by Don Passman
Could I be in a place like this for the rest of my life? Or maybe get out when I’m an old man with an oversize asshole?
I looked at my wrist. Shit. They took my watch. Hannah, you goddam bitch, where are you? Get me the fuck outta here.
It’s gotta be one in the morning by now. Why are the lights still on? Are they on all night? Whatever Hannah’s doing, she must have gotten my message by now. Unless she’s spending the night with Prince Mercedes. Wouldn’t she check her cell phone?
No bail for murder? Does that mean I’ll be in jail for months before I even go to trial? Years? That can’t be right.
Can it?
My breathing was near a full-on whooping.
Can other people hear me? I felt my eyes flood. I started to cry with heaving sobs.
Stop it!
Get yourself together, for God’s sake.
I laid down on the bunk and felt my chest heave. My feet stuck off the end. I unfolded the blanket and spread it around until it covered most of me. My chest was still heaving. How am I supposed to sleep with the lights on? I wiped at the corners of my eyes.
I sucked in a deep breath, held it, then blew it out. My breathing slowed a bit. The whoops wound down into whimpers.
I opened and closed my fists. My ribs still hurt from where that guy fell into me. Try to relax.
Yeah, right.
I let out a breath.
What kind of germs are on this mattress?
I closed my eyes. Could still see light through my lids.
How could my DNA match the DNA at the murder scene? It’s impossible.
Well, obviously not impossible. How? Why?
I turned on my side, pulled the blanket around my shoulder.
Can you fake DNA? Am I being framed? Why me? I can’t even grip a basketball, much less strangle someone. When I was a kid, while everyone was out playing football, I was inside doing magic tricks.
I rolled onto my back. The blanket came off my feet.
Hell, if I was looking at the evidence, even I’d think I was guilty. How can I defend myself? All I’ve got is David Hu’s testimony that I was with him at the Magic Castle. Is that enough?
How am I going to pay for this? I can’t work if I’m in jail. My rent is overdue. I’ve got no place to live.
Fuck. I have to sell my trick. No other choice.
I shook my head.
That trick is genius. Even Copperfield thought so. You only get a genius inspiration once in a lifetime. If I let it go, I’m back to working plumber conventions.…
I turned onto my side and curled up. There has to be an explanation for this fuckup. How did my DNA wind up in the dead girl? Think. How would I do it? How would I make everyone think it was real?
I heard the door lock turn. Hannah?
I sat up so fast that I banged my head on the lip of the upper bunk. Ow. Shit. I rubbed the Throb-spot.
The cell door swung open. A large Samoan man, bulging in his orange jumpsuit, walked in holding a blanket. I ran toward the door and called after the guard, saying, “Excuse me.” Maybe he can find out something about Hannah.
The door closed. I called him through the small window. Yelled for him.
Asshole.
I turned around and saw the Samoan step on my bed, then climb to the upper bunk. When he laid down, the metal creaked. I got back in bed and stared at the bottom of the bunk over me. How strong are those rivets? How strong is the concrete holding the bolts? I heard the Samoan breathing heavily.
I closed my eyes. Still saw the fucking light through my lids.
* * *
I laid there for a few hours, not sure if I was sleeping or not, until the door clunked open. A voice yelled, “Kendall.”
Rubbing my dry eyes, I sat up on the metal bed, hunching to avoid hitting my head. “Yeah?”
“Your lawyer’s here.”
Yes! I sprang from the bed and hurried to the door.
The guard held up his hand. “Easy, tiger. Walk real slow.”
He led me through a series of halls to a small room, where Hannah sat behind a gray metal table. The only other furnishing was a chair, which I noticed was bolted to the floor.
She half-smiled at me. Her eyes were red. She had no makeup on. Strands of loose hair dangled across her face. Never seen her look better.
The guard left and closed the door.
She said, “I can’t believe those assholes arrested you after I wrote a letter offering to surrender. I am seriously pissed off.”
“You’re pissed off?”
Hannah tilted her head. “You okay?”
“Yeah, it’s lovely here at Che Hoosegow. I got a mattress thinner than a Pop-Tart, and I’m three rivets away from being the meat in a Samoan sandwich.”
“Huh?”
“Never mind. Just get me the hell out of here.”
She stuck the tip of her tongue out the corner of her mouth. “Not so simple.”
My breathing accelerated toward whoop. “What’s that mean?”
“Well…”
I said, “The guard told me there’s no bail for murder. Is that true?”
“Not exactly. The cops don’t set bail for murder. It’s up to a judge.”
“Up to a judge? Does that mean the judge decides how much the bail is? Or that he decides whether there’s any bail at all?”
“Both.”
I swallowed. “You mean the judge doesn’t have to set bail?”
“I’m pushing for an arraignment first thing in the morning. The only purpose of an arraignment is to enter a plea. You say ‘Not Guilty’; then I ask the judge to set bail. I need to show you’re a good person who—”
“Bring me some decent clothes. They took my—”
“No. I want you looking pathetic in your orange jumpsuit. It makes the judge more sympathetic to springing you loose.”
I ran my fingers through my tangled hair. “Pathetic should be easy.”
Hannah took a pack of gum from her purse, pulled out a stick, and folded it into her mouth. She held out the pack to me. I waved it off.
She said, “Don’t get discouraged. I need some of your friends and family to sit there looking like sad puppies, showing their support. I may want some of them to tell the judge what a fine person you are.” She chewed hard on the gum.
I shook my head. “Don’t use my mother.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t want to upset her.”
Hannah leaned back in her chair. “She’ll be more upset when she notices you haven’t shown up for six months.”
Shit. I stood, paced. “Fine. Call her. Wait until morning. Otherwise, she’ll come down here and sit all night.”
“Who else you got?”
I gave her David Hu and my agent, Marty.
Probably not Carly.
I couldn’t think of anyone else. Talk about pathetic …
Hannah stood. “I gotta get up early and push for the arraignment. Hang in there.”
I nodded. “Thanks for coming down in the middle of the night.”
She gave me one of those smiles that you give someone who’s in the hospital when you say “I’ll see you soon,” but you really think they’ll be dead in a week.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Next morning, they took me to court with my hands cuffed behind my back. A guard led me into a wood-paneled courtroom, where the elevated judge’s podium was flanked by a U.S. flag on the left and a California flag with the silhouette of a bear on the right. Behind the podium was an empty high-backed black leather chair. In front were two wooden tables. Hannah sat behind one, wearing a crisp brown business dress. At the other was a thin man in a black suit and rep tie, studying an open file. He looked like he was in his forties, and he had a crescent scar at the corner of his eye that resembled a dried teardrop. With his tight mouth and scrunched eyes, it sure didn’t look like he had a sense of humor. Gotta be the district attorney.
Behind the lawyer tables was a short wooden barrier, separa
ting the court from several rows of wooden benches. My mother sat in the front row, biting her lip. Her eyes jittered. She saw me and forced a smile. Next to her, my agent, Marty, was yawning with a hand over his mouth. When he noticed me looking at him, his cheeks trembled as he stifled the yawn and gave me a wink. Guess David Hu couldn’t make it.
The guard steered me to a chair next to Hannah. He told me to turn my back, then unfastened one handcuff and locked it to the chair arm. I sat down.
Hannah, wearing a forced smile, gave me a quick nod. I tried to smile back. It felt like there were a few thousand critters creeping over my scalp. Do I smell?
I looked at the handcuffs. I hadn’t been able to see them behind my back. Good-quality cuffs: York 103’s. With my picks, I could be out in thirty seconds.
Behind me, I heard the courtroom door open. I turned and saw David run in, clutching a briefcase. He slid onto a wooden bench in the back, breathing heavily, and gave me a thumbs-up.
I leaned over to Hannah and whispered, “What happens next?”
She whispered back. “We wait for the judge.”
“What do I do?”
“Sit there and look like a waif.”
A door behind the podium opened. Off to the side, a bailiff boomed, “All rise.”
I heard the creak of butts leaving seats. As I stood, the handcuff cut into my wrist, jerking me to a halt before I could straighten. I leaned awkwardly to the side.
The bailiff said, “Los Angeles Superior Court is now in session, the honorable Benjamin Bowers presiding.”
An African-American man with tightly coiled white hair came through the door behind the podium, moving fast enough to swirl his black robes. He nodded at the courtroom and sat.
The bailiff said, “Be seated.”
I sat down and looked at the judge. This guy has the power to change the rest of my life. If he had a fight with his wife this morning, I could go down for twenty years. My locked hand shook hard enough to rattle the handcuff chain against the wooden chair. I grabbed the chair arm to steady myself.
The clerk said, “People versus Kendall.”
The judge put on half-glasses, sifted through some papers, then looked up over the glasses. “Are both sides ready?”
The black suit at the next table said, “Ken Warren for the people.”
“Hannah Fisher for the defendant.”
The judge looked at me. “Mr. Kendall?”
I whispered to Hannah, “Do I stand?”
She whispered, “No.”
The judge said, “Mr. Kendall?”
I said, “Yes, sir.” Did my voice quaver?
He stared into me and said, “The purpose of this proceeding is to advise you of your rights and the charges against you. It is also to consider bond and set conditions for such a bond, if one is appropriate in your case. This is not a trial. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say will be used against you. You understand that?”
I nodded.
He said, “Answer audibly for the record, please.”
“Yes, sir.”
The judge wrote something, then looked at me. “Mr. Kendall, are you under the influence of drugs or alcohol?”
“No, sir.”
“Have you had any drugs or alcohol in the last twenty-four hours?”
“No, sir.”
Hannah stood. “Your Honor, the defendant waives formal reading of the charges.”
“All right.” The judge took off his reading glasses. “Mr. Kendall, you are accused of the murder of Sherry Allen. How do you plead?”
As I opened my mouth, Hannah said, “Not guilty.”
I closed my mouth.
The DA stood, placed his hands on the table, and leaned forward, dangling his tie. “Your Honor, the people do not believe bail is appropriate in this case.”
The judge looked at him. “Why is that, Mr. Warren?”
Is it a good sign that he’s asking why? I looked at Hannah. She was studying the prosecutor.
Warren said, “This is a single man with no children and no appreciable assets. He lives in an apartment. His rent is overdue and his landlord has started eviction proceedings. Mr. Kendall is facing life in prison. There’s a high risk that he will run.”
Hannah stood. “Your Honor, Mr. Kendall has no criminal history. He’s a well-respected member of the community. He’s a substitute teacher with an exemplary record and an integral part of the professional magicians’ community in Los Angeles. His mother is a forty-year resident of Los Angeles and she is here to vouch for him. So are two of his professional colleagues. Would the people supporting Mr. Kendall please stand?”
I twisted around to look. Mom, Marty, and David stood up.
The judge said, “You may be seated.”
Hannah took three pieces of paper from her briefcase and held them out. “These are letters attesting to Mr. Kendall’s character. I sent them to Sergeant Morton several weeks ago, along with a letter that offered to surrender Mr. Kendall. He is a responsible citizen, Your Honor. He is not a flight risk.”
A court clerk came over to Hannah, took the papers, and delivered them to the judge. He studied the top page, pulled it off, then read the next. After reading the last page, he set it down and looked up.
Warren said, “The surrender letter was written before Mr. Kendall was facing eviction. He moved two trunks out of his apartment last night.”
Hannah said, “Those trunks contained his magic tricks, which he used in a performance last night. Your Honor, may I approach the bench?”
The judge nodded. As she walked to the podium, Warren scrambled to get there at the same time. They spoke quietly.
I leaned forward, craning my ear, but couldn’t hear anything.
Hannah gestured back toward the courtroom. Warren shook his head and pointed at the ground, as if he were saying, Right here. I heard Warren say “flight risk.” I heard Hannah say “responsible.”
After a few minutes of mumbling, they walked away. Warren looked like he had something sour in his mouth. Hannah was smiling.
The judge said, “Bail is set for one million dollars.”
I jolted so hard that it rattled my handcuff chain. One million dollars? Why the hell is Hannah smiling?
One … million … dollars? Why not a billion, you asshole?
Hannah started gathering up her papers, grinning. I spoke louder than I intended. “Did he say one million?”
“A million is very good for a murder case. You only have to pay ten percent of that for a bond.”
I feigned relief. “That’s fabulous news. I’ll just write a hundred-thousand-dollar check out of petty cash.”
She tapped her papers against the table to square them. “It’s already worked out.”
“What do you mean?”
Hannah stuffed the papers in her briefcase. “They’re calling the next case. I’ll explain later.”
“Later? When later?” The bailiff came over and unlocked the handcuff on the chair arm.
She picked up her briefcase. “As soon as they get us an attorney room.”
The bailiff said, “Stand up.”
When I stood, he positioned my hands behind my back. The bailiff racheted the loose cuff onto my free wrist. I looked back at Mom. Her eyes were red. She forced a smile.
Mom said, “It’s going to be all right. I love you.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
The guard put me in a tiny room down the hall from the courtroom. The only furnishings were two chairs and a small table. Since my hands were still cuffed behind my back, I figured it’d be awkward to maneuver into a seat, so I stood.
The guard said, “Your lawyer will be here in a few minutes. I’ll wait outside.” He closed the door behind him.
Will he be able to hear us?
A few minutes later, Hannah came in, holding her briefcase. She closed the door, sat down, realized I wasn’t going to sit, then stood. She sai
d, “I’m not supposed to tell you this.”
“Tell me what?”
She blinked rapidly. “What I’m about to tell you. But you’re the client, so you’re entitled to know.” She fidgeted with the handle of her briefcase.
“Okay. Tell me.”
She tightened her lips. “The only way we got bail was because your mother put up her house as collateral.”
I jolted back like I’d been hit with a blast of wind. “She … what?”
“The judge was going to deny bail. He thought you were a flight risk.”
My scalp suddenly itched. I went to scratch it. The cuffs stopped me. I said, “So that’s what happened when you walked up to the judge?”
“I said your mother was putting up her house as collateral for the bond. I said you’d never leave her homeless. That’s why he agreed to bail. Barely.”
I lowered myself awkwardly into one of the chairs. It pinned my arms against my back.
Hannah said, “Your mother insisted I not tell you. I don’t feel right hiding it from you. You need to know before she actually pays the bail bond.”
“She’s paying the hundred thousand?”
“Yes. And giving the bondsman her house as collateral.”
“Does she get her money back when I show up for trial?”
“She gets her house back. The bondsman keeps the hundred grand as the cost of the bond. Of course, if you don’t show up for trial, she’s on the hook for the full million. Which means she loses her house.”
I wrenched myself into a standing position. The cuffs cut my wrists. I spoke sternly. “Why did you let her do that?”
She narrowed her gaze at me. “Don’t use that tone with me. She told me to get you out and not tell you about the house. I’m the one who’s letting you know before she actually does it.”
I closed my eyes, let out a breath.
Can I let Mom do something like that? Part of me wishes I’d found this out after I was free, so I wouldn’t have the dilemma. Can’t say I love that part of myself.
I opened my eyes. “How long would I be in jail if we don’t put up bail?”