Dying Declaration

by Randy Singer

  “Then don’t treat me like a child.”

  “You never quit, do you, Nikki? You never let up until you get your way.” Charles was biting off each word. “I don’t need your sarcasm today. I don’t need your wisecracks. And I don’t need your help.” He grabbed his briefcase and started walking past the bar and toward the door.

  “You’re right,” Nikki yelled after him. “You won’t be needing anybody’s help on this case!” She stood on her toes, chin high, spewing the next words out: “You’re fired!”

  Charles stopped just shy of the door and turned around. “Spare me the dramatics,” he said. “Thomas hired me, and until he fires me, this is my case. I’ll call you if I need you.”

  She grunted, so exasperated that words failed her. Charles quickly turned and slammed the door as he left. It closed a mere second before Nikki’s briefcase came hurtling down the aisle, hitting the floor just a few inches from the door and skidding into it.

  “Men,” she said in frustration to nobody but herself.

  43

  TIGER WAS GLAD to be in the backseat of the Sebring. He normally would sit right behind Stinky, but tonight he had chosen to sit on the left side, behind Miss Nikki. That way it would be hard for Miss Nikki to reach over the seat and swat him. He leaned hard toward the door, so she would not be able to constantly look in the rearview mirror and catch his eye as she chewed him out.

  Miss Nikki was not happy, and she was giving Tiger an earful. Apparently Miss Parsons had sorta given Miss Nikki a blow-by-blow of the day, and it wasn’t pretty. Talking back to Miss Parsons, spending the whole afternoon on time-out, that type of thing. Tiger, of course, had been given no chance to defend himself. Instead, he was just yanked into the car and forced to listen to what a no-good troublemaker he was. At least he had not been hit . . . yet. That didn’t seem to be Miss Nikki’s style.

  “I know you’re going through some tough times right now, but that’s no excuse for behavior like this,” Miss Nikki said.

  Where have I heard that before? Everybody feels sorry for me, but nobody wants to cut me a break.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Miss Parsons is a good teacher, and there’s absolutely no excuse’none—for disrespecting her that way.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “I don’t ever want to hear another report like this again. Is that clear?”

  “Oh yes, ma’am.”

  “Yeah,” Stinky said. “Momma says to turn the other cheek even if someone hits you first.”

  Oh great, Tiger thought, the old double team. Now Goody Two-shoes has to get her two cents in. There ain’t no way I’m going to say yes, ma’am’ to her.

  “So,” Tiger said under his breath, hopefully just loud enough for Stinky to hear but not Miss Nikki. “That’s not what Daddy would say.”

  “Wait a minute,” Miss Nikki said, gunning the engine to make it through a yellow—nope, red—light. “Who said anything about a fight?”

  Stinky put her hand over her mouth—her big mouth in Tiger’s opinion. Tiger himself was not about to breathe a word.

  “Who said anything about a fight?” Miss Nikki demanded, this time much louder.

  She glanced sideways at Stinky, and Stinky crumbled under the pressure. “Tiger got into a fight on the playground. Didn’t Miss Parsons tell you?”

  “She only told me that he got into trouble on the playground, then acted out the rest of the day. She didn’t tell me it was a fight.”

  Stinky glanced over her seat at Tiger, who was glaring back at her. There’s going to be another fight at home, he was thinking.

  “It wasn’t Tiger’s fault,” Stinky said. “This big kid named Joey kept teasing Tiger, and so Tiger told him to stop. Then Joey pushed Tiger down, and Tiger got mad. Instead of turning the other cheek, Tiger put up his fists to fight.”

  “Did you hit him?” Nikki asked, craning her neck to look at Tiger in the mirror.

  “No, ma’am.”

  “Why not?”

  “Why not?” What did she mean by that? Tiger sensed this next answer might get him in trouble. But it was the truth, and he had a hard time thinking up lies as fast as Miss Nikki asked questions.

  “’Cause I didn’t have time . . . and he was bigger.”

  “You shoulda just turned the other cheek,” Goody Two-shoes said.

  Miss Nikki drove on in silence for a few minutes. Tiger knew he should leave well enough alone, but there was something else he just had to know.

  “Is my daddy coming home?” he asked at last.

  Miss Nikki shot a look at Stinky, one of those “I told you not to say anything” looks. Stinky quickly turned and looked out the window.

  “Not today, Tiger. It’s probably going to be about two weeks, at the trial, when the judge will hear our case and let your daddy out of jail.”

  Of all the things that had happened to Tiger on this very bad, no-good, low-down, rotten day, this was the unkindest blow of all. It sucked the wind right out of him, the last ounce of resistance to the events that were trying to overwhelm him. Miss Nikki and Miss Parsons were mad at him. Joey was out to kill him. The other kids all thought his daddy was a drug dealer and a jailbird. His sweet little brother had died. And now this crushing news. Two more long weeks, on his own, with nobody around to even show him how to fight back against Joey.

  The tears began to spill out of his eyes, and Tiger made no effort to stop them. He brought his legs up to the seat and cuddled into a little ball, facing the door of the car. Soon his entire face was wet, covered with tears, and the arm of his shirt got soaked from where he tried to wipe away all the tears. Miss Nikki and Stinky in the front seat seemed so very far away. Tiger was alone, all alone, and there was no way out.

  A few minutes later, Miss Nikki pulled the car into the parking lot of a 7-Eleven. “Tiger,” she said, “I want you to get out with me. Stinky, I need you to stay in the car.”

  Oh boy, Tiger thought. This is it. I’ve been through this with my dad.

  But in the parking lot, Miss Nikki just put her arm on Tiger’s shoulder and took him to the side of the building. She squatted down and turned him so they were face-to-face.

  “How was Joey teasing you?” she asked.

  “He called my daddy a jailbird,” Tiger said, wiping the tears away in time for new ones to fall. “He kept saying, ‘Tweet-tweet,’ and he got the other kids to say it too.”

  “How much bigger is he?” Nikki asked.

  “Lots. I call him Doughy Joey.”

  This actually made Miss Nikki smile.

  “Well, Tiger, I know what your mom would say, but she’s not taking care of you right now . . . I am. And we’re going to teach old Doughy Joey a lesson, okay?”

  This sounded good to Tiger. He started vigorously nodding his head.

  “Now, do you know what karate is?”

  Tiger shook his head no.

  Miss Nikki furrowed her brow; then her eyes lit up. “You know the Ninja Turtles, right?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “Yes, you know, superhero guys who fight bad guys with incredible powers?”

  “You mean like the Power Rangers.”

  “Yeah, that’s exactly what I mean. The Power Rangers. You know what makes them so good?”

  “Sure, they—”

  “I’ll tell you exactly what makes them so good. They know a special way of fighting, using martial arts, called karate. With it, you can beat up guys twice your size. Now, would you like to learn karate?”

  Nothing had ever sounded better to Tiger. His eyes lit up, and he straightened his shoulders. Fighting like the Power Rangers? “Sure,” he said.

  “Do you think you can stay out of Joey’s way for a couple of weeks while you learn?”

  “I guess so,” Tiger said.

  “Good, then we’re gonna sign you up tomorrow. And after a couple of weeks, you won’t have to worry about Doughy Joey.”

  A big smile crossed Tiger’s wet little face.

>   Miss Nikki put her finger to her lips. “Just don’t tell Stinky, okay? It’ll be our secret.”

  “O-kay!”

  44

  THE NEXT MORNING Tiger’s tummyaches were back with a vengeance—according to Tiger. Nikki suspected it was more the prospect of facing Joey again on the playground that was making Tiger sick. Either way, she didn’t have the heart to force Tiger to go to day care, at least not today. By next Monday he would have to go back and face the music. But for the next two days, he could hang out with Nikki.

  They dropped off Stinky, then went searching for a place where Tiger could take karate lessons. By late morning they had him signed up for Body by Karate. His private classes would begin later that afternoon at the Ho Kwan Do Academy. Nikki endured the usual parent lecture: “Karate does not teach a kid how to fight in a few days or even a few weeks; it’s a long-term lifestyle that builds self-confidence, self-discipline, and self-defense.” Nikki nodded in all the right places and assured them that Tiger was signing up for all the right reasons. Besides, Nikki’s plan did not really require that Tiger know karate by next week, only that he thought he knew.

  The pair then picked up a drive-thru lunch at McDonald’s—Tiger’s next stomach seemed to have no trouble digesting his Happy Meal—before they headed out to Woodard’s Mill. They parked just up the road from Dr. Sean Armistead’s estate, out of sight from the house itself, but close enough to see who was coming and going. Yesterday in court Nikki had seen something that bothered her. Armistead was not just a witness—a reluctant doctor testifying against a former patient’s mother—he was an advocate. On at least one point he was clearly lying.

  Instincts told her that it was more than just trying to cover his own tracks for losing a patient. They also told her that it had something to do with Erica Armistead’s suicide, which had been reported in the paper the previous weekend. How it was related, Nikki had no idea. But she was determined to find out.

  It was a fair bet, since Armistead lived in Woodard’s Mill and his wife reportedly had Parkinson’s, that he would have a cleaning crew take care of his house. It was also a fair bet that the cleaning crew would have a key to the house and the password for the security system. Nikki would wait in front of his house, day and night, until she found out who cleaned it. Then she would join them and infiltrate the house. Once inside, she would unlock the key to Armistead’s secrets.

  “What’re we doing here?” Tiger asked.

  “We’re playing spy,” Nikki said.

  “Cool,” the little guy said, now whispering. “Who are we spying on?”

  “The doctor who treated Joshie,” Nikki whispered back.

  Tiger’s mouth dropped open. “Why?”

  “Because he said some things in court yesterday that weren’t true. We’re gonna spy him out and prove that he lied. That will help get your daddy out of jail.”

  “Wow!” Tiger said. “What do we do now?”

  “We wait,” Nikki said. “Just wait.”

  Waiting got old fast. Spying sounded glamorous, but after two hours of watching, the junior secret agent on the team started getting antsy. He had exhausted coloring books, Power Rangers, and LEGOs. Tiger was tired. Tiger was bored. Tiger had to go potty. Nikki was counting down the minutes until she took Tiger to his first karate lesson. Maybe that would wear him out.

  Thirty minutes before they had to leave, the mailman came. Ten minutes later she was surprised to see Armistead himself drive by and turn down the driveway. Still no sign of the cleaning crew. And then, just eight minutes before she had to leave and take Tiger to Body by Karate, she saw another car pass by her on the road and enter the driveway. She quickly started her own vehicle and drove slowly by the Armistead house, putting on her shades and pulling her visor over to the side window to partially shield her face.

  She stole a quick glance left, then another. She almost ran off the road! Walking to the front porch, big as life, at 1:45 in the afternoon, was the Barracuda. Nikki couldn’t believe it and cursed quietly at her nemesis.

  “What?” Tiger asked, now kneeling on the seat, looking down the drive way too. “What did you say?”

  “Nothing,” Nikki said.

  “Yes, you did. Hold on!” he yelled. “It’s the Mean Lady! You saw her too, didn’t you? What did you say? What did you call her?”

  “Sit down,” Nikki said, speeding up to get past the house without being noticed. “Yeah, I did see her. I called her, um, a witch.” It wasn’t exactly true, but it was close enough for Tiger’s ears.

  “That’s what I thought you said,” Tiger exclaimed. “She is a witch.”

  Nikki kept on driving, a little faster, hoping she had not been noticed. She settled Tiger down, waited five minutes, then circled back. The Barracuda’s car was still in the driveway. Nikki’s mind reeled with the possibilities, and she found herself sputtering, “What in the world is going on here? You don’t go to the house of a witness in the middle of the afternoon to prepare them for trial. And especially not the day after a preliminary hearing, with the trial still weeks away . . .”

  Hanging around longer would probably be fruitless. Tiger needed to get to class. And Nikki couldn’t afford to be noticed. She drove away, suspicions raging, mulling the possibilities in her mind.

  When she returned, after nearly an hour, both cars were gone. She parked in the same spot in the road and watched some more. Her patience was rewarded forty-five minutes later when a van bearing an emblem for Eagle Cleaners pulled into the driveway. Nikki pulled forward to get a better view. A heavyset woman in blue jeans and a white blouse with an eagle logo over the pocket got out of the van and entered the house.

  Nikki copied down the number on the side of the van. Eagle Cleaners. She wondered if they were hiring.

  The next day, Friday afternoon, while Tiger was at Body by Karate, Nikki learned that Eagle Cleaners was indeed hiring. She filled out the necessary paperwork and talked to the manager for the Chesapeake region.

  They would do a criminal background check on Jacquelyn Ferreira, Nikki’s assumed name for purposes of this application. She had used this fake ID, including the “borrowed” social security number, on a few prior occasions. A few years ago, she had purchased the whole package from an underground company that specialized in creating new identities, no questions asked. The employees for Eagle Cleaners had to be bonded, and any past criminal convictions, even misdemeanors, would disqualify an employee. If they found no criminal convictions—and Nikki was pretty sure they wouldn’t since she had paid a premium for a “clean” identity—then she could begin training on Monday. Starting on Tuesday, she would be “on call” and filling in for anybody who called in sick. Nikki had a hunch that Armistead’s maid would not be able to make it to work on Nikki’s very first day.

  It wouldn’t exactly be breaking and entering, since she would be in Armistead’s house with permission for legitimate business reasons. Well, okay, she was there under false pretenses, but that was probably a technicality that could be defeated in court. She had no intention of finding out. She would be very discreet as she looked around, and she would pray like mad that Armistead did not decide to come home in the middle of the day.

  It had been two days since the preliminary hearing, two days since she had seen or spoken to Charles. Neither, of course, wanted to be the first to call. She could be as stubborn and strong-willed as necessary, but she had a feeling he could too. And that was a problem since there were only a few precious days to get ready for a trial that would determine the future of the Hammond family. The mutual sulking wasn’t doing anybody any good.

  But why should she be the first to move? He was totally unjustified in ignoring her at such a critical stage of the pretrial process. The nerve. She had hired him. He wouldn’t even be in this case if it wasn’t for her. He was the one who had performed gutlessly in court, not her. Sure, she had been hard on him, but his strategy was moronic. The more she thought about it, the madder she got. There was no good
reason for her to make the first move toward patching things up.

  Still, she had to admit, she missed him. There was chemistry there. He was good-looking and quick-witted and, to be honest, one heck of a lawyer. She saw it in Buster’s case. She had seen it weeks ago when he represented himself. All the more reason it made her so mad that he went into hiding on the Hammond case. She had to believe he really was saving it for trial. In a convoluted way, it made her respect him more. He believed in his strategy enough to stick with it even while she was giving him all that grief. Even if it was a dumb strategy.

  Okay, she decided, maybe I owe him at least a chance to apologize. Maybe if he sees me, if I turn on the charm, he’ll come to his senses and beg me to get back in the case. And if he doesn’t, I’ll do it anyway, for the good of the case, for the good of the kids. And because he’s got too much potential to let him get away that easy.

  She would drop the kids off for a few hours with their mom. They would be fine. As for Charles, she would give him his chance. She knew where to find him.

  45

  NIKKI PLANTED HERSELF in the back of the crowd, hiding behind a few brawny guys and her own Ray-Bans. She wanted to listen for a few minutes without being seen. He really believes this stuff, Nikki thought. If only life were really this simple.

  His preaching is awesome, but I can’t give him the satisfaction of knowing that. He owes me an apology. He’s lucky I came.

  She put on a scowl and stepped from behind the men. Her hand shot up in the air, the same way it had in his classroom.

  “Are you open to questions here, or is this a monologue?” she wondered loud enough for Charles to hear.

  He stopped in his tracks and looked at her, his own shades masking any hint of surprise. “I see the beautiful lady in the back has a question,” the preacher said. All heads turned as Charles walked toward Nikki.

  “Aren’t you the lawyer I saw on TV defending that drug dealer the other day, trying to get him off on a technicality?”