The Guilty

by Gabriel Boutros

  “Is that what happened with your daughter?”

  Bratt sipped from his wineglass, unsure how much detail he should go into about what had happened with Jeannie.

  “I was there at court that day she showed up, remember,” Nancy went on. “After you came back from talking to her, you looked…well, you looked pretty shook up.”

  “Things have gotten a bit screwed up between us.” He sipped again at the wine, then dabbed nervously at his lips with his napkin. He was suddenly aware of how much Jeannie’s departure had hurt him, despite his efforts to pretend that it was just a minor tiff.

  “To tell you the truth, I don’t know how I messed things up so much.” He paused again, then looked up at Nancy. “She moved out a few days ago.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. It seems she suddenly realized the terrible thing I do for a living and found she couldn’t be around me anymore.”

  Nancy smiled, then quickly covered her mouth.

  “Sorry, Robbie. I know it’s not funny. But you have to admit it is, um…”

  “Ironic?”

  “Very ironic. What brought this on?”

  “It’s a bit of a long story.” He wondered how he was going to explain things without making himself look like the villain Jeannie claimed he was. “A friend of hers was raped by a man I’d represented several years ago.”

  “Uh-oh.”

  “Yeah. Anyway, the girl was really roughed up on the stand, made to look like she went after the guy herself. And, of course, he was acquitted, which didn’t sit too well with my daughter.”

  “No, I guess it wouldn’t. Who was the lawyer?”

  “Antoine Perron. Know him?”

  “I’ve heard of him. Is he anything like you in court?”

  Bratt knew she was teasing him when she asked that, but it struck a nerve because it had been one of Jeannie’s main complaints about the way he did his job.

  “Actually, I trained him myself, about seven years ago.”

  “So he doesn’t exactly use kid gloves.”

  “No, he doesn’t. And he’s an arrogant little shit to boot.”

  Nancy looked at him closely and asked, “You’re angry at him, aren’t you? He did his job too well, and it all ended up on your doorstep.”

  “Hey, you’re pretty smart for a cop.”

  “I’ve gotta be. Twice as good for half the pay, eh?”

  They sat quietly for a few minutes, each contemplating where their lives had gotten them. Bratt sipped at his wine. He was making sure he didn’t overdo the drinking tonight, but he longed to be able to forget all his troubles again. He had needed to talk about Jeannie with Nancy, but he had also felt a lot better earlier on, when she hadn’t been on his mind.

  Nancy pulled at his hand lightly as if to get his attention.

  “Robbie. Do you ever think about your job? You know, about the things that Jeannie says?”

  Lately, that’s all I seem to be thinking about, he thought.

  “Hey, I thought we weren’t supposed to talk about our jobs tonight.”

  “I know, but this isn’t really shoptalk.”

  “It’s close enough. Besides, I don’t know how we got into this whole gloomy discussion anyway. Being with you, I should be feeling anything but gloomy.”

  “Fine,” she said, with doubt still lingering in her eyes. “We’ll talk about something else, for now.”

  Thank God she’s not pushing the subject too hard. Another time, though, I can see myself lying down, with my head on her lap, unloading all that’s been weighing heavily on me.

  Bratt smiled to himself at the warm image, and Nancy reacted to the smile. Pulling his hand toward her and leaning closer to him, she reached out and lightly caressed his cheek.

  “I’m glad to see you smile again. You’re right, there’ll be other times and places, but tonight we’ll keep things happy.”

  He brightened up completely at her touch and looked around for the waiter.

  “What say we go someplace else? Maybe something a little more noisy and upbeat.”

  “Oh, Robbie, I think I’m getting too old to drink and party all night. Maybe you could just take me home.”

  Bratt was surprised and disappointed at her suggestion.

  “Home? Oh, I thought…”

  She put her hand up to his lips to quiet him, and looked softly into his eyes.

  “Your home, silly.”

  The drive downtown to his apartment took about twenty minutes on the snow-congested streets, but it seemed to fly by. She had tried to hold his right hand as he drove, but had to let go when he shifted gears, so she placed it lightly on his thigh instead. A few minutes after she had gotten into the car she turned the radio dial away from the all-oldies station he kept it on, finding a French soft rock station.

  They were soon turning into the indoor garage of his building and pulling into his parking space. Their timing was perfect. The love song she had been humming came to an end, and the hourly news bulletin was taking its place. Bratt turned the key in the ignition, cutting off the radio announcer as he was mentioning that a number of demonstrators had been arrested at the courthouse that afternoon.

  Must have been while we were wrapped up in the Small video, Bratt thought. Pete’ll be sorry he missed it.

  On the slow elevator ride up to his fifteenth floor apartment Nancy lay her head on his shoulder and gazed up at him. Looking down into her eyes, Bratt believed for a moment that all could be made right in the world again. He reached down and gently kissed her lips, forgetting that world for a while at least.

  In his apartment, there was no need for words. He thought he should ask her if she wanted a drink first, but kissed her instead. They let their coats fall to the floor where they stood, just inside the door. They were still wearing their shoes. Over his he wore ankle-high winter rubbers. He knew it was going to be awkward taking them off while maintaining their passionate embrace, and wondered how they managed to do it in the movies.

  As if she had read his mind, Nancy pushed him back gently, their wet lips holding on until the last second. Once they were apart she reached down and removed her shoes, placing them neatly on a rubber mat beside the door, all the while never uttering a word.

  Following her cue, he began removing his shoe rubbers. The process was more involved than hers. The zippers on the rubbers were encrusted with street-salt and he struggled to open them. Once these were removed, he hurriedly pulled off his tight leather shoes without untying them, almost losing his balance as he did so. When they were finally off he tossed them aside, then turned to look for Nancy.

  She had gone a few steps deeper into his apartment, toward the living room, and now stood waiting for him in a patch of pale light that shone in through the window. He could just make out that the long object trailing from her hand and onto the floor was her dress. All she wore now was a dark camisole, which made her skin glow even whiter in the dim light.

  “Robert, which way is your bedroom?”

  Wordlessly, he pointed down the darkened hall. Her eyes looked in that direction, but she didn’t make a move. He hesitated at first, confused by her inaction, then stepped toward her. He put an arm around her waist and kissed her again. She let him walk her down the hall to his room, leaving her dress on the living room floor.

  His large bed was still unmade, and his pajamas were strewn across it. Nancy let out a small giggle at the disorder, then stepped forward, picked up the edge of his comforter and pulled all the bed sheets to the floor. She turned, sat on the edge of his bed, and looked back to where he still stood, her hands folded almost demurely in her lap.

  Bratt paused briefly to look at her, then, with an abrupt movement he reached up and tried to pull off his tie, almost strangling himself in the process. He laughed self-consciously, but Nancy did not laugh with him this time. He watched as she pushed herself a bit further up on his bed, and then lay languidly back on his mattress.

  The tie finally lost the tug of war and he
flung it over-dramatically to the side of the room. He quickly unbuttoned his shirt, and it followed in the tie’s direction. Finally, his pants still on, he moved to the bed and lay down next to Nancy. Her bare left arm was stretched out above her head and he reached down and kissed it just below the shoulder. Her other hand reached up and stroked his hair for a few seconds, then pulled his face toward her. Their lips and tongues found each other again, while her left arm wrapped around his neck and held him close.

  As his hand reached up to cup her breast through the silky material of the camisole, her right hand slid down to his pants’ zipper and pulled it down. Working together, their lips never parting, they got his pants and briefs off, until only the thin lingerie was between their bodies. Gently pushing him away, she sat up and slid it over her head, then dropped it to the floor.

  She lay back again, pulling him toward her. He rolled on top of her, feeling her firm muscles underneath him, effortlessly bearing his weight. He could feel her heart beating against his as her breath came short and fast through her parted lips. His own lips caressed her face and, as he entered her, a sudden, involuntary breath escaped from her mouth, blowing into his ear.

  They slept in each other’s arms, like children huddled together during a thunderstorm. Bratt had tried to remain awake, just to listen to her soft breathing, but his body and mind craved sleep. Soon, his breathing fell into step with the calming rhythm of hers.

  A bit after 2 a.m. the phone on his night table rang, jarring them both awake. Bratt stretched his arm instinctively to his right to pick up the receiver from the night table, only to find he was sleeping on the far side of the bed. Nancy had already picked up the phone and reflexively answered, “S/D Morin.”

  “Yes, this is the right number,” she said into the phone. “Never mind, he’s right here.”

  She turned and handed the cordless receiver to Bratt, who was leaning up on his elbow, watching with a bemused expression on his face.

  “Well I’ve just embarrassed the hell out of myself,” she said to him.

  Smiling, he leaned over and kissed her, totally unconcerned about whoever it might be calling him at this late hour.

  “Bratt here,” he said into the mouthpiece.

  “Bobby, it’s Kevin Geary at Centre Opérationnel Sud.”

  Lieutenant Kevin Geary was in charge of the night shift at the downtown police operations center. He had known Bratt since the lawyer had been a young teen, hanging around his father’s office during summer vacation. In his younger days, Geary had been a bonafide hard-drinking, hard-hitting Irish cop. On one occasion those two predilections had led him to hire then-attorney Joseph Bratt to defend him. Since then, the Bratts had always gotten special treatment from him.

  “What’s up, Kev? One of my guys get arrested?”

  “Well, uh, kind of…” Geary’s voice trailed off.

  “What do you mean, ‘kind of?’ What’d you wake me up for then?”

  “OK, it is an arrest. But, Bobby, listen, it’s…it’s not one of your clients. Shit, it’s Jeannie.”

  Bratt instantly sat up. “Jeannie? What’re you talking about?”

  “Looks like she’s been here since this afternoon. She was with those crazy broads in front of the courthouse today.”

  Bratt remembered Kouri telling him to look out of the window at the demonstration going by, and his own indifference to it. Maybe, if he had looked…

  “So why am I just being called now?” he barked angrily.

  Nancy grimaced at his harsh tone, then reached out a comforting hand to touch him, unaware of what had happened. Bratt pulled his arm roughly away from her and jumped out of bed, reaching for his watch and glasses as he did so.

  “Sorry, Bobby,” Geary said. “But I just got on duty at midnight and nobody else here knew who she was. She didn’t tell anybody. I mean, they let her call a lawyer of course, but I guess she was too embarrassed to call you. She called the Legal Aid phone service. I just now saw her name on tomorrow’s Municipal Court list. I called right away. I’m really sorry, Bobby.”

  As Geary spoke Bratt dressed hurriedly, his mind racing. He tried not to think of his precious teenage daughter locked up in a police holding cell, with all the junkies and prostitutes who were regularly scooped up in the downtown core of the city.

  “Look, just keep an eye on her for me, OK? I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

  With that he hung up, finally remembering Nancy’s presence.

  “It’s Jeannie,” he said, unable to say more. The look on Nancy’s face showed that she had understood immediately. “I’ve gotta go.”

  “Of course, go. Don’t worry about me, I’ll take a cab.”

  Haphazardly dressed, he headed for the door, then turned to look back at Nancy, regretting his earlier reaction when she had tried to comfort him.

  “I’m sorry. About being…”

  She waved him off. “Just go to your daughter.”

  “Thanks,” he said, then turned and ran out the door.

  As he impatiently waited for the elevator he thought what every father thought at times like these: God, I hope she’s all right. I’ll kill her for this.

  Once he reached his Guy Street destination, Bratt stopped his car in a tow-away zone right in front of the police station and rushed in through the glass double-doors.

  Geary was standing just inside the doors, waiting for him. At the sight of Bratt rushing in, his face showed concern and even a touch of fear.

  “Take it easy, Bobby. Just calm down.”

  “Where is she? Is she all right?”

  “She’s fine. She’s in the holding cells, but she’s fine.”

  “Jesus, couldn’t you at least take her out until I got here?”

  That last remark drew the attention of some officers who were within earshot, congregated at the front desk. Geary pulled Bratt aside.

  “For cryin’ out loud, Bobby; you’re gonna get me in trouble. Listen, I went down there just now and tried to get her to sit in an office until you came, but she wouldn’t hear of it

  “What do you mean, ‘she wouldn’t hear of it?’”

  “Just that. She said she was going to stay with her girlfriends, and she didn’t want any special favors just because she’s your daughter.”

  Bratt tried to pull away from Geary. “Is she nuts?”

  “Calm down,” said Geary, holding on tighter. “She’s just got a bit of her father’s mule headedness in her, that’s all. I’ll tell you what I can do for you: I’ll take you down to speak to her and if you can convince her, she can still wait out the night up here.”

  “Why should she wait out the night? Can’t I take her home?”

  “I’m afraid not. She’s gotta appear in the morning with the rest of them.”

  “That’s bullshit!” Bratt pushed at Geary’s hands, which still gripped his upper arms tightly.

  “That’s not bullshit, Bobby. That’s the way it is. They’re all being charged with armed assault.”

  “Armed assault? Why? What’re you talking about?”

  “Geez, where you been all day,” Geary asked, as he tried to discreetly walk Bratt past the front desk and toward the elevator that would take them down to the holding cells. “The problems began when some demonstrators started hurling snowballs at lawyers going in and out of the courthouse. Then they all got in on the act. That’s when our boys moved in.” Geary shook his head and laughed to himself. “Snowballs! Only dames would do that.”

  “I had no idea. I don’t even know what they were demonstrating about,” Bratt admitted.

  “Oh, the usual stuff that pisses women off. They’re some sort of victims’ rights group, and I guess they think the courts aren’t protecting them enough, or something.”

  Bratt tried keeping himself calm as they rode the elevator down to the basement cells. He knew that making any more scenes wouldn’t help Jeannie, and would only embarrass Geary. He wasn’t the least bit surprised to find out that Jeannie was one of the demo
nstrators throwing snowballs at his fellow lawyers. If it hadn’t been his daughter, he would have found the idea quite funny.

  Once in the detention area, Geary directed Bratt into a small interview room and closed the door behind him as he went to get Jeannie.

  Bratt stood nervously, his back to the far wall of the room, thumping his head lightly against it. He had been in a near-panic when he heard that Jeannie was in jail. Now she didn’t want any favors because she was his daughter. Well, want them or not, he thought, you’re going to get all the special treatment I can possibly get you.

  The door finally opened and Jeannie stepped into the room, Geary closing the door behind her and waiting outside. Her face sported a nasty bruise above her right eye and her lower lip was slightly swollen, making Bratt wonder what she had gotten herself into. He wanted to run to her and hold her protectively, but she let him know right away that she had other ideas.

  “What’re you doing here?” she demanded.

  “What do you think I’m doing here? For Christ’s sake, I’m your father.”

  “Nobody else was allowed a visit from their parents.”

  “Well, you are allowed to see a lawyer, you know.”

  “I already have a lawyer. I don’t need you.”

  “Dammit, Jeannie, I know you’re pissed at me, but I’m trained to help people in these situations. This is what I do for a living, so why not just let me do it? You can’t say you’re pissed at all lawyers if you’ve got Legal Aid representing you.”

  “I’m not pissed at all lawyers, Daddy.”

  “Can you at least be consistent,” he said, trying to control his frustration. “How come what I do is so bad, but you’re willing to be defended by another lawyer anyway?”

  “Because I’m not going to ask him to lie for me,” she spat the words out.

  “Is that what you think I do? You think every other lawyer can’t be accused of the same thing?

  “You’re going to be in for some big surprises when your lawyer starts defending you in court.”

  “Fine, I’ll be surprised. But I’ll find out for myself, and not with your help.”

  “What the hell is it about getting my help that you won’t accept?”