He saluted.
“See you in court,” he said, and sauntered away.
Chapter 2
“Bad news,” Tracy said, dropping the morning paper on Marisa’s breakfast tray.
“Is there any other kind?” Marisa said wearily.
“Today there are two kinds. That headline says there was a brawl last night at one of the downtown bars. It was between a group of the Indian kids and some of the locals who want the government plan to go through for the jobs it will provide. One of the Seminole ringleaders, an eighteen-year-old boy, was killed.”
“Oh my God,” Marisa whispered, turning pale. The piece of toast she was holding fell to her plate.
“And as if that weren’t enough, we’ve been assigned an ‘adviser’ by the Bureau of Indian Affairs. A Mr. Randall Block will be arriving sometime tomorrow to aid in the handling of the case. We’re to give him our ‘fullest cooperation.’” Tracy dropped the message on top of the newspaper and faced Marisa glumly, her hands on her hips.
“Maybe it’s good that he’s coming, he might be able to give me some advice,” Marisa said quietly. “I never counted on anyone being killed, Tracy. This is just awful.”
“The paper says it was an accident. It seems the boy got into a shoving match with some guy and when his opponent pushed back the kid fell and hit his head.”
“Either way the boy is dead. No highway is worth a human life, for heaven’s sake.”
Tracy nodded soberly.
“I feel like dumping this case right now.”
“The government will only go ahead with somebody else, and you’ll be in hot water at the firm,” Tracy said. “You might as well stay and see this through.”
The telephone rang at Tracy’s elbow and she picked it up on the first ring.
“Hello?” She listened for a moment and then said, “No, this is her assistant. Just a second, she’s right here.”
“Who is it?” Marisa asked.
Tracy handed her the phone and said, “Jackson Bluewolf, the man you hardly know.”
Marisa threw her a dirty look as she took the phone. “Hello?” she said tentatively.
“Did you hear about what happened last night?” Jack demanded tersely.
“Yes. I’m so dreadfully sorry. I don’t know what to say.”
“There’s nothing to say. I’m calling to tell you to ask the judge for a postponement. I need a few days to get these young turks calmed down. If the hearing goes on as planned today there could be real trouble.”
“Lasky already gave my team three continuances when Arthur had his accident. He’s not going to listen to any more on that subject from me. Can’t your guy ask him?”
“Brady doesn’t want to ask him. Brady thinks that the more trouble stirred up, the better for our side. And Lasky has made it clear that he wants this over with as soon as possible.”
“I can’t ask for more time, Judge Lasky will censure me. Brady has to do it.”
There was an impatient sound from the other end of the line. “He won’t listen to me. He wants to win the case and doesn’t care if anybody else gets hurt.”
“That’s a strange comment coming from you, Mr. Bluewolf. Some people would say that your only role in this has been to exacerbate the existing problem,” Marisa replied testily.
There was a long silence and then Jack said, “I’m here because I didn’t want to see any more Indians robbed of their land by the government, Ms. Hancock. That’s all.”
“Of course. You’re perfectly innocent. You must have heard the story of the sorcerer’s apprentice.”
“What?” he said, exasperated.
“Don’t you remember the story about the trainee magician who was drowned by the waters he summoned? He initially got what he wanted but then lost control of his creation.”
The phone slammed down in her ear.
Marisa replaced the receiver carefully.
“What happened?” Tracy asked.
“That man is amazing. He has more gall than any other three people I know. He comes to Florida to rile up the Seminoles and get them on the march, and then when his plan succeeds too well he wants me to help him dampen the fires by asking for a continuance.”
“I wouldn’t do that,” Tracy said warily. “From what you’ve told me about Lasky, he’ll go wild.”
“Of course he will. Brady won’t do it, mind you, but Bluewolf thinks he can maneuver me into it. Lasky will hang me out to dry, and Bluewolf knows it. But there he is on the phone anyway, not asking, mind you, but demanding that I help him with a problem he created when he knows doing so would hurt my case.”
“He didn’t create the problem, Marisa. The Seminoles were protesting long before he got here.”
“He intensified it, then. He isn’t even a Seminole, he’s a Blackfoot from the Quadro Reservation in Oklahoma! He goes all over the country putting in his two cents for Indian causes, which is fine I suppose, even commendable...”
“But not when it interferes with the progress of your career,” Tracy interjected.
“That isn’t fair!” Marisa countered, tossing her crumpled breakfast napkin in the trash. “I have no desire to see anyone else get hurt, either. I merely resent the fact that he thinks he’s going to pressure me into doing as he says when his own lawyer won’t listen to him.”
“Aren’t you overreacting a little? I guess he figured it was worth a try.”
Marisa leaned forward urgently. “If I ask for a delay, Lasky becomes even more prejudiced against me than he is already, Brady is in the clear, and Bluewolf gets what he wants without sacrificing an iota of Lasky’s goodwill for his side. Wouldn’t you feel used in my place?”
“I suppose so,” Tracy said slowly. Then, after a moment, “What are you going to do?”
“If Mr. Bluewolf wants a delay he can ask for it himself. I’ll be in court at nine o’clock as planned,” Marisa said flatly and went to the bathroom to take a shower.
* * *
Marisa’s bravado deserted her when she stepped outside the hotel at eight forty-five and saw the mob scene across the street at the courthouse. There seemed to be at least three times the usual number of people assembled outside and the sound level was deafening. As she moved toward the intersection with Tracy at her side, it seemed that the protesters turned as one body to stare at them and, incredibly, the crowd noise got even louder.
“Oh, my God,” Tracy said at her side. “We should have requested a federal marshal as an escort.”
“Don’t show them that you’re scared,” Marisa replied. ‘
“If you wanted a performance like that you should have sent me to acting school,” Tracy responded darkly.
They marched, side by side like soldiers, across the street and into the crowd, which parted for them like the Red Sea. Marisa looked straight ahead as they walked up the courthouse steps, so she didn’t see the arm emerging from the mob, the arm holding the gun.
What happened next was a blur. She heard Tracy scream and saw Jackson Bluewolf appear before her like a genie out of a bottle. He grabbed her upper arms and thrust her aside so powerfully that she fell. At the same instant she heard the crack of a gunshot and Jack tumbled to the steps nearly on top of her, his shoulder smudged dark with a powder burn and then blossoming red.
The scene was chaos. Marisa struggled to her knees, stunned, as people began running to and fro yelling, “He’s hit!” and “Get an ambulance!” Policemen she hadn’t seen previously materialized as if from nowhere and subdued the assailant, who was sobbing, “I didn’t mean Jack, I didn’t mean to shoot Jack!” And Bluewolf was crumpled like a discarded doll on the courthouse steps, his eyes closed, blood staining his jacket and running down his hand.
Marisa crawled over to him and yanked on his tie, loosening his collar. His eyes fluttered open and for a second she was sure he knew her. Then someone appeared at her side saying, “I’m a doctor,” and she was pulled away as all attention was directed to the wounded man.
Marisa didn’t realize she was crying until Tracy sat down next to her on the steps, oblivious to the crowd milling around them, and handed her a tissue. The clicking and whirring of cameras formed an incessant backdrop to the other noises surrounding them.