Sleepers. Part 41

"What can they do?" Michael asked. "Arrest us?"

"You did good in there, counselor," I said to Michael, sitting on the bench, taking a bite out of a pretzel.

"How I did won't matter until they come back in and hand me a win," Michael said.

"Will you settle for a loss?" I asked, smiling over at him.

"I can live with it," Michael said, finishing his hot dog and snapping open his soda can.

"What happens to you now?" I asked. "After this ends?"

"I walk away," Michael said. "Wait a few weeks and then hand in my notice. After the way I handled this case, there won't be a rush to keep me from the door."

"You can switch to the other side," I said. "Work as a defense lawyer. More money in it, probably, and you'll never be short on clients. There are always going to be more bad guys than good. The work from John and Tommy's crew alone will get you a house with a pool."

"Not for me," Michael said. "I've seen all the law I want to see. It's time for something else."

"Like what?"

"I'll let you know when I know," Michael said.

"You're too old to play for the Yankees," I said. "And you're too young to take up golf."

"You're shooting holes all through my plans," Michael said, smiling. "I'm starting to panic."

"You'll work things out," I said, finishing the last of my soda. "You always have."

"It's time for quiet, Shakes," Michael said, staring down at the ground. "That I do know. Give things a rest. Find a spot where I can shut my eyes and not have to see the places I've been. Maybe I'll even get lucky and forget I was ever there."

"It took pieces out of us, where we were," I said. "What we had to do to get out. Big pieces we didn't even know we had. Pieces we gotta learn to do without or find again. All that takes time. Lots of time."

"I can wait," Michael said.

"You always seemed to know how," I said. "The rest of us didn't have the patience."

"I've got to get back in there," Michael said, standing up and moving toward the courthouse. "The jury may be coming in."

"Don't disappear on me, counselor," I said, my eyes meeting his. "I may need a good lawyer someday."

"You can't afford a good lawyer," Michael said. "Not on your salary."

"I may need a good friend," I said.

"I'll find you when you do," Michael said. "Count on it."

"I always have," I said, watching Michael walk through the revolving doors of the courthouse to the elevators and up nine floors to face a jury's verdict.

22.

THE AREA OUTSIDE Part 47 was crowded with the familiar faces of h.e.l.l's Kitchen. They stood against stained walls, smoking cigarettes and drinking coffee, or sat on long wooden benches, reading the Part 47 was crowded with the familiar faces of h.e.l.l's Kitchen. They stood against stained walls, smoking cigarettes and drinking coffee, or sat on long wooden benches, reading the Daily News Daily News and and Post. Post. Others jammed the phone banks, calling in their bets and checking in on either an angry parole officer or an impatient loan shark. Others jammed the phone banks, calling in their bets and checking in on either an angry parole officer or an impatient loan shark.

They were waiting for the verdict.

Walking past them, I shook a few hands and nodded to a few faces before finding an empty spot in a corner near the black double doors.

After fifteen minutes the doors swung open. A court officer, tall and muscular, his gun buckle hanging at an angle, held the k.n.o.b in one hand, his body halfway in the hall.

"They're coming in," he said in a listless voice. "In about five minutes. You wanna hear, better come in now."

I stood to the side and watched as the crowd slowly trooped in. Then I moved away, and walked over to a bench and sat down. I leaned over, my head in my hands, eyes closed, sweating, shaking, praying that we could finish this the way we planned. I went over everything we did and tried to think of things we should have done. The plan had only one flaw. Its success or failure hinged on the whims of twelve strangers.

"You're not going in?" Carol asked, standing above me.

"I don't want to go in alone," I said, taking my hands from my face.

"You're not alone," she said.

"I don't want to lose either," I said.

"You're not going to lose."

"It sounds like you've got all the answers," I said, standing up and taking her by the arm.

"Maybe I do," Carol said. "Maybe I do."

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"HAS THE JURY reached its verdict?" Judge Weisman asked, sitting impa.s.sively behind his bench. reached its verdict?" Judge Weisman asked, sitting impa.s.sively behind his bench.

"We have, your honor," answered the jury foreman, a stocky bald man in a plaid shirt.

The bailiff took the folded piece of paper from the foreman and walked it over to Judge Weisman. The judge opened the paper and looked down, his face betraying nothing.

I looked past the wall of heads and shoulders surrounding me and glanced over at John and Tommy, sitting up close to their table, their hands bunched in fists. Danny O'Connor sat next to them, rubbing a hand against the back of his neck, beneath the frayed collar of his shirt. Across from them, Michael sat and stared at the empty witness box. He was taking deep breaths, his fingers twirling a felt-tip pen over his knuckles.

Judge Weisman nodded to the foreman, who stood in front of his seat.

"On the count of murder in the second degree, how do you find the defendant, John Reilly?" Judge Weisman asked.

The foreman bit his lips and looked around the courtroom with nervous eyes.

"Not guilty," the foreman said.

"On the count of murder in the second degree, how do you find the defendant, Thomas Marcano?"

"Not guilty," the foreman said.

The courtroom erupted in a thunder of applause, screams, shouts, and whistles, few hearing the judge's call to order and dismissal of charges against the defendants.

I stood up and hugged Carol.

"You did it, Shakes," she whispered in my ear.

"We did it," I said, holding her tight. "We did it," I said, holding her tight. "We all all did it." did it."

I looked over and saw Michael pick up his briefcase, shake hands with Danny O'Connor, and walk into the crowd, where he was swallowed up by the ma.s.s of bodies. I saw John and Tommy smiling and laughing, reaching out for as many hands as they could, cries of not guilty filling the air around us. I saw Judge Weisman walk down from his place behind the bench.

Flashbulbs popped.

A pair of women in the middle of the room began to cry hysterically.

Four young men in the back, heading out of the room, sang the words to "Danny Boy."

An old lady behind me stayed seated and fingered the beads of her rosary, her lips moving to a series of silent prayers.

The jury members filed out of the box, some with their heads bowed, a few waving to people in the crowd.

Danny O'Connor, all smiles and sweat, walked out of the courtroom to a chorus of men and women chanting his name.

John and Tommy stood by their places, arms in the air, basking in the glory of their moment Michael Sullivan was already in the elevator, heading down to the lobby, his mission completed, his career over.

I took Carol by the hand and led her out of the courtroom, the loud, happy sound of the crowd following us down the corridor.

It was the sound of justice.

Spring 1980

23.

THE LONG TABLE and chairs ran nearly the length of the restaurant's back room, just off the main dining hall. Pitchers of beer and bottles of Dewar's and Johnnie Walker Red dotted the cloth, along with candles flickering inside hurricane sh.e.l.ls. Two large floral arrangements, resting in the middle of a pair of wicker baskets with half-moon handles, anch.o.r.ed the ends. and chairs ran nearly the length of the restaurant's back room, just off the main dining hall. Pitchers of beer and bottles of Dewar's and Johnnie Walker Red dotted the cloth, along with candles flickering inside hurricane sh.e.l.ls. Two large floral arrangements, resting in the middle of a pair of wicker baskets with half-moon handles, anch.o.r.ed the ends.

A full month had pa.s.sed since the acquittal. In those few weeks, our lives had reverted back to what they had been prior to the murder of Sean Nokes.

Carol returned to her stack of social service files, helping troubled teens and single mothers fight a system that had neither time enough nor funds enough to care.

John and Tommy went back to the streets, running the West Side Boys, drinking heavily, and once again breaking laws with abandon. No one had expected them to change. It was too late.

King Benny went back to his club and Fat Mancho returned to his bodega.

I was promoted from clerk to reporter trainee, covering the entertainment beat. It meant I got to go to the movies for free, just like I used to do when I was a kid. Except now I didn't have to sneak my way in.

Michael was the only one of us who had made any significant change in his life. As he had promised, he had resigned from his job, three weeks after working the losing end of a can't-miss case.

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I WAS THE WAS THE first to arrive and chose a seat at the center of the table, my back to the wall. A young waiter in white shirt and black bow tie came into the room and asked if I wanted anything. I looked at the line of beer and whiskey and smiled. first to arrive and chose a seat at the center of the table, my back to the wall. A young waiter in white shirt and black bow tie came into the room and asked if I wanted anything. I looked at the line of beer and whiskey and smiled.

"This is an Irish table," I said. "And I'm Italian."

"What's missing?" the waiter asked.

"Wine."

"Red or white?"

"Both," I said.

The waiter b.u.mped into John and Tommy on his way out of the room. I stood up and we stared at each other for a few minutes. Then they both came around the table and squeezed me in a long, silent hug.

"I don't even know how how to f.u.c.kin' thank you," Johnny said, holding me even tighter. to f.u.c.kin' thank you," Johnny said, holding me even tighter.

"I can't believe what you did," Tommy said. "And I can't believe you got away with it."

"What do you mean?" I said. "Don't tell me you really really killed him?" killed him?"

They both laughed, and loosening their hold, pulled back chairs on both sides of me.

"Besides, I had nothin' to do with it," I said, sitting down as well. "It was all Mikey. It was his plan."

"I gotta tell you," John said, pouring himself a gla.s.s of beer. "When I first heard he took the case, I was gonna have him burned."

"What stopped you?"

"He was a friend," John said. "And if you're gonna go away on a murder rap, who better to send you?"

"Then, the way he was handlin' his end of the case, I thought he just sucked as a lawyer," Tommy said. "I started feelin' sorry for the b.a.s.t.a.r.d."

"Never feel sorry for a lawyer," Michael said, standing in front of us, a wide smile on his face.

"Get over here, counselor," John said, grabbing Michael's arm and dragging him around the table.

Tommy rushed in from the other side and squeezed me against them as they hugged. We were nothing more than a small circle of arms and crunched faces.

"You're the real count!" John shouted. "Alive and well and working in downtown New York City!"