There was a pause then. Chet sat straight-backed in his chair, his hands clasped before him, clasped tightly, his fingers twisting around each other like knotted ropes, and Chet was staring at those clasped hands, saying nothing. I tapped my fingers on the formica tabletop, fatatatap, fatatatap, fatatatap.
“Chester,” she said finally. “We have to fight back. If we act now we can still mount a defense. We have to point the finger at Jimmy and let the jury choose between you and him. My guess, everything being even, they’ll go after him.”
There was another pause, and then Chet looked my way. “What do you think, Victor?” he asked. “What do you think I should do?”
Here it was. Beth was staring at me, a sad uncertainty in her gaze. Chester was looking at me and I could see that boy again, the lonely one inside of him that all his careful manners had been hiding for so long, and the little boy was scared. I had to be careful here, I knew. I had to phrase it just right.
“It appears, on the surface,” I said, looking only at Concannon as I spoke, “that the councilman’s lawyer may be planning to make you a scapegoat. But it’s also possible that Prescott is simply trying to cast any doubt he can on Ruffing’s story to show the weakness of the prosecutor’s case. If so, he would argue in front of the jury that Eggert hadn’t proven whether Jimmy was at fault or you were at fault and therefore reasonable doubt existed. That’s exactly what defense attorneys are supposed to do, raise reasonable doubt. And, frankly, it might not be a terrible strategy. So what we should do, Chet, really depends on whether or not you trust the councilman.”
I kept looking at Concannon, only at Concannon, even after I finished speaking. I was almost disappointed to see the relief spread across his features.
“That makes it easy, then,” said Chet. “I’m going to trust Jimmy. He’s the closest thing I’ve ever known to a savior. If he says he’s going to get us both off, I’m going to trust him to do it.”
Beth banged the table with her hand. “You’re his sacrificial lamb, Chester,” she said. “He’s feeding you to the government to save himself. And it doesn’t stop here. After this trial there’s the trial in state court. You remember that, don’t you? The murder trial where ADA Slocum is going to ask for the death penalty?”
“I didn’t kill that man,” said Chet. “And Jimmy didn’t either.”
“It doesn’t matter who did what,” she said. “If you go down here, you’re going to go down there too, do you understand? Don’t throw your life away.”
When his answer came it was slow, precise, but the anger in it was clear and hard. “I was wasting away to nothing when the councilman took me from the street and gave me something to be. You don’t know what it’s like, feeling the frustration of wanting something so bad and knowing there is no way in hell you’re going to get it. And then along comes Jimmy Moore like an angel of God and he gives it all to me. We get one shot, that’s the rule for us, one shot if we’re lucky, and the councilman’s my shot. Victor says it’s all about whether or not I trust him, well, I do. More than anything else in this world. And I will continue to trust him until you can prove to me, I mean prove it in black and white so there is no doubt, until you can prove to me that his strategy is to dump me to save himself.”
“We can’t get proof like that,” said Beth.
“Then I want Victor to keep following Prescott’s orders. Prescott doesn’t want Victor to ask any questions of Michael Ruffing.”
“Is that right?” I asked.
“That’s what he wants. The councilman’s a loyal man, all he demands is loyalty in return. I’ve seen it over and over, people doubting him and him coming through for them. Get me the proof or do what Prescott tells you.”
I slapped the table lightly. “Well, I guess that’s that,” I said. “The decision’s made.”
“Why don’t you give us a minute alone, Chester,” said Beth.
After he left we stayed there in silence for a while, Beth and I. I couldn’t bring myself to look at her, afraid of what I would see in her eyes. I thought she’d start out by screaming at me, but she didn’t. Her voice when it came was soft and even, but I could still feel the emotion in it.
“You should get the hell out of this case,” she said. “Cause a mistrial, leave Prescott holding a leaking paper bag with his spoiled strategy inside.”
“The judge won’t let me go,” I said.
“Then you should get Chester back in here and convince him that he’s getting screwed.”
“He’s the client,” I said. “He made his decision.”
“You could convince him,” she said. “What you told him was absolute bullshit and you know it. He listens to you, God knows why, but he does. You could change his mind, give him a fighting chance.”
“And then do what? What evidence do I have? What can I ask Ruffing that will change anything? It would be different if I had something concrete to use.”
“Would it?”
I didn’t say anything.
“So what are you going to do now, Victor?”
“Just what my client wants me to do,” I said. “Nothing.”
“I can’t accept that,” she said.
“It’s not your case.”
“It’s my name on the letterhead.”
“Yes, but it was the retainer I got in this case that finally paid the stationery bill. The decision has been made,” I said. “Whatever happens, it’s my responsibility.”
She gave me that damn sigh again and I shuddered as if I had been hit about my shoulders with a stick. “They’ve been trying for years to get me to work down at Community Legal Services,” she said. “Perillo called me again about CLS just last week. He has an opening for me. The pay’s steady, and there’s plenty of work.”
“Beth,” I said, but that’s all I could say, because when I finally looked up at her she was facing away from me and in the hunch of her shoulders was a sadness I had never seen in her before, a sadness that shocked me into silence.
“I think I’m going to accept his offer,” she said, and I knew then why she was turned away from me; Beth would sooner have me see her naked than have me see her cry. “Don’t you know, Victor, haven’t you learned yet that the one thing we’re never allowed to do in this life is nothing?”
“Beth,” I said again, and again that was all I could say, because before I could say anything else she was out the door.
This is what I realized just then. I realized that the difference between those who got what they wanted and those who didn’t was not merely talent or brains or grace under pressure, the difference was that those who got what they wanted simply wanted it more than those who didn’t. Well, dammit, I knew what I wanted and I knew just how bad I wanted it, too. I was sick of our outdated law books, of our scruffy copier, of the dunning letters and collection calls and my same three suits and my frayed collars and the worry over small change that had kept me tossing on the sofa as the late show droned. I was sick of our second-class practice, sick of my second-class life. I wanted my share of the wealth and glory in this world, I wanted money, and if my wants were shallow then sue me, dammit, for I was third generation now, American to the core, and what I wanted was only what this country had taught me to want. And it taught me how to get it, too. As Beth walked out of that room I learned that she simply didn’t want it all as much as I did. Too bad for her. Maybe she belonged at Community Legal Services, working in a cubicle, handling landlord-tenant disputes for families on welfare, but not me, no sir.
When Judge Gimbel came back on the bench and brought the jury into the courtroom and asked me, “Now, Mr. Carl, do you have any questions for this witness?” he might just as well have been asking whether I had any doubts about how badly I wanted the success that Prescott was promising, because the answer would have been exactly the same.
“No, Your Honor,” I said without hesitation. “None at all.”
When I sat down again Prescott was smiling at me. It was a warm smile, and what I interpreted that smile to mean was, “Welcome to the club.” I smiled too.