Sleepers. Part 38

"Yes," Ferguson said.

"On more than one occasion?" O'Connor asked.

"Yes," Ferguson said.

"With more than one boy?"

"Yes," Ferguson said.

"Now, do you still think Sean Nokes was a good man, Mr. Ferguson?" O'Connor asked.

"He was my friend," friend," Ferguson said. Ferguson said.

"A friend who raped and abused boys he was paid to watch over," O'Connor said. "Boys who could maybe grow up and become an enemy enemy of such a of such a good good man." man."

"Are you finished?" Ferguson asked, his eyes red, his hands shaking.

"Not just yet," O'Connor said.

"I want it to be over," Ferguson said, wiping his eyes and looking at the judge. "Please, your honor, I want it to be over."

"Mr. O'Connor?" the judge asked.

"This won't take long, your honor," O'Connor said.

"Proceed," Judge Weisman said.

"Sean Nokes spent a lot of time at your home, is that right?" O'Connor asked.

"Yes," Ferguson said.

"As much as a week at a time, is that also correct?"

"Yes," Ferguson said.

"And you have a child, is that correct?"

"Yes," Ferguson said. "A daughter."

"In all the time your good good friend Sean Nokes spent in your home, all the days, all the hours, did either you or your wife ever allow him to be alone with your daughter?" O'Connor asked. "At friend Sean Nokes spent in your home, all the days, all the hours, did either you or your wife ever allow him to be alone with your daughter?" O'Connor asked. "At any any time? For time? For any any reason?" reason?"

Ferguson stared at O'Connor, his fear evident, his body leaning toward the judge's bench for support.

"No," he finally said. "No, we never did."

"Why was that, Mr. Ferguson?" O'Connor asked. "If he was such a good good man." man."

"Objection, your honor," Michael said for the first time, looking at Ferguson. "Question doesn't call for an answer."

"Counselor's right, your honor," O'Connor said. "I withdraw the question."

"Witness is excused," Judge Weisman said.

"Thank you, your honor," Ferguson said, stepping down from the stand.

"Mr. Ferguson, if I were you, I wouldn't stray too far from home," Judge Weisman said. "People will need to talk to you. Do you understand?"

"Yes, your honor," Ferguson said meekly, his eyes darting from John to Tommy and then to Michael, slowly, finally recoiling in recognition. "I understand."

Michael waited until Ferguson walked out of the courtroom and then stood up.

"The prosecution rests its case, your honor," he said. "We have no further witnesses."

"Thank G.o.d for that," Judge Weisman said.

16.

FAT M MANCHO BOUNCED a spauldeen against the ground, his eyes fixed on the brick wall in front of him. He was wearing a long-sleeve wool shirt, a Baltimore Orioles baseball cap, scruffy blue jeans, and hightop PF Flyers. a spauldeen against the ground, his eyes fixed on the brick wall in front of him. He was wearing a long-sleeve wool shirt, a Baltimore Orioles baseball cap, scruffy blue jeans, and hightop PF Flyers.

I stood five feet to his left, wearing a leather jacket, two black wool gloves, and a pull cap. My jeans felt stiff in the windy cold and my sneakers and thin white socks weren't enough to prevent the late Sunday afternoon chill from seeping through.

Carol stood with her back to the chain-link fence separating the open lot from the sidewalk. She was on her third cup of coffee and had two thick winter scarves wrapped around her neck.

"Most people play handball in the summer," I said to Fat Mancho, rubbing my hands together. "It's easier to see the ball without tears in your eyes."

"I give a f.u.c.k about most people," Fat Mancho said.

"What do you have planned for after the game," I asked. "A swim?"

"Your b.a.l.l.s all twisted up 'cause you gonna lose the game," Fat Mancho said. "And you one of them f.u.c.kers that can't live with losin'."

"Freezing, Fat Man," I said. "I'm one of those f.u.c.kers who can't live with freezing."

Fat Mancho slapped the ball against the wall, a hard shot, aimed low, with a heavy spin to it. I took three steps back and returned the hit. Fat Mancho was ready for the return, crouched down, hands on his knees, not wearing gloves, his eyes on the ball, looking like an overweight third baseman who forgot his Old-Timer's Day uniform.

His right hand whipped at the ball, sending it higher than the serve, faster, forcing me to move back, the soles of my sneakers slipping on a thin slab of ice. I watched as the ball bounced over my head.

"That's six for me, loser," Fat Mancho said. "Two for you."

"You never play play this game," I said, my breath coming heavy. "How can you be good?" this game," I said, my breath coming heavy. "How can you be good?"

"You never seen seen me play, fool," Fat Mancho said. "I was your age, I was all-spic. Played the best. Beat the best." me play, fool," Fat Mancho said. "I was your age, I was all-spic. Played the best. Beat the best."

I looked over his shoulder and saw Carol walking toward us, a cup of coffee in one hand and a cold beer in the other.

"Good news," I said. "It's halftime."

We sat against the handball wall, sitting on top of three copies of the Sunday Daily News Daily News, Carol and I sharing the coffee, Fat Mancho slurping gulps of Rheingold.

"How's Irish holdin' up?" Fat Mancho asked about Michael.

"I only know what I see in court," I said. "That end seems good. His side of the table's finished."

"He did good," Fat Mancho said. "I seen lawyers weren't weren't tossin' the case look more f.u.c.ked up. You tossin' the case look more f.u.c.ked up. You didn't didn't know, you know, you won't won't know. That kid's colder than a hit man." know. That kid's colder than a hit man."

"John and Tommy are starting to smell something," I said. "They just don't know what."

"A spic be livin' in the White House time it reaches their f.u.c.kin' brain," Fat Mancho said.

"O'Connor's come through big," Carol said. "He looks like F. Lee Bailey's twin brother out there."

"He was was a good one," Fat Mancho said. "Then he lost a few and he found the bottle. Been chasin' nothin' but skid cases since." a good one," Fat Mancho said. "Then he lost a few and he found the bottle. Been chasin' nothin' but skid cases since."

"He sobered up for this," I said. "He's got a shot at a win. Even without a witness."

"He's a drunk, but he ain't a fool," Fat Mancho said, putting the can of beer on the ground next to him. "He wins this, every killer both sides of the river have his card in their pocket."

"Is that true?" Carol asked, lifting one of the scarves up to where it covered everything but her eyes.

"Is what true?" I said.

"Can we win the case without a witness?"

"You already won," Fat Mancho said. "You got the taste. Now you're just lookin' to get away with it."

"They've got to walk, Fat Man," I said. "We win only when John and Tommy walk."

"Then you gotta get 'em outta the shootin' hole," Fat Mancho said. "Put 'em someplace else. Only your witness does that. And he's doin' a Claude Rains so far. n.o.body's seen the f.u.c.ker."

"What if he doesn't show?" Carol said. "What if we go in the way we are?"

"You got got street justice," Fat Mancho said. "That's the real. You come up with empty hands on court justice, that's the bulls.h.i.t." street justice," Fat Mancho said. "That's the real. You come up with empty hands on court justice, that's the bulls.h.i.t."

"They both take your life away, Fat Man," I said. "The street just does it faster."

"Street's only one matters," Fat Mancho said. "Court's for uptown, people with suits, money, lawyers with three names. You got cash, you can buy buy court justice. On the street, justice got no price. She's blind where the judge sits. But she ain't blind out here. Out here, the b.i.t.c.h got eyes." court justice. On the street, justice got no price. She's blind where the judge sits. But she ain't blind out here. Out here, the b.i.t.c.h got eyes."

"We need both," I said.

"Then you need need a witness," Fat Mancho said, standing up, taking the pink rubber ball out of his pants pocket. "And I a witness," Fat Mancho said, standing up, taking the pink rubber ball out of his pants pocket. "And I need need to finish beatin' your a.s.s. Let's go, loser. You down to me by four." to finish beatin' your a.s.s. Let's go, loser. You down to me by four."

"Can we finish this later?" I asked, too numb from the cold to stand.

"When later?" Fat Mancho asked, looking down at me.

"The middle of July," I said.

17.

DANNY O'C O'CONNOR PIECED together a credible defense for the jury to ponder during the course of his first three days on the attack. He called to the stand a limited range of John's and Tommy's friends and family, most of them middle-aged to elderly men and women with sweet eyes and trusting faces. All of them testifying that while both boys were sometimes wild, they were not killers. together a credible defense for the jury to ponder during the course of his first three days on the attack. He called to the stand a limited range of John's and Tommy's friends and family, most of them middle-aged to elderly men and women with sweet eyes and trusting faces. All of them testifying that while both boys were sometimes wild, they were not killers.

None of them had ever seen John Reilly or Tommy Marcano hold a gun.

The two waitresses on duty the night of the shooting testified that they knew both defendants and found them to be pleasant whenever they entered the pub. Neither remembered seeing John Reilly or Tommy Marcano the night Sean Nokes was killed. The women said they were in the kitchen at the time of the shooting and did not come out until the police arrived.

"Were the two shooters in the pub when the police got there?" O'Connor asked one of the waitresses.

"No," she said. "I guess they already left."

"Why do you guess that?"

"Killers don't wait for cops," she said. "In the neighborhood, n.o.body n.o.body waits for cops." waits for cops."

"You're from the neighborhood," O'Connor said. "And you waited."

"I was getting paid paid to wait," she said. to wait," she said.

Jerry the bartender testified he served the defendants two drinks and two beers on the afternoon of Nokes's death. They sat quietly and were gone in less than an hour. They paid the tab and tip with a twenty left on the bar. He was in the back picking up his dinner when the shooting occurred and therefore did not see anyone pump shots into Sean Nokes. Jerry also phoned the police as soon as the gunfire died down.

Through it all, Michael kept his cross-examinations simple, never venturing beyond where the witnesses wanted to go, never calling into dispute any parts of their accounts. He was always polite, cordial, and relaxed, easily buying into the professed innocence of those called to the stand.

O'Connor's intent was to continue to mine the doubts planted in the jury's mind, doubts that had first taken root with the testimony of the prosecutor's key eyewitness, Helen Salinas.

To that end, Dr. George Paltrone, a Bronx general pract.i.tioner who also ran a detox clinic, was called to the stand as an expert witness. In Dr. Paltrone's opinion, if Mrs. Salinas drank as much alcohol as she claimed in the amount of time that she stated, her testimony had to be deemed less than credible.

"Are you saying Mrs. Salinas was drunk?" O'Connor asked Dr. Paltrone.

"Not quite drunk," Dr. Paltrone said. "But she had more than enough drink in her to impair judgment."

"Wouldn't witnessing a shooting sober her up?"

"Not necessarily," Dr. Paltrone said. "The fear she felt may have made a rational judgment even more difficult."

"In other words, doctor, drink and fear don't always lead to truth?"

"That's right," Dr. Paltrone said. "More often than not they don't."