The Magician (14 page)

“You got a yard.”

“Do push-ups if you need exercise. Beat your meat.” The sergeant laughed and left.

You have to be crazy to beat your meat with all those open bars in front of you. Anybody could come by. What do you do in jail? He had to beat this rap. Why didn’t his father or mother come to visit him? What was he supposed to do all day? He looked at the walls, the bars, the locked door, the high barred window. You couldn’t even escape if you wanted to, he thought, his rage rising.

Then voices and footsteps promised a distraction. The policeman let Thomassy into the cell, locking it behind him. “Take as long as you like,” said the cop respectfully.

Thomassy motioned Urek to sit down on the hard bench. The lawyer remained standing.

“You look like you’re glad to see me,” said Thomassy.

“Where you been?”

“I brought you a couple of magazines.” Thomassy put down mint copies of
True
and
Popular Science,
which he had recorded on the expense page of his pocket appointment book.

“Do you need your glasses for reading?”

“Who told you that?”

“Your father gave me these.” He put the eyeglass case down on the bench next to Urek. “I want you to listen carefully now.”

“When do I get out of here?”

“Your arraignment is tomorrow morning.”

“What about the bail?”

“Well, we could go before the magistrate. He’d probably raise the bail to two thousand dollars to let you out. I don’t want you out.”

Urek tried to keep his anger down. Cool, cool, he thought.

Thomassy tried to explain. “Cutting the kid’s tube in the hospital would not be considered an aggravation of the first assault, it’s a new crime, and with two assaults, the judge would set a higher bail. It’s normal.”

“My old man would sign for it.”

“His signature wouldn’t be good for two thousand.”

“He’s got the house, there’s a lot paid on the mortgage. He told me he’d get me bailed.”

Thomassy let his breath out slowly. “I want you in here for another reason.”

“I promise I won’t try anything.”

“You promised the last time.”

“This time I swear.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“What the fuckin’ hell do you mean?” Urek regretted the words the moment they spilled out.

Thomassy came over, put one foot up on the bench Urek was sitting on, and leaned down close. “You listen.”

“I’m listening!”

“Try to get this into your head. When you’re arraigned tomorrow, I’m going to insist on a preliminary hearing. I want to find out what the village prosecutor has in the way of witnesses. It’ll be useful to us. I want that before we go to White Plains.”

“What’s in White Plains?”

“County Court. If you’re charged with a misdemeanor, the trial would be here in town. If it’s a felony, it’ll have to be in White Plains. Maybe we can keep it here.”

Urek wasn’t understanding.

“A misdemeanor means you’re charged with something that’s good for no more than a year in jail. A felony is first-degree assault. I’ll try to get you third degree. In fact”—he looked at Urek’s uncomprehending face—”maybe I can get this whole thing quashed. Dismissed.”

“Yeah?” Urek was interested.

“You’ve got to cooperate.”

“Sure.”

“You’ve got to stay put. Here. I’m going to make a thing at the arraignment about a sixteen-year-old kid having had to spend two nights in the lockup. It might help. It’ll give me a chance to do a little digging, too,”

“Like what?”

“The nurse’s aide can identify you.”

“I don’t get it.”

“You don’t have to get it. You don’t have to learn anything or say anything. If you want to get off, you’re just going to leave it to me.”

“You really can get me off?”

“Your father wants me to try.”

“
I
want you to try.”

“You’re not paying my fee.”

“Look, Mr. Thomassy, you get me off, and I’ll turn all I earn over to you—for the whole year.”

Thomassy laughed. “The quarters?”

“What quarters?”

‘The dough you get from the kids? For their lockers?”

“No, I’ll get a real job and…”

“You’re going to finish high school.”

Urek sat back down.

Thomassy thought for a moment. “I don’t want you giving anything—I mean anything—away in court. When the arraignment’s on…”

“Yeah?”

“You look down at your hands. Try it. Okay, that’s good.”

“How long?”

“When you get tired of looking down at your hands, look at a spot on the table. When you get tired of that, go back to staring at your hands. I don’t want the judge to
see your face. I’m going to try something, and I don’t want him to see your reactions to it.”

“What would l do?”

“I’m taking no chances. You look down at your hands, understand?”

“Yeah.”

“Even if you’re bored, keep looking down at them, don’t look up, don’t look at the judge, don’t look at any of the people who are talking, don’t even look at me, understand?”

Urek thought about how long he could avoid looking at anyone. It was crazy.

“Answer me!”

“Okay, okay!”

“Now, cheer up. I’m doing all I can for you.”

Urek looked up at Thomassy’s thin face with the high cheekbones.

“Mr. Thomassy?”

“Yes?”

“Thanks for everything. I mean it.”

Thomassy called to be let out of the cell, patted Urek on the shoulder, a conscious gesture intended to relax him for tomorrow. He looked to see if anything could be improved in the boy’s physical appearance. “I’ll have your mother send some fresh clothes in the morning.”

“I could use some underwear.”

“The judge can’t see your underwear.”

Thomassy saw the pulse leap in the side of Urek’s forehead.

“Okay, son”—he hated to use that word— “You’ll get your underwear.”

Urek, suddenly young, said, “Mr. Thomassy, can they come today, my mom and dad?”

“I told them to stay home. It’s better for your case.” When the parents saw him in court tomorrow, he wanted them to come rushing up spontaneously.

Urek didn’t understand.

“Well,” said Thomassy, “just leave it to me.”

Chapter 15

In mid-afternoon Urek was awakened from a deep sleep by someone shaking his shoulder. He sat bolt upright, the copy of
True
dropping to the floor from where it had rested when he read himself to sleep. The two men looming over him came into focus. He recognized the sergeant. The man with the sergeant picked up the magazine and handed it to Urek.

“This is Mr. Metcalf, the village Prosecutor,” said the sergeant.

Mr. Metcalf, sixty, short, gray-suited, had a red-orange-yellow gash of tie-color down his front. His wire-framed bifocals looked to Urek like the kind of glasses you could smash with one stomp of your foot.

“Young man, I’m here to try to be of some help. Are you fully awake?”

Urek nodded slowly. The sergeant poised his pad and pen.

“You were taken into custody by the Police Department pursuant to a warrant issued by Judge Clifford at one A.M. this date alleging that you committed the crime of first-degree assault on the persons of Edward Japhet, his father, Terence Japhet, and Lila Hurst on or about eleven P.M., January 21, and upon the person of Edward Japhet in Phelps Memorial Hospital on or about nine P.M. January 24.”

Mr. Metcalf looked away from his notes. “Now, young man, it is quite possible that a plea of guilty to a lesser offense would enable you to be tried in the local court—your counsel can waive the jury if he likes—which might effectively reduce your chances of drawing a long sentence in the Elmira Reception Center. One of the three boys allegedly with you on the night of the assault has a past conviction and may want to turn state’s evidence and be a witness against you. Before discussing the matter more fully with you, I must advise you that you have a right to remain silent and refuse to answer questions.”

Urek stared at him as if he were crazy.

“Anything you say,” continued Mr. Metcalf, “may be used against you in a court of law. As we discuss this matter, you have a right to stop answering my questions at any time that you desire. You have a right to talk to a lawyer before speaking to me, to remain silent until you can talk to him, and to have him present during the time you are being questioned. If you desire a lawyer but you cannot afford one, the Legal Aid Society…”

“Mr. Metcalf,” said the sergeant, “he’s represented by Thomassy.”

“I see. Do you understand each of these rights which I have explained to you?”

Urek looked blank.

“Answer yes or no.”

“Well, I—”

“Now that I have advised you of your rights, are you willing to answer my questions without having an attorney present?”

“I want Mr. Thomassy.”

The sergeant glanced at the wall clock. “He’s probably in his office.”

“Do you want to talk to Mr. Thomassy on the telephone?”

Urek nodded.

The sergeant unlocked the cell and, holding Urek by the arm, led them into the squadroom next door and to a phone. The sergeant looked up the number and dialed. When the phone started ringing, he handed the instrument to Urek.

“Mr. Thomassy, this Mr. Metcalf is asking me questions. He says one of my friends is going to rat on me.” Urek, his heart drumming, listened, then handed the phone to Mr. Metcalf.

“Metcalf here.”

Metcalf s face slowly turned pink.

“Yes,” he said.

“All right,” he said.

“Yes, certainly I understand, Mr. Thomassy,” he said and hung up, pointing to Urek and motioning to the sergeant to take him back to his cell.

*

Thomassy put the phone down on the cradle and thought, that son of a bitch Metcalf, trying that Junior League ploy on a sixteen-year-old kid, he ought to be disbarred. If he’d gotten anything resembling a confession, I would have got the whole case thrown out faster than a finger-snap. I should have let him try. So he’s going to charge the other kids and get one of them to cop a plea. That warning is very much appreciated, Mr. Metcalf, thank you.

*

As Judge Clifford looked about the courtroom, he thought that some of these people were going to be disappointed by not being called, especially those who had brought lawyers with them. He probably could dispose of the trivial cases quickly, but it was difficult to predict when some minor offense would draw a contest. In any event, habit directed him to deal with serious matters first. Maybe he could get this Urek case out of the way. He asked Mr. Metcalf and Mr. Thomassy to come up to the bench.

“Gentlemen, I’d like to send this matter on to County Court. George, have you considered waiving a preliminary hearing?”

Metcalf prudently stood silent. He turned to get Thomassy’s reaction.

“Well, your honor,” said Thomassy, “if you were to suggest that, I don’t think I could accept your Honor’s recommendation.”

“Because?”

“Naturally, my client would insist on a preliminary hearing.”

Judge Clifford sighed. This wasn’t going to be a one-two-three. “Have you seen the information and the depositions?”

“Yes,” said Thomassy, “but I think we have a dearth of objective witnesses to the alleged offense.”

“Oh, come on now,” Metcalf broke in.

Thomassy raised his voice just enough to override. “We don’t have to trouble the County Court—”

“It’s not a question—”

“I think the whole matter should be dismissed right here,” said Thomassy.

Judge Clifford leaned forward on his elbows.

“As far as I can see,” Thomassy said, “no crime has been committed.”

Mr. and Mrs. Japhet, in the second row, strained to hear.

“If we start sending fist fights between school kids to the grand jury—”

“I object!” said Mr. Metcalf.

“Well, we’re trying to keep this informal,” said the judge. “But state your objection.”

“The assailant—”

Thomassy cut in, “The defendant!”

“The defendant,” continued Metcalf, “is sixteen years old. Under the law, he’s an adult, not a kid.”

“Your Honor,” said Thomassy, his voice suddenly quiet, “this defendant is less than sixteen and two months old. If this alleged offense had happened sixty days ago, it’d all be a juvenile matter for quick disposition in the Family Court.”

“There has to be a demarcation line somewhere,” snapped Metcalf, “and the law says—”

“I know what the law says, Mr. Metcalf,” said the judge. “The bench would like to send this on, to see if the grand jury in White Plains would find a true bill because frankly I see the possibilities of a borderline here.”