No Team To Root For (30) "Goddamn it, Garrison!" Walt had his hands on his hips and his face was still beet red as he continued to yell. "You don't know what the fuck you're talking about. You still got smoke coming out of your ass!" He took a step closer to the defense attorney. "I told you. No one lied. Your client is fucking guilty and you know it!" "Of course --- " Miles looked up at the ceiling and calmly rubbed his chin. " --- there is always the bar association! I'm sure --- " "You're full of it, Garrison!" Walt's voice cracked. "You're bluff-ing. You got shit and you know it!" "Really?" The two lawyer's noses were an inch apart. "Really!" Walt continued to yell. Miles stepped back and adjusted the knot on his tie. "Okay, Ivers. Don't say you weren't given the opportunity." He turned away from Walt and walked up to the detective. "Okay, George. Let's go." Miles Garrison and George Archer both walked toward the door with all indications of leaving and not looking back. They had had their moment. They had made their final move. The chess game, for all apparent intentions, was over. As George opened the door, Mason Stoner's booming but shaky voice was heard for the first time. "Wait!" The detective and defense attorney stopped and looked at each other. A majestic feeling of relief had instantly swept through both their bodies. "Come back inside and let us discuss all of this --- amicably --- in-telligently!" "Your Honor!" Walt Ivers' hands were fists. "This is bullshit! They're bluffing!" "Your Honor!" Miles was quickly at the desk. George closed the door behind them. "And what if I'm not bluffing? What if I can prove these affirmations?" He leaned in closer to Stoner. "You could be in serious trouble." "Your Honor --- " Walt Ivers was pleading. "Shut up Walt!" Stoner roared. "Look, Your Honor --- " Walt's pleas were getting weaker. "I said shut up!" All three men now stared at Mason Stoner. No one spoke for several minutes. Once again the ticking of the clock loomed very loud in the silence of the small room. Stoner broke the spell as he spoke slowly and carefully. He di-rected his words and a forced smile at Miles Garrison. "Now we are --- all of us, reasonable men --- are we not?" Miles looked quickly at George who was seated with his arms folded. Then he turned to Stoner and nodded. "And --- " continued the judge, " --- we do want to settle this as reasonable men --- do we not?" Again Miles looked at George. Then he turned back to Stoner and again he nodded. "Mr. Garrison, your words disturb me. They disturb me a great deal." The judge's smile vanished. "It means that a threat of black-mail is in the air." "Blackmail is a very harsh word, Your Honor." As Miles spoke he watched Ivers out of the corner of his eye. The prosecutor had shifted to the edge of his seat. Stoner's narrow black eyes were suddenly riveted onto Miles'. "It is also a very serious crime, Garrison!" "How serious? As serious as perjury or --- malfeasance?" Miles had both hands on Mason's desk. "We are talking some heavy shit here!" Stoner sat back and folded his hands under his chin. His eyes never left Miles' face. "What do you want, Garrison?" Miles glanced at George. They exchanged smiles. Then he turned back to the judge. "I want a suspended sentence!" "Bullshit!" Walt Ivers was on his feet. "Ivers!" Stoner leaned in and pointed a trembling finger at the prosecutor. "I told you to shut up and I meant it! You have fucked up enough. Now just let me handle it!" Stoner and Ivers locked eyes for an instant. Walt sat down slowly and Stoner turned once again to Miles Garrison. "I can't do that and you know it!" Miles paused, nodded his head, then walked calmly toward the detective. "Okay, George. Let's go!" Once again the defense attorney and the detective headed for the door. "Fifteen years. Parole in ten. No fine!" Mason Stoner knew he had overstepped his bounds. But he also knew he had to protect his future. And now he was in it for keeps. Miles slowly and confidently walked up to the judge who was still seated behind his huge desk. There were no theatrics or flowery speeches. It was Garrison and Stoner. Ivers was out of it and George just listened. "Your Honor, in our case Barrett Jessop is the only loser. In your case --- " Miles glanced quickly at a furious Walt Ivers. Then he turned back to the judge. " --- several heads could roll." He took a deep breath. "Five years!" Mason Stoner sat forward both arms resting on the desk. Once again his eyes were riveted onto those of the small and suddenly powerful attorney from New York. After several minutes of si-lence, the judge spoke. His voice revealed a great deal of fatigue. "Ten years is the best I can do. If that's not good enough, then I guess some heads will just have to roll." "Deal!" said Miles ecstatically. "Goddamn it!" Walt Ivers was on his feet again. "This is a big fucking mistake! I would bet my house he's got nothing. He bluffed and you didn't call. And you tell me I fucked up. Some joke! You let this shyster --- " Miles walked up to the prosecutor. "Look, you moronic half-assed --- " "Okay. Okay!" said George getting out of the chair. He put both hands in the air. "Let's not resort to name calling." Then he looked at Stoner. "Now I believe the number was --- ten." Mason Stoner stood up. Then he took out his handkerchief and wiped his face. "Mr. Ivers." said the judge, "You'll need to get an agreement written up between the State and the defense. Then --- " "My word is good, Your Honor." said Ivers. "If I --- " "Your word is shit!" snapped Miles. "I want it in writing." He took a pen and an official looking paper from George and handed them both to Walt Ivers. "Sign it!" Walt reluctantly took the pen and then read over the brief docu-ment. Then he looked at the judge contemptuously. His eyes darted back and forth between the three men. "Big fucking mistake." He mumbled under his breath as he signed the agreement. Then he slammed both pen and paper down on Stoner's desk. "Thank you!" said Miles as he grabbed up the paper and handed it to the detective. "Well." said Stoner. "I'll have to get some other papers together so that I can legally and officially dismiss the jury." "No need to, Your Honor." said Miles as he took another paper from George and laid it on the desk. "I do like to come prepared." Stoner looked angrily at Miles then he shook his head. "You son-of-a-bitch! You cocky self-centered mother fucking son-of-a-bitch!" As the judge put the papers into the top drawer he suddenly began to laugh. "Garrison! You are a scoundrel! A number one class A scoundrel!" Stoner's jovial reaction brought smiles to the lips of both Miles and George. Walt Ivers remained stone faced. "Well, gentlemen." said Miles as he rubbed his hands together. "It was a pleasure doing business with you. And I am honestly glad this ordeal is finally over with." Miles then slapped the prosecutor on the back. "Don't look so glum, Walt. The way I see it is --- you get your conviction, the Governor gets to the Senate, and every-one's jobs and futures are secure." As George opened the door, he added, "So smile. I just saved your fucking ass!" * XL Miles Garrison and George Archer stopped at Barrett Jessop's front door, nodded to the two policemen that still served as guardi-ans and were quickly and quietly let inside. The two men crinkled their faces when they saw dirty dishes laying on the coffee table. LPs were out of their jackets, books were scattered everywhere and the carpet needed to be swept. Miles thought about writing his name on the dusty TV screen. "Christ!" said the attorney. "What a mess!" "I'll be down in a second." Barrett yelled from upstairs. "There's some coffee in the kitchen." Both men looked at each other and shook their heads. Miles went to the window and pulled the shade. Then he looked out at the blue skies and the oak trees that surrounded the house. Cars drove by and dogs barked in the distance. The attorney was oblivious. "Well, Miles." George opened the top two buttons of his Polo shirt and sat down on the sofa. "We called their bluff and we won. You are a genius." Miles did not answer at first, still lost in thought. "Far from a gen-ius, George. Far from a genius." He loosened his tie and sat on Bar-rett's chair. "And I'm not so sure we won." "Why not?" "It doesn't take too many smarts to know, even without proof, that some sort of underhanded dealings did in fact take place." "Right." George shrugged. "So?" "So, those assholes get away with their two-bit schemes and go as free as the bisons in the San Diego Zoo." He looked away dis-gustedly. "Then to add insult to it all, Bruce Hollstadt --- that slimy bastard, will end up in the fucking Senate --- smelling like a fucking rose!" "Well, I agree with you --- in part." George folded his hands and sat on the edge of the sofa. "But let's look at it from Barrett's point of view. If we hadn't done what we did --- what you did, he gets slapped with first degree murder." The detective thought for a moment. "I think ten years is a bargain!" Miles scratched his forehead and nodded slowly. "Hmm --- maybe." "No maybe about it. I think Jessop is damn lucky!" George paused to watch Miles stare at a blank wall. "You're still not satis-fied, are you?" George waited for his friend to respond. When he didn't, the detective went on. "You talk about saving Stoner's ass. You talk about saving Ivers' ass. If anyone's ass got saved it was Jessop's!" Miles looked sadly at the detective. "That's exactly what I mean, George. I can't stand to see those politician pricks get away with the shit they got away with. It's very wrong!" "Forget it, Miles. If anyone is getting away with something it's Barrett Jesop!" Miles sat up straight and spoke emphatically. "That's different!" "What's different? Barrett is beating a murder one rap. No! There is no difference. If anything, Barrett is worse!" "Barrett Jessop is our client." said Miles. "We owe him --- " "Barrett Jessop is a murderer!" interrupted George. "We owe him nothing." The detective stood and turned toward the steps. "I think this whole thing stinks from both ends." "Well, George, when you put it that way --- " Barrett came slowly down the stairs. He had on a white T-shirt and jeans. After several minutes of silence, he asked from the foot of the steps. "Well, what's the verdict?" * "Ten years! Ten years! Ten years!" Barrett would have repeated it indefinitely had not Miles stepped in and hit him on the arm. "Barrett." said his lawyer as he handed him his gold Cross pen. "Read the conditions and sign the agreement." Barrett read the paper, clearing his throat and licking his lips con-stantly. "This is the best you could do --- right?" He couldn't take his eyes off the eight by ten document. "Right!" said Miles. "Sign the paper." "I suppose, considering everything, that this is a fair deal." "Barrett. Sign the paper." "This has nothing to do with Jodi, does it?" Barrett could feel depression setting in. He knew despondency would follow. "It's be-cause of Janet --- right?" "Right again. Now sign the paper!" "What kind of cell will they put me in?" He looked at Miles. "One with a sauna and a Jacuzzi! Now for Christ's sake --- SIGN THE FUCKING PAPER!" George walked slowly up to Barrett, who still had the pen in one hand and was staring at the agreement in the other hand. "Barrett." said George firmly and without any compassion, "You listen to me, Goddamn it!" He shook his finger at Barrett. "Person-ally, I don't give a shit what you do! Frankly, I've had it up to --- " He put his hand under his chin. " --- here with you!" Barrett started to speak but George continued. "So we have two choices." Now He raised his voice. "One! We go back to Stoner's chamber where we once again meet with the judge and the prosecutor. And we tell them to forget everything that transpired there. 'Here he is!' we say. 'He's guilty as hell, and he's all yours!' Then you get twenty years to life --- or maybe the chair!" Barrett continued to stare at the document. "Two!" George went on. "You sign that paper, take the ten years and consider yourself Goddamn lucky!" He took a step closer to Barrett and spoke softly but stolidly. "Your attorney did one hell of a job for you. And don't you ever forget it!" Barrett took a deep breath. "Ten years is a long time." "Twenty to life is a lot longer!" said George. Then he added "And death is forever!" Barrett nodded resignedly as the tears began to cloud his vision. But he knew they were right. He had screwed up royally and now he would pay the price. At times he tried to turn his back on it, but it was always there behind every corner of his life. He never really got away with anything after all. And now, just as he had feared, in the end he would be a true victim of poetic justice! Ten years! Ten years out of his life! And for what? A fantasy that never materialized. A woman he had never gotten to love. A fleet-ing visionary moment. Some things were just never meant to be. With an unsteady hand, Barrett Jessop signed the paper! * XLI The State gave Barrett thirty-six hours to get everything in order that was now and forever pertinent to any facet of his existence. He was going to spend to spend the next ten years of his life as a resi-dent of Lucasville Prison. Congratulations, Dr. Jessop. You have earned the right to be called the number one fuck up in the professional community of Patton Ohio! As he cleaned and packed and organized what was left of his freedom, he was uncaringly escorted about his house by the two policemen. He knew he would never be totally alone again --- not even now, as he tried to savor the dying moments of being in his own home. With the two watchdogs constantly looking over both his shoul-ders, he was still able to make two important phone calls. The first was to Lysle Richardson. "How is HMB Realtors doing with the house?" asked Barrett. Lysle hesitated. "They'll do the best they can." Barrett took a deep breath. "I really did love this house, Lysle." He spoke tearfully. "In spite of all the bad memories --- the wasted hours --- the unhappy moments --- " "I know, Barrett. I know." Lysle spoke consolingly. Barrett continually looked about the room at the many boxes. They contained his past. Years of memorabilia: His records; his books; his certificates; his clothes; his toiletries. What a waste! "Barrett. Are you going to be okay?" The deep concern in Lysle's voice turned to fear. "What are my options?" Barrett walked between the two cops and absently drew the shade. Lysle hesitated again. "Well --- " Barrett didn't wait to hear a response. "And work with Marie on selling the practice --- what's left of it. I know it's a lot to ask, but there's no one else I would turn to." He slowly ran his fingers along the handlebar of the Schwinn stationary bicycle. "It's okay, Barrett. Don't worry about this end of things. I'll take care of everything." "Well --- " There was a long pause. Barrett knew it was time to end the conversation. " --- I guess that's about it. Give my best to Ronni and --- well, everyone else." "Sure thing. And I promise to stay in touch." After they said their goodbyes and Barrett replaced the receiver, he suddenly realized for no particular reason, that no one except George Archer and Miles Garrison knew about Janet. Not Lysle, not the Mintons, not Marie --- no one! They would all think he killed Jodi Bartless. Barrett stood up, shook his head and laughed to himself. The greatest kept secret of my life. A gargantuan segment, and no one to share it with. So fuck it! Let 'em all think whatever the hell they want. It makes no difference now. Barrett dialed the other number. "Hello, Marie." He sat down heavily in his easy chair. He could see the policemen out of the corner of his eye, as they stood in the kitchen entrance watching him. He didn't care anymore. Barrett then brought his assistant up to date on everything. "I don't quite know what to say." She blew her nose, then waited a long time before continuing. "But I --- I just want to thank you for everything. I know --- " "No, Marie. I'm the one to thank you for all your loyal years of assistance. I could have never managed without you." Marie blew her nose again. "And if this conversation goes on any longer, we'll both be drowning in tears." "Goodbye, Dr. Jessop. And God bless you." *
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