make extra sure to spit-polish your shoes each morning.”

“Objection,” said Fedders. “Asked and answered.”

“Sustained,” said the judge. “You asked your question, the witness shot down your theory. You’re done, Mr. Carl. Sit down.”

“I’m entitled to ask further questions, Your Honor. I’m making progress here.”

“Not with me. I’m ready to rule. Sit down.”

“That’s neither right nor fair,” I said. “Selma have I had my questioning cut off in such a prejudicial manner.”

As soon as I said it, I could see the judge’s head turn swiftly toward me, as if I had yanked on a chain connected to his chin. “What did you say?”

“I said, seldom have I had my questioning cut off in such a—”

“Okay, fine. And I note your exception for the record. Now sit down, Mr. Carl, I’m ready to rule.”

“Your honor, Mr. Frost has rights in this courtroom. From Bunker Hill to Omaha Beach to that bridge in Selma, Alabama, Americans have given their bodies and their lives to protect this nation’s constitutional rights. I can’t stand idly by while you shred the rights that were won in these sacred places. The blood shed in these battles for freedom calls out to all of us. From Bunker Hill to Selma—”

“Mr. Carl, what are you—”

“Selma, Your Honor. They’re calling out from Selma. And they’re telling us that attention must be paid.”

The judge stopped trying to speak over my speechifying and stared at me instead, his eyes narrowed, his jaw loose and misaligned as if he had been punched. He stared at me like he was seeing me true for the first time and what he was seeing was green and scaly.

“Your Honor, this is ridiculous, all of this,” said ADA Fedders. “I move that this motion be denied forthwith and we begin the trial immediately.”

J
udge Winston ignored the protestations of the assistant
district attorney as remembrance spread across the judge’s face like a stain. It was coming back to him, all of it, whatever he had done to Selma, or in Selma, some travesty of lust or greed, some transgression that he had stuffed down into a forgotten crevice of his consciousness to wilt and die. And now it was all about to be dragged into the raw light of day and slapped across his face by some third-rate lawyer in a cheap suit who had fallen so low he had no choice but to hustle for clients in the judge’s very courtroom. I almost felt sorry for him, but only almost, because, really, my emotions just then were so full I didn’t have any left to squander on old Judge Winston.

I had just exercised a dark piece of political sorcery. Melanie had whispered to me a word and I had pronounced it like a magician as he waved his wand, and the effect was shockingly apparent. I had no real idea what demon I was calling forth with the incantation; wherever it came from, and whatever its true purpose, remained opaque to me. All I knew was that after a soggy period of utter helplessness I was suddenly imbued with a true and shocking power.

And I liked it, the silvery taste and electric charge that flicked my nerve endings and sent my blood surging. I liked it too damn much.

CHAPTER 8

WINNER, WINNER, CHICKEN DINNER

S
elma have I seen such a brilliant display of lawyering,” said Melanie over drinks at the dark wooden bar of McCormick & Schmick’s. “It was all I could do to keep from falling on the floor, laughing.”

“I almost felt bad for the old guy,” I said.

“Don’t. I know things about Judge Winston that would make your hair turn white, the old reprobate.”

“So who was Selma?”

“You don’t really want to know, do you?”

“Maybe not.”

“Limited information is a beautiful thing in our field. Limited information keeps us all happy and safe and smiling, serene in our ignorance. All you needed to know was how to use the word. I would have thought you’d whisper something in the judge’s ear.”

“The ADA would have wanted to be part of any conversation. And with Sloane in the courtroom, I had to figure out how to say it in open court in a way that wouldn’t get a reporter suspicious. Why was Sloane there anyway?”

“Oh, Colin has some political connections. And he helps us now and then.”

“Us?”

“My firm, Ronin and McCall.”

“Never heard of it.”

“You’re not supposed to have heard of it. But I told the partners about you and everything you did. They were impressed. And I’m impressed, too. Every step you made was right. It’s like you’re a natural.”

“A natural what?”

“Another drink, Victor? It’s a celebration. We won.”

I lifted up my Sea Breeze. “Yes, we did.”

It hadn’t taken long for Judge Winston to decide how to properly deal with me. Even as ADA Fedders objected to my oratory, I could see the calculation play out across the judge’s face. “Sit down, Mr. Carl,” said the judge, finally, caution suddenly in his hoarse voice. “I’m ready to rule.”

“Your honor, I still have—”

“Sit down, Mr. Carl,” he said. “Do as I say.”

And in truth, despite my protestations, I knew it was over even before I sat.

“In this case, pursuant to the report and testimony of State Trooper Trumbull, there was apparently more than sufficient reasonable suspicion to stop the defendant’s vehicle, which is the current requirement in this commonwealth. And normally, this motion would be down quickly because of that.”

The judge looked down at me, something sharp and dangerous in his eye.

“But there was an element in the officer’s testimony that gives me pause, a discrepancy regarding the condition of the rear brake light between his official report and the report from the garage that impounded Mr. Frost’s vehicle. There is in this a gap enough to raise doubts for me about the full scope of State Trooper Trumbull’s testimony. At this point, I am not certain what to believe, and that uncertainty is enough for me to rule for the defendant. I find that reasonable suspicion for stopping Mr. Frost’s vehicle has not been sufficiently evidenced and therefore, pursuant to the Fourth Amendment, I’m excluding all evidence gathered as a result of that
stop.”

“Your Honor,” said Fedders, “we object.”

“Of course you do, Mr. Fedders. But with the evidence excluded, will you be able to proceed with this trial?”

“No, sir.”

“Very well, this prosecution is hereby dismissed. Mr. Carl, will you please approach the bench.”

When I stood before Judge Winston, alone in the well of his courtroom, the judge looked down sternly at me and I expected a bout of righteous anger, but that’s not what I got. “You made a fine case for Mr. Frost at this hearing, Mr. Carl. I was surprised and impressed.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“I’ll certainly consider you for appointment to other cases. But we’re done, aren’t we? This thing is over?”

“You dismissed the case, Your Honor.”

“Yes, I did. But I want you to understand that I have no regrets. That I would do it all again. That there are imperatives beyond our own pathetic powers that hold sway if we are to be more than mere pawns in this life. Do you understand love?”

“I like to think so.”

“If that’s the best you can do, Mr. Carl, then I feel sorry for you. And next time, have no doubt, I will throw your bony ass straight into a prison cell and you won’t see the sun for a year. Now get the hell out of my sight.”

As I hustled my way out of the courtroom, a figure short and bulky stepped in front of me and put out a hand like a traffic cop. “Slow down, there, counselor,” said Harvey Sloane. “What’s the rush? I’d like to get a statement.”

“How about this,” I said. “No comment. And the name is Carl. Victor Carl.”

“Oh, I know your name. I remember when you were gobsmacked by your own witness in the Jimmy Moore case. Quite a little victory today, hey, Carl? A win against all the odds.”

“Sometimes truth actually triumphs.”

“And sometimes the fix is in.”

“There was no fix, just good lawyering. You can write that if you want, anything else will result in a lawsuit. And make sure you spell my name with a
C
.”

“Don’t worry,” he said as I walked past. “When I publish, I always get my facts right. And from now on, Victor, I’ll be looking out for you.”

“What kind of firm, exactly, is Ronin and McCall?” I said as Melanie and I splashed down another round at the restaurant bar. “And why am I supposed to never have heard of it?”

“We try to keep a low profile,” said Melanie.

“Why would a law firm in a market like this ever try to keep a low profile?”

“Maybe because it has an exclusive clientele that would rather remain nameless.”

“Are you a criminal firm?”

“Oh, some might say. But basically we’re more like jungle guides. On one side we have our clients, often well known and powerful. On the other side are the things that they want done in the world. And in the middle is a dark wood filled with the thorny thickets of law and regulation, as well as with competitors holding no good intent. Our clients need someone to guide them, someone to help them avoid the cliffs and traps, someone to navigate across the rivers and around these thickets. That’s what we do.”

“So you’re legal fixers.”

“Of a type, yes. But if you want something achieved in this world, you need someone like us. Ronin and McCall:
We Get It Done
. That’s our motto, or maybe it’s
Pay Up.
I sometimes get them confused”

“My God, Melanie, just listen to yourself. How did you fall into something like that? I mean you were all about justice and causes and power to the people.”

“I was young.”

“But still.”

“Well, maybe I realized that nothing was as powerless as the people. And here’s the thing, Victor. When I was in law school and even after, I think I enjoyed my powerlessness. Did I really believe I was going to make the world more just by fighting within the system for the dispossessed? Did I really believe I could defeat the Man with his own laws? I knew I would fail, and it warmed me. Nothing is easier than failure—all you need to do is open your arms and let it swamp you mercilessly. Every day you get in deeper, until it sinks into your bones, and it’s all you know, and deep down, no matter what you tell yourself, it’s all you really want.”

“I think I know what you mean.”

“I accepted my failure, embraced it, actually, so long as it was wrapped in a cloak of good intent. I allowed myself to be defined by it.”

“But things have changed.”

“I grew tired of losing.”

I leaned forward, concentrating a little too intently. “But how did you do it? How did you stop being a loser?”

“I decided to do whatever it took to win. I embraced my inner Machiavelli.”

“You’ve become a power-mad schemer?”

“No, Victor. Our Italian friend has been misunderstood. I’ve become a patriot.” Her phone vibrated; she kept speaking even as she picked it up and wheeled through her messages. “You’ll be glad to know that a spot in the rehab facility opened up unexpectedly, which happens when you represent the facility’s major charitable donor. Colin is being ferried there in a Town Car as we speak.”

“Good.”

“You were right to insist we get him to rehab immediately. Sloane’s been sniffing around like a rabid dog, but anything we say now might compromise Colin’s rehabilitation. We have a ready-made answer to any of Sloane’s inconvenient questions.”

“That’s not why I did it. He was my client, even if just for a couple of hours. He needs help, and now he’s getting it. My job isn’t just to acquit, and it doesn’t end at the courtroom steps.”

“How noble of you. I can almost imagine you mean it. But even so, the partners were quite pleased with your performance all around. Don’t wait to send in your bill.”

“Don’t worry.”

“You have good instincts, Victor. The way you handled the judge, sending Colin right to rehab. It’s just . . . for us, losing Colin so suddenly is a bit inconvenient.”

“How so?”

“He does some work for us, independent contractor stuff, you know the drill. Limited knowledge, limited responsibility. He was very useful, but now he’s tied up for a swath of time. We had other errands for him and now we need to find someone else.”

“Oh,” I said, with as much ingenuousness as I could put into my voice.

Melanie glanced up from her phone, raising her brows like an idea was rising unbidden. “You wouldn’t have some free time, would you?”

“I have the feeling you already know the answer to that question.”

She laughed, lifted up her chin, flipped her hair like a cheerleader. “I always liked you, Victor. You have a certain charming smarminess about you. Why didn’t we ever date in law school? You tried to horn in on everyone else, but never me.”

I looked at my drink, gave the ice cubes a rattle. “You were too damn sincere. You made my teeth hurt.”

“I was sincere, wasn’t I?” she said, laughing and showing her canines. “And now?”

“Now you scare me.”

“That’s progress. So let’s talk tacks. Have you ever been to Chicago?”

“As a matter of fact.”

“Good, then you’ll know your way around.”