But everyone in the room already was on their feet, either involved in the fracas or watching.
“What in the Sam Hill is going on in here?” Hower boomed.
They all looked at the judge and froze.
“Nothing, Your Honor,” Brennan said.
“Good. Then everybody take a seat. And if I see anything like this again, I’ll place the lot of you in contempt.”
Bell released Daniel Curry, who sat in the front row of the gallery and fixed a hateful stare at María. The deputy returned to the back of the courtroom, and its regular decorum returned.
“Can we start?” The judge wiped his brow. “Mr. Brennan, your office filed a direct complaint instead of first going to a justice of the peace or grand jury. Is that correct?”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“Very well. Let’s get on with the arraignment. It must be ninety-five degrees in here, and your shenanigans don’t help.”
Buttoning his jacket, Michael shook off the uneasiness about Ben Curry’s brother. He was relieved that Hower had drawn the case. The judge lived by the rules-of-criminal-procedure book but was fair. With thick white hair and a square jaw, Hower resembled Zeus on the bench, hurling down rulings instead of thunderbolts, and Michael knew it was best to avoid being a target of one.
The bailiff read the criminal charge: “That María Sánchez Curry did willfully murder a human being, Benjamin Samuel Curry, in the first degree on or about August 18th, 1959.”
“How does your client plead?” Judge Hower asked.
“Not guilty,” Michael said.
“Any input on bond, Mr. Brennan?” the judge said.
Brennan adjusted his thick glasses with a slim finger. “This is a capital case. The state requests bond be set in the amount of fifty thousand dollars.”
“Mr. Shaw?”
“The defense asks that María Curry be released on her own recognizance or at the very least her bond be lowered. She’s a longtime resident with no prior criminal record. She’s gainfully employed at the Santa Fe Motel as a housekeeper and regularly attends church.”
“Mr. Brennan?” Hower dotted his brow with a white handkerchief.
“Your Honor, we fear this churchgoing woman will flee to Mexico, which is her native country.”
“My client is now a citizen of the United States. Besides, Your Honor, she doesn’t own a car. What’s she going to do, Joe, stroll across the border?”
“Defense request denied,” the judge said.
“Thank you, Your Honor.” Michael sat down, lowered his head and muttered, “For nothing.”
Hower took a sip of water. “Gentlemen.” He dragged out the word for better impact. “Because of the extreme heat this time of year, as you know we do not hold lengthy trials. Unlike the Acme movie house or the bank, this ancient courthouse doesn’t have any fancy air conditioning, at least that the county can afford.
“Fortunately for the wheels of justice, we’re at the tail end of summer, so we’ll set the trial for the end of September. That’ll give you plenty of time to prepare, unless you intend to take a long vacation.” He paused to let the joke sink in, even though he knew no one dared laugh out loud.
Hower abruptly stood and stalked out of the courtroom. Everyone rose quickly to catch up with him.
“Court adjourned,” the bailiff announced. The few spectators left.
“I’ll be back to see you hang.” Daniel Curry glared at María. He left, mumbling.
“We’ll miss you,” Michael called after him. If the brother was an indication of Ben Curry’s temperament, it was a wonder his client was still alive. He turned to María. “You didn’t know your husband had a brother?”
“He never talked about him, Mr. Shaw,” Toni translated for her.
Deputy Bell arrived to return María to jail. María held Toni’s hand and wouldn’t let go.
“Come on.” Bell grabbed María’s shoulder.
“Please, you’ll hurt her,” Toni said.
“Don’t tell me how to do my job.”
“My client is very scared. As a favor to me, go gentle, okay, Herb?” Michael asked.
“Okay, Mr. Shaw.”
“Don’t worry, María.” Toni pressed her cold hand. “I’ll visit, and I’ll say a rosary for you every day.”
“Thank you, Toni. I am sorry for being so afraid.”
“We’ll be strong for you.”
Leading María away, the deputy loosened his grip. But Toni noticed he pushed María through the door.
“That son of a bitch,” Toni growled.
Busy talking with the prosecutor, Michael had not seen the deputy’s action.
“Mike, I’m glad to see you haven’t lost your touch with the judge,” Brennan was telling him.
“He’s still mad because I won twenty bucks off him in poker last Friday.”
“Want to bet on the outcome of this case?” Brennan slapped two books together to emphasize what he considered a witty remark.
Michael smiled. “Why Joe, I’d love to win another twenty bucks.”
Brennan cleaned his glasses with a handkerchief. “You still like to make jokes, or try to. Well, this case won’t be so funny. See you at trial.” His eyes brushed over Toni as he left the courtroom.
Michael sat down at the defense table. “I hate that guy.”
“He reminds me of this kid in school. The bullies picked on him like clockwork. But you didn’t feel sorry because he had evil eyes,” Toni said.
“That’s Brennan. What he lacks in conviction, he makes up in pure malice.”
Toni glanced around the room, now quiet and more oppressive with its sharp corners and dead flags. Taking off her jacket, she pulled a cigarette out of her purse, remembered where she was and put it in her pocket. “I didn’t realize courts took the summer off.”
“It’s for the best. Otherwise it’d get so hot in here, the jury might convict the judge. Then again, during hunting season, all the scheduled trials seem to magically disappear or else get settled.”
She smiled and picked up her purse to leave.
“Hold on, Toni. We’re not taking it easy. I’d like to start interviewing María’s friends and neighbors today. I’ll need your help. I don’t know if they’ll talk to me.”
Toni nodded. “Anything for María. But before we go, you need to get rid of that tie. You look like a cop.”
“Hey, I like this tie.”
11
STANLEY JAMES SERVED A PRACTICED SMILE along with beer and mixed drinks. He called all his customers “buddy,” even the women, but no one minded because the alcohol was cheap and his jokes, funny. The bartender turned at the sound of the bell over the door. A well-dressed man and a pretty woman entered. He could spot a lawyer a block away, and they usually meant trouble in one form or another. Lawyers had clean shirts and no conscience.
“Hiya, buddies,” Stanley called. “Welcome to Willy’s.”
Because of the dim light inside, Toni could not see for the first few steps into the bar and proceeded carefully. When her eyes adapted to the dark, she saw four Mexican men in work clothes with mugs of beer in front of them. They were probably mill workers winding down from a double shift. At the end of the bar, a white woman wearing a low-cut blouse delicately sipped her drink. Hamburgers fried somewhere, the odor of beef mixing with that of stale beer. The bar appeared to accept any customer, Mexican, white or black, as long as they had money.
Michael focused on Mr. Stanley James, whose name he had obtained from the reports of police officers who regularly broke up fights at the bar, including those involving Ben Curry. With burly arms and an affable face, the bald Negro bartender was the type of guy to whom people told their problems just to hear him say, “Damn, ain’t that a bitch.” Such a man knew everything that went on in the place, but getting him to cooperate as a witness might be a challenge. To smooth the way, Michael reckoned Stanley might be more talkative as a bartender. He ordered a beer.
“What’ll you have, To
ni?” Michael asked as he drew up one of the barstools.
“A soda, please.” She sat down next to him.
After Stanley set the drinks in front of Michael and Toni, he returned to washing glasses. He tried to ignore the lawyer, although he didn’t mind serving the woman. The bartender wiped his hand over his whiskers and wished he had shaved that morning. “We have ladies’ night every Wednesday, where the gentler sex gets fifteen-cent drafts. I put in a new jukebox five years ago. What’d you like to hear?”
“She likes jazz,” Michael answered.
Stanley’s face lifted. “Got one you might like.”
He stepped down from the bar. Stanley stood less than five feet tall. While the bartender slipped over to the jukebox, Michael and Toni both bent over the bar. The floor was raised a good two feet, with steps on one end. Ella Fitzgerald’s “A-Tisket, A-Tasket” started up.
Toni smiled at Stanley. “She’s one of my favorites. By the way, something smells good.”
“Best chiliburgers in town, Miss Buddy.”
“Nice place, isn’t it?” Michael asked Toni.
“I feel at home.”
Michael was delighted she had picked up his strategy of wooing the bartender. “Me, too. I can make this my second office.” He drank down his beer and ordered another, plus a finger of whiskey.
Toni noticed that Michael was going through the alcohol with the ease of a man who enjoyed more than an occasional cocktail.
“I bought this place five years ago from Willy Knight.” Stanley put stubby fingers on the clown-red suspenders he wore over a white shirt. “But I didn’t think a bar named Stanley’s had the right ring, so I kept it as Willy’s. I did raise the floor behind the bar. I like to be eye level with people. You can tell a lot by doing that. Like you, buddy. Tell me what you’re up to.”
Michael introduced himself and Toni, then told Stanley why they were there and what information they wanted.
“Shit,” replied the bartender. “Sorry, Miss Buddy.”
“You don’t have to apologize. I’ve heard worse,” Toni said.
“What can you tell us, Stanley?” Michael said.
“That you mean trouble.”
“Ever see Ben Curry strike his wife?”
Stanley rubbed his grizzled chin. “I get lots of customers in here. It’s hard to remember everything that happens.”
Michael smiled. “I do believe you’re pulling my leg.”
Wiping the bar in front of Michael, Stanley didn’t glance up. “You ain’t going to go away, are you, buddy?”
“Nope.” Michael noisily sipped his beer. “If you don’t talk now, I’ll be back tomorrow and the next day.”
“I’d like your business and your money, but having a lawyer in here might ruin the reputation of my bar.”
Toni laughed.
“Stanley, tell me about Ben and María Curry.” Michael’s voice had the right combination of friendliness and threat. “I like you, and I don’t want use any of my nasty lawyer wiles to get you to talk.”
The tiny bartender shook his head in resignation. His ability to know when he was licked had saved him a lot of time and ass kickings in the past. “I can see you mean to stay here until I answer.”
“You’re very wise.”
“And you’re good.”
“How nice of you to say so. Now, answer the question, if you please.”
Stanley opened up a bottle of Coke and chugged half of it down before he replied. “Ben and María usually came in Friday nights. They lived a few blocks away and came on foot, so they told me.”
“And they fought?”
“Dammit. Okay, yes. They fought like Jake LaMotta and Sugar Ray Robinson, but what married couple don’t fight, especially when they’ve knocked back a few beers?” Stanley refilled their drinks. “Ben could be pretty ornery. He picked fights with everybody in the place until I threatened to kick him out permanently. Ben thought he was always right, and you couldn’t tell him no different. You know the type.”
“Intimately. Did Ben hit María while they were here?”
Stanley scratched his chin.
“Stanley, did you see Ben hit her?”
“When he got drunk, which he did all the time. He’d sock her or push her down until I told him to go home. Then they’d be all lovey-dovey the next time, until Ben got tanked.”
“Did María ever hit Ben?”
“Not that I can remember. Never saw a woman take so much shit from a man. Excuse my language again, Miss Buddy.”
“That’s all right, Mr. James,” Toni said.
“Did María ever get drunk?” Michael started in again.
“Lot of times. María is what I call a crying drunk. When Ben got mean, she’d cry into her beer. One time she had a few too many and yelled back. Ben slapped her hard across the face and knocked her to the floor. I threw him out and barred him for a full week.”
“Thanks, Stanley. One more thing. We’d like you to tell a jury what you told us.”
The bartender picked up a glass and quickly began wiping it. “Oh man. I knew you’d be up to no good. I hate to get involved. It hurts business. You know, a bartender’s job is to listen, and that’s all.”
“I’d really hate to subpoena you, but I will.”
“That ain’t friendly.”
Toni leaned toward the bartender and touched his arm. “María’s facing a death sentence or life in prison. Please, Mr. James. You can really help her.”
Stanley pulled back. “Okay, okay.”
“Thank you,” Toni said.
“This is exactly why I’m a friggin’ bachelor.”
Michael smiled. “You’re a good man, Mr. Stanley James. Now I’m ready for another beer. And we’ll try two of those famous chiliburgers. Fine with you, Toni?”
“Yes, thank you.”
Stanley chortled and started cooking.
“Excuse me. I’m going to the ladies’ room.” Toni slipped off the tall barstool and fell against Michael, who took her arm to steady her. From the corner of her eye, Toni noticed the Mexican men stared and whispered. Her cheeks singed as she passed them. When she returned to the bar, Michael examined an elaborate model of a cathedral made from matchsticks.
“Toni, Ben Curry made this, if you can believe it.” Michael handed her the model church, which had a foot-tall spire and double doors that opened.
Even in the dim light, the model church had so much detail that Toni expected to see Mass going on inside. “This is beautiful.”
“Ben gave it to me last Christmas because he said I was a good guy and didn’t water down the booze. He did pay his bar tab.”
“I guess that’s the only good thing we can say about him,” Michael said.
“The poor dead bastard.”
The bartender served Michael and Toni the burgers and grinned. “I’ll tell ya, Mr. Shaw, you know how to get people to talk. You’d have made a pretty good bartender.” Stanley refilled Michael’s beer.
“That’s the best compliment I’ve had all day.”
Stanley James put another nickel in the jukebox.
At her kitchen table, Bonita Ramírez shaped small pillows of dough between her hands. Meanwhile, Michael looked through Bonita’s screen door and right into the kitchen window of María’s house next door.
Uncertain at first, Bonita had welcomed Michael and Toni inside after Toni explained in Spanish that he was María’s attorney. “Then you are welcome in my house,” the woman pronounced in English.
As Bonita talked, she rolled the dough between her hands and then flattened it with a rolling pin, which made a soft thump thump thump on the table. She picked up the thin dough, slapped it between her hands, and placed it on a hot griddle. Bonita didn’t wait to ask Michael or Toni but gave them each a hot, crisp, brown tortilla slathered with butter. Her cheeks were full even when she didn’t smile. She was like her kitchen, warm and neat.
“Gracias.” Toni rolled up the tortilla and ate.
“De n
ada,” Bonita said in a melodic voice. “Please, Mr. Shaw. Eat, eat.”
“Thanks.” When he lifted the tortilla flat, butter dripped down his arm. A grease stain spread on his cuff and notebook. “Damn.”
“Mrs. Ramírez … ” Michael wiped his hands on a napkin.
“Bonita, por favor … ” Bonita said.
A smile came easily to Michael. The woman treated them with graciousness and generosity as she gave him another napkin to wipe his hands and sleeve. That made it easier to ask about María.
“We’ve lived next to each other ever since they moved to Borden. María’s a good woman. She cleaned for me when I got sick in the hospital. We go to Mass together every Sunday and Holy Days of Obligation, not to mention Wednesday bingo at the church.” Bonita made more tortillas, putting warm ones in a bowl under a clean, damp dish towel. “María became peaceful at church, as if she knew her husband couldn’t touch her there.”
“What’d you think of Ben Curry?”
“El Diablo. God rest his evil soul.” Bonita crossed herself automatically whenever Satan’s or Ben’s name came up. She pointed toward María’s house. “I seen him punch or slap her when he got drunk, and it seems he was always drunk. But you can’t say nothing ’cause they’re married. You can’t interfere with a man and his wife. One time, María even came over with a black eye and broken arm. Pobrecita.”
“When did that happen?” Michael wiped up more butter with a napkin.
Collapsing on the chair, Bonita fixed her own tortilla, which she folded in half. “At Thanksgiving time last year. María told me she fell at work, but I had heard her screaming, and I knew he did it, that cabrón. Another time, he chased María down the street with a butcher knife. Everyone in the neighborhood saw that. How’s the tortilla?”
“Good. Do you remember when Ben Curry went after María with the knife?”
“New Year’s Day. I wanted to go help her, but my husband warned me to stay away from Ben because he was crazy. Loco. He said, ‘Ben’s gonna come after you with that knife también.’ Ben Curry had the eyes of an animal out for blood.”
“Did María ever tell you that Ben beat her?”
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