Nothing Lost (4 page)

She knew what a nose tackle was as well as he did. In South Midland, schoolchildren practically learned to call defensive signals for the Rhinos as part of their curriculum.

“Think of a walking Coke machine that falls on people,” he said.

“And hurts them.”

“If that happens, nobody gets too twisted out of shape.”

“That explains it then. He was doing what comes naturally. And nobody got too twisted out of shape about it.”

J.J. did not respond.

“So,” she said finally when he kept staring wordlessly at her, “this walking Coke machine dragged . . .”

“Allegedly dragged . . .”

Allie didn't pause. “Brittany Barnes . . . sophomore, nineteen, no, twenty last Thursday, athletic scholarship, swimming team . . .” She consulted her notebook. “. . . down three flights of stairs in Rhino Hall . . . leaving her with . . .”

“The injuries are established. Whether Jocko Cannon is the perp is not. Or whether there even was a perp. Eyewitnesses?”

“Jesus, J.J., of course there's no eyewitnesses. A national championship's on the line. New Year's Night. Moon over Miami.” She syncopated a cheer. “ ‘We're Num-ber One.' BFD.” Big fucking deal. Allie Vasquez's mantra. “The people I talked to in Rhino Land all have the same fucking story. She got loaded and jumped from the fourth-floor stairwell. Bombed on Ecstasy, with a Diet Coke chaser.”

“Any evidence backing up her story?”

“Clumps of her hair were found on all three landings.”

“Blood test?”

“Negative on both alcohol and controlled substances.” Allie closed her notebook. “Then there's fallback position two.”

J.J. massaged his temples. He knew what was coming next. The Worm had floated the possibility when they met. “Which is?”

“She was working her way through the football team. Having already serviced the basketball team. And the track team is in the starting blocks.”

The A.G. had missed the track team. “And she still wants to go ahead with this?”

“Wouldn't you?”

“Just give me a yes or no, Allie,” he said irritably.

“She's not going to withdraw the charges.”

“Jocko's lawyered up, you know.”

“He was lawyered up before anyone dialed 911. Which means no DNA or hair samples without a court order. No way. Every judge in the state has season tickets at Rhino Stadium. Comped. Prime location.” Allie leaned close. “Look, J.J., you don't have to spell it out. The Worm wants a way out of this; he doesn't want to take Jocko to the grand jury.” J.J. discouraged his subordinates from calling the A.G. by his nickname. A restriction Allie did not think applied to her. “He wants to be governor. Without the support of Jocko's old man, he's dead. Q.E.D. You've got me spinning my wheels so it looks like we're doing something.”

The point was not arguable. The Worm could not afford to incur the wrath of Ralph Cannon, Sr. Which is why he wanted Allie Vasquez fired. For overstepping her authority, he had said. It's your responsibility, you're her immediate superior, take care of it. Thus getting Ralph Cannon, Sr., off the A.G.'s case. And Jocko in the Orange Bowl. “Tell me about your meeting with Strong.”

“I make an appointment, I go see him. Surprise. He's got a university lawyer there.”

“Leo Cassady.” A regent and full-time university enabler to the state legislature. “Enabler” was a kind word for “fixer.”

“Leo. That's the one. And some dude from the sports information department. I sit down, I say, ‘Mr. Strong, I have a couple of questions,' and the flack interrupts and tells me I have to call him ‘Coach.' Or ‘Doctor.' And that he prefers ‘Doctor.' Doctor of what, for Christ's sake?”

“Sports psychology.”

“I thought you had to take a pulse to be called ‘Doctor.' ”

Another unarguable point. “What happened then?”

“The flack puts a tape recorder on the table. ‘To verify the accuracy of the interview,' he says. ‘Policy of the sports information department.' ‘Fine,' I say, ‘I've got no problem with that,' and I take a Sony M-405 out of my bag, slip in a microcassette, and click it on. ‘It's better if we both have a record,' I say. The flack says that won't be necessary, they'll provide me with a copy of their tape, and it looks like it's all over before we get started; there's no fucking way I'm going to use their tape. Then Strong shakes his head at the flack, and he says, ‘No, Larry'—that must be the flack—‘this young lady represents the legal establishment of this great state, and we assume its veracity, as we have learned not to assume any such thing with your brethren in the press.' Then the million-watt smile. ‘So anytime you're ready, young lady.' He's jerking me around.”

As if she were a wide receiver he was recruiting. “Get on with it, Allie. Without the editorials.”

“I was just . . .”

“Allie . . .”

“You want to hear my tape?”

“Your own words.”

“Okay.” She paused for effect. “I said I had a couple of questions about Ralph Cannon, Jr., aka Jocko Cannon, and the lawyer . . .”

“Leo Cassady . . .”

“Leo, right. Leo says no charges have been filed against Mr. Cannon, and the flack says he's a leading contender for the Outland Trophy, whatever the fuck that is . . .”

“Collegiate interior lineman of the year.”

“I should've known you'd know that, J.J. It's a guy thing, right.”

J.J. picked at a soggy crust of rye bread. Allie's version of the story was not going to improve.

“Anyway.” Allie consulted her notebook. She was enjoying this. “The lawyer, what's-his-face, Mr. Fixit . . .”

“Leo Cassady . . .”

“So you said. Sorry. Right.” She paused. “So Mr. Fixit, he says that Ralph Cannon, Sr., is a prominent alumnus, a figure of some importance and influence in this state, so on and so forth, and I say that Ralph Cannon, Sr., did indeed honor this great state, it was a privilege being allowed to walk on the same ground he did . . .”

“Allie, for Christ's sake . . .”

“. . . but that this important and influential man was not the reason I was there, what I wanted to know was why Dr. Strong—I called him ‘Doctor,' J.J., it's on the tape—twice felt he had to suspend Ralph Cannon, Jr., the aforementioned Jocko, from the team, and the flack said that was covered in the press at the time, and I said, right, I read the clips, but on both occasions Dr. Strong said he would not entertain any questions from the media, so I'd just like to hear him talk now in his own words about these incidents—you know, in a kind of shoot-the-shit way, ‘That Jocko, he's some kind of dude,' don't give me that look, J.J., of course I didn't say that—and the flack says they weren't ‘incidents,' and I said, Okay, we'll call them ‘suspensions,' like the press releases did, and the flack says Dr. Strong doesn't air team matters in the press, and Leo says, ‘Let me give you a little background, which I think will allow you to put this situation in some perspective . . . ' ”

Leo Cassady thought everyone had his hand out. It was only the amount that had to be decided. He hadn't met anyone like Allie in years. If he ever had. “And you said . . .”

Of course he knew what she had said. Broad strokes via the Worm.

“I say, What you call a situation, Section 242 of the Penal Code calls battery, to wit, ‘Any willful and unlawful use of force or violence upon the person of another.' And he says, this Leo character, ‘I'm an attorney, Ms. Vasquez, and I don't need a night school law student to explain the penal code to me.' ” Allie permitted a smile. “I give him that one, he did some checking on me; how does he know I go to law school at night? I bet the Worm had something to do with it.”

Her instincts were like gold.

“I wonder what else he knows.”

He pretended not to hear.

“I mean, he's not as dumb as I thought.”

“Allie . . .”

Another smile. Point made. “So I say to Mr. Fixit, Okay, I'd like to get your heads-up on this ‘situation,' this ‘perspective,' you mention. And he points to Strong—he's sitting there like he's the fucking pope, and just as infallible—and he says, ‘What I see in Dr. Strong is thirty-five years of good judgment in the service of his God, his country, this state, and this university.' The band was there, it would've broken into the Rhino fight song. Then he gets all confidential, Leo, and he says, ‘I have greater access to information than either you or the general public regarding Mr. Cannon, and I am in complete agreement with Dr. Strong and the action he took. This action,' he's practically whispering, like he's talking to a jury when he knows his client is hip-deep in shit, ‘this action doesn't say what happened was right, this action says that if it happened to John Q. Student, John Q. Student would not be banned from extracurricular activities for as long as he was a student.'

“I give him a lot of heavy nodding, like I'm buying in to this, and then I say, like I'm really trying to work my way through it, ‘But this didn't happen to John Q. Student; John Q. Student, in the person of Ralph Cannon, Jr., is alleged . . .'—I did say ‘alleged,' J.J., check the tape—‘to have caused it to happen to Ms. Brittany Barnes, who is the aggrieved party here, not Mr. Cannon, Jr., and in the meantime I did not forget the question I was supposed to forget I asked . . .'—I should've said ‘when you were blowing smoke up my ass,' but I didn't—‘and the question was, why Dr. Strong thought it was necessary to suspend Ralph Cannon, Jr., from the team on those previous occasions.' And Leo says, ‘Dr. Strong, you don't have to answer that,' but he raises his hand, and he says, ‘I'm comfortable answering that, Leo, it's been covered extensively, however unfairly, in the media.' ”

Any criticism of John Strong was unfair. Ipso facto. He was unassailable. He had always believed it. Rhino boosters thought it was the secret of his coaching success.

Allie waited for J.J. to respond, and when he didn't, she continued. “He says, ‘Yes, Miss— Vasquez, is it? Such a lovely Spanish name, Rafael Huerta, our strong safety, is of Hispanic heritage, and yes, on two occasions I did suspend Mr. Cannon from our program, in fairness to my other kids, on the first occasion for one game, as you know, on the second for two.' And he smiles, like he's some straight-from-the-shoulder guy.” Allie leaned forward. “J.J., what is this shit about the football program?”

“What shit about the football program?”

“The word. ‘Program.' When I was at Cap City Community, we never called the criminology department the ‘criminology program.' ”

“Right.”

“And the professors called us students. Not ‘my kids.' He a fag?”

The thought had flickered across his mind. Not that John Strong was gay. Just the idea of coaches and their “kids.” Avoid that. “Allie, get on with it.”

“Okay, J.J. Calm down. So . . .” She paused for effect. “I said, ‘Let's talk about those two suspensions. I want to hear Dr. Strong,' and Strong looks at Leo, and Leo says, ‘Mr. Cannon had anger issues.' I remind him that on one of those occasions, Jocko had hit a student water boy in the face with his helmet, breaking his nose in the process. And the flack, Larry, he says, ‘Because he didn't have any Gatorade.' I'm working my way around the no-Gatorade defense when Strong realizes how it must sound. ‘I'm a firm believer in counseling and anger management therapy. Mr. Cannon is not a dangerous person, he's not an O.J. Simpson, he has a problem with anger, and he has occasional outbursts.' I let ‘occasional outbursts' pass, and he says, ‘So I admitted him back to the program because I felt he would benefit by the kind of structured setting that I and my coaching staff and other kids in the program could provide for him. I firmly believe in the inherent worth of young people, and giving everyone the opportunity to correct mistakes.' Then he says, ‘I could've done the popular thing and dismissed Mr. Cannon from the program. But I wanted to do the right thing. I'm willing to take the heat for my kids, and I'm prepared to live with my decision.' And I say I'm relieved to hear that. And he says, ‘You know, young lady, this alleged incident is going to do harm to a good young man.' Now he sounds like Father Flanagan, he's running Boys Town out there, there's no such thing as a bad boy. Or a bad nose tackle. At least until his eligibility expires . . .”

“Allie . . .”

“Okay.” She ran her fingers through her hair. “So I ask him in what way Jocko could be harmed. And the flack says, ‘It could affect how high he's taken in the NFL draft. And if he's not a top-ten pick, that could cost him a lot of money.' So now we've got Jocko as the real victim, and Strong says, really confidential, ‘I think there are special interests involved with an agenda of their own.' I ask what special interests he has in mind, I assume he means women, but he just stands up, and he says, ‘I don't want to get into that, I want to take the high road.' Then real confidential. ‘I hope this has been helpful, young lady,' he says, and I say it certainly has been educational, but that Brittany Barnes was not going to withdraw her charges. And Leo says, ‘Well, we'll see how well she adapts to a courtroom environment.' ”

It was the sort of stupid thing Leo Cassady would say. He'd grown sloppy renting the legislature. “Then what?” J.J. said. As if he didn't already know.

“I sling my bag over my shoulder, I say thank you very much, I head for the door, and when I get there, I turn around and I say, like Columbo, ‘I just have one more question, Dr. Strong.' ‘Fire away,' he says. Cool. Like he's on the sideline. Time running out. Watch the clock. Make every play count. Go for the two-point conversion. But like Leo the lawyer, I've done a little homework myself. And I say, ‘Your daughter. Riley.' ‘The apple of my eye,' he says. ‘Nineteen,' I say. ‘Lacrosse player.' You know where this is going, don't you?”