Sacred Sins

by C. D. Reiss

  “Ask me something else,” he croaked. “Anything else.”

  “How’s your Chopin?” Indy asked.

  Jonathan turned his head just enough to see him. “You! Fucking hell!” A smile spread across his face. “Get me out of here, would you? I feel like the god damned Mona Lisa. You line up for a viewing.”

  “She’s prettier,” Indy answered.

  “Where have you been?”

  “Around.”

  Jonathan may have been too sick to notice the reverence in Indy’s gaze. How he inspected every inch of Jonathan’s face, trying to see himself.

  “I was going to kill you. When I found out you left my sister—”

  “I chased him away,” I said.

  “You’re lucky I was locked up,” Jonathan added. “She was hurt. She didn’t cry or complain, but she was hurt.”

  “Don’t get yourself excited,” I said, “or the machines will go off.”

  I was being ignored. Jonathan only had enough energy to pay attention to one person, and Indy was talking to him as his father for the first time.

  “If you get better, you can punch me.”

  “I’m not an adolescent behind the gym,” Jonathan said, then swallowed and looked at me. “You happy to see him?”

  “Yes. Very.”

  “Good. Very good. I’ll let him live. I always liked him.”

  “You liked him because Daddy didn’t.”

  “He felt more like family anyway.”

  The nurse came in. Our time was up. I walked to the door, but Indy didn’t move.

  “I’m sorry,” he said to Jon. “This shouldn’t be happening to you.”

  But he was already unconscious and the machines were wailing.

  Indy hustled out behind me with his hand on the back of my neck. We went right through the waiting room and into the hallway, stopping by a water fountain.

  “The fuck. What the fuck?” His eyes were frantic with energy he couldn’t direct.

  “Take it easy,” I said. “Breathe.”

  “He’s a man. A full-grown man, and he’s mine. I don’t know how to feel about that and I’m never going to find out.”

  “Don’t break, Indiana.” I held his face in my hands. “Not yet. Breathe.”

  Hands on my arms, he looked at the floor between us, chest rising and falling. “How can it be too late already?”

  “There’s nothing we can do. Trust me. I worked all the angles. The donor list? It’s a government thing and I tapped—” I stopped myself mid sentence.

  “What?” he asked, looking at me with an expectation I hoped I could meet.

  If I uttered another word, I’d be committed to destroying my family. Even if I tried to back out, this man would push forward, and he’d be right.

  “I have an idea,” I said.

  “I’m listening.”

  “I need you,” I said. “If you’re not with me, I won’t do it.”

  “Margie, don’t you get it?” His gaze went from panicked to tender as he cupped my face the way I’d cupped his. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  * * *

  Will met me by the elevator. We spoke in the corner in hushed, urgent tones.

  “You want me to what?” he asked as if he hadn’t heard me, which he had. Loud and clear.

  “Get Angela here with whomever else she needs for a proffer.”

  The first time I said it, he looked shocked. Now he looked furious.

  “They have to come here,” I continued. “I’m not leaving.”

  “No fucking way.”

  “If you’re too humiliated after getting dumped—”

  “Please, Margaret. You’re better than that.”

  “Give me her number and I’ll take care of it.”

  “What are you proffering?”

  “I am not, right now, in a place where I can explain myself.” I spoke through my teeth, growling with impatience and frustration. “My brother’s dying. I need you to manage his ex-wife, and I need you to make a single fucking phone call.”

  He put his weight on his back foot, moving just enough for me to see I was getting my way and to realize his objections were legitimate.

  “When this is over,” I said, “I’ll explain over a bottle of scotch.”

  “Or from a jail cell.”

  “Please, Will.”

  He nodded, but he didn’t like it.

  I’d make it up to him somehow. Even if it was from a jail cell.

  * * *

  No one would call the air in Los Angeles fresh, but the rooms and halls of the hospital were getting claustrophobic and stale. I met Indy on a bench in the concrete courtyard behind the parking lot. The unforgiving sunlight made him even more handsome, as if full light validated the hardship of his years away. I could see every bit of gray, every line on his face, every crevice where he’d been cruel to himself.

  “I need you,” I said.

  “Feeling’s mutual.”

  “To be my lawyer.”

  He laughed. “Cin, I haven’t practiced law in a decade and a half.”

  “You’re also a felon, but they overlook it if you’re nice and you pay your dues.”

  “I’m not and I haven’t.”

  “You just have to sit there and know what you’re talking about.”

  He twisted in his seat to face me, draping his arm over the back of the bench. “But I don’t.”

  “Not yet.” I planted my hands on my lap. “I’m going to tell you what I need and why. I’m not going to leave anything out.”

  His gaze landed on the place where my neck met my jacket as if that was the seam where my need met my request, then back to my face. “I’ve never met a woman who could make legal representation so sexy.”

  “Will you represent me or not?”

  “Whatever you need. I’m here.”

  I took a breath and organized my thoughts again. “I’m meeting with the FBI to make a proffer.”

  He looked away, then back.

  “Don’t tell me you practiced copyright law,” I said. “I know full well. But I trust you, and no other lawyer would let me do what I need to do.”

  “Okay,” he said as his thumb touched my shoulder. “Go on. What are you proffering?”

  “In 1999, when you came to LA with me, a lot was going on. A lot. And I was new at this. But Fiona, my sister…” I waved away the words. He knew Fiona was my sister. “When she was in Westonwood, she was attacked by Warren Chilton. Charlie Chilton’s son. A sociopathic little prick if ever there was one. He was going to get away with it and it was going to break her. So I arranged for justice.”

  His expression changed from openness to a kind of wary surprise. “Did you have him killed?”

  “No.”

  A tide of relief crossed his face. “Did she know?”

  “At the time, no. And I haven’t discussed it with her, but some of the people involved are close to her still. So she knows now. The Feds also know. They’re tracking that down and who knows what else.”

  “And you want to proffer before they get a warrant?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t believe they’ll ever have what they need for a warrant. Too many people did things that aren’t necessarily illegal. It was only a crime in sum. And I was the only one who knows every piece of the puzzle.”

  “I’m not sure why you’re doing this, Margie.”

  “I’m going to offer myself in exchange for immunity for the people involved.”

  “What?” He sat up straighter, the hand over the back of the bench gripping the wood as if he wanted to squeeze it to splinters.

  “I’ll get a criminal lawyer for the plea. Eighteen months. Tops.”

  “You think they’re going to stop at that? They’re going to dig deep. The charges won’t stop with an assault in 1999.”

  “No. But they’ll find corporate crimes. The Drazen operation as we know it will be over, but the people in the family… they’ll be fine.”

  He swung straight and put his
hands on his knees, shaking his head slowly. “This is crazy.”

  “It’s just business.” I put a hand on his, digging my fingertips into the space between his palm and his leg. He tightened his fist around mine.

  “What could be worth trading everything for?” he asked.

  “Jonathan’s life.”

  He took a deep breath and looked out over the parking lot. A car alarm went off in the distance and stopped. The birds called back in the same rhythm as the alarm.

  “I don’t like this,” he said.

  “Me neither. But it’s all I have. If I have one last card and he dies because I was afraid to play it, it’s going to be a long and bitter life.”

  A police car flew down La Cienega. Soft then loud then soft in the distance again.

  “I don’t have a suit,” he said.

  “I don’t want a lawyer in a suit. I want someone who understands what I need.”

  He tapped our clasped hands against his knee and pressed his lips together. “When I came back, I promised myself I’d be here for whatever you needed. I didn’t imagine it would be this.” He looked at me, and I met his eyes. “I wish you needed something, anything, besides me standing by you while you sell yourself out. But you have me now. Whatever you ask, it’s yours.”

  We unlatched our hands and put our arms around each other. I laid my head on his shoulder. Relaxed, secure, with the world as I knew it ending—he was there with me.

  “Stand beside me,” I said.

  “I will.”

  20

  Will, bless him, arranged for the hospital chapel to be closed for a few thousand in donations. He was unhappy at being out of the loop, but more than that, he was worried about his part in a play with a tragic ending.

  Just outside the chapel, I fixed Indy’s lapel. He was in the jacket and button-front shirt we’d bought. His jeans and boots would have to do. When he turned to walk to through the door, Will stood in his way.

  Indy was maybe an inch and a half shorter, but when he stared at Will, they might as well have been the same height. They held each other in stasis.

  “Judges came back with a ruling,” I said. “You both pissed the exact same distance. Contest over.”

  Will moved a little, and Indy made up the rest, going to the pews where we’d sell a piece of my life for all of Jonathan’s.

  “Did he put you up to this?” Will asked, closing the doors. Behind him was a shelf of flowers that had been moved from patients’ rooms.

  “You don’t even know what it is.”

  “I know I don’t like it.”

  “It’s not your fault.”

  He smiled in spite of himself. “But it is. I introduced you to Angela. I made the call.”

  “You act like I couldn’t get the Feds in the room without you. It would just have taken an extra day.” I patted his arm tenderly. “Don’t worry. It’s for the best.”

  A soft rap at the door interrupted us. Indy nodded to me and I nodded back as Will opened the doors, revealing Angela and two men in dark suits. She glanced at Will, then sharply away.

  “Hello, Angela,” I said.

  “Ms. Drazen,” she said, then held up her ID. “You can call me Agent Shaw. This is my partner, Special Agent Gonzales.”

  The stocky man with the thick, wavy black hair nodded.

  “And Director David Park.”

  The taller Asian man smiled when he offered his hand. I shook it. He had an immediately friendly manner that was disarming. It must have been quite an arrow in his quiver.

  “This is my counsel—” I stopped myself. After seeing him on stage again, he was Indy to me, but we hadn’t discussed who he was to be in the jacket. “Andrew McCaffrey.”

  Will, staying outside, closed the doors, and we sat in the pews, Feds in front, Indy and I behind. Angela and Gonzales turned to face us, and their boss stood between the altar and pews with his arms crossed and his legs wide. I wished for a table to hide behind. That hadn’t been the plan. I had to present as if I was hiding nothing.

  “So,” Gonzales said.

  “My client understands you have some information about an assault on Warren Chilton in 1999,” Drew said.

  “Attempted murder,” Angela cut in.

  “No,” Drew said. “The evidence doesn’t support an attempt on Chilton’s life.”

  “We only have to prove intent.”

  “I’m aware,” I said. “And so are you. If there had been intent to kill, he’d be dead.”

  The silence was as thick as a brick of plastic explosive.

  “I will sign a confession to my part in the assault. I’ll explain how it happened and why. You’ll have me.”

  “Why?” Agent Shaw asked.

  She did not like me at all. I didn’t know if it was because I’d come between her and Will or because she needed to have negative feelings about someone to prosecute them.

  “My client is willing to proffer the confession,” Drew said, “in exchange for first… immunity for all the other parties involved.”

  “Come on,” David Park said as if Drew had told a silly joke. “That’s like giving us the candles on the birthday cake. It’s not even a slice.”

  He was already rejecting the offer and he didn’t even know what else I wanted.

  Nice move.

  “It’s a solid proffer,” Drew said.

  “I’m greedy,” Park said. “Evil villain greedy. I want more.”

  “I want all my family members immune to criminal prosecution in anything you turn up during questioning,” I said. “And things will come up.”

  “We have enough,” Angela said.

  Knowing the rules they had to adhere to, it was easy to underestimate the FBI. It was easy to get lazy and careless about the little things. Taxes, for one. It was too tempting to leave the business wide open to fraud charges and a subpoena for the love of a few million dollars.

  It was also easy to trust them when they told you they had something.

  But this wasn’t my first rodeo. I knew the game.

  Yet I could still make mistakes. It was also easy to overestimate them.

  “Then what are you waiting for?” I asked. “Testimony maybe? Maybe you have a bunch of paperwork, but nothing wins cases like testimony. And who knows? Once you get me in a room, you might be able to twist my words into all kinds of admissions.”

  They waited, giving no sign of the value of my offer.

  “Not Declan Drazen,” Park said. “No immunity for him. Period.”

  His sociable demeanor had disappeared, revealing its real usefulness. A friendly face turned antagonistic was more valuable than sustained hostility. I wanted to look at my lawyer. Let his face assure me that this was the right time.

  I reached into my bag and pulled out Sheila’s red folder.

  “No immunity for my father.” I handed it to Park.

  “What’s this?” He opened it.

  “It’s the UNOS organ recipient list. My brother goes to the top of the list. Any heart. Anywhere. He gets it first.”

  “How the fuck did you get that?” Gonzales asked.

  Angela gave him a wide-eyed look, indicating the altar. No cursing in church. Cute.

  Park didn’t glance at his agents or give any outward sign that my demand was even on the table. “We have no jurisdiction over this.”

  “The justice department has ways of making things happen,” I said. “If they want someone badly enough.”

  “I know you’re concerned about your brother.” Park handed the folder back to me. “But this is not on the same planet as reality.”

  Both his fake friendliness and his sharp antagonism were gone. His face was eased in sympathy, and his voice held nothing but compassion.

  He was telling the truth. It wasn’t a game or a ploy. A human heart wasn’t in their arsenal.

  It had been a long shot. I felt foolish for asking.

  I couldn’t show them that, nor could I put another deal on the table. I’d flashed a pair
of deuces as if it were a winning hand. There was no taking it back now. I’d gambled away my leverage for nothing.

  “There’s no proffer without it,” Drew said.

  “We have enough for a warrant already,” Park said. “Honestly, I’d rather have you come in willingly. But we’ll be able to make an arrest in twenty-four hours. Maybe less if the judge gets up early Monday morning.”

  Angela and her partner looked at him with concern.

  Their boss shrugged. “She’s not going anywhere.”

  He was right. I wasn’t a flight risk as long as my son was on his deathbed. I’d be in that same chapel, kneeling for the repose of his soul, when they came to get me.

  “I’ll consider,” I said, putting away the folder. “Have you ever cared about something besides yourself, Agent Shaw?”

  They all thought they did. I didn’t want the answer as much as I wanted the picture of that thing to take up space in their heads.

  “Cared so much you gave your life to it? Ever had it threatened from all sides by people who didn’t understand what you’d sacrificed or what you’d continue to sacrifice? If my brother’s dead before we come to an agreement, you can take your offer and shove it. Jail doesn’t scare me.”

  “It should,” Angela said, standing. “It really should. Because it’s not just you. Your brother’s implicated. Your sister’s husband. Your father.”

  “What if we gave you Declan Drazen?” Drew interjected.

  “What?” I exclaimed.

  “For?” David asked.

  “The murder of Stratford Gilliam in 1983.”

  “Drew…” We hadn’t discussed this. I wasn’t ready. My evidence was flimsy at best.

  Park leaned forward, bending at the waist until his arms were on the back of the pew and he was right in my face. “What do you have?”

  “Sworn testimony,” Drew said. “In exchange for immunity for my client in the matter of Warren Chilton.”

  David shot his gaze over to my lawyer. “Testimony from whom?”

  “The middleman. We won’t say who until you accept our proffer.”

  “We need more than the promise of testimony.” Park said. “What else?”

  My lips tightened. Past Jonathan walking out of Sequoia Hospital, I couldn’t see much of the future, but in the present, Drew was working for my best interests and I decided to trust him.