by Scott Pratt
“Your idea of luck and mine are entirely different,” I said. “Maybe someday you’ll be fortunate enough to share in some of the luck I’ve experienced during the past two years.”
We entered an elevator, and the guy on my left pushed a button.
“Are you busting my balls, inmate?” he said.
I decided to take a calculated risk. I didn’t think they’d want to take me into the courtroom with any fresh bruises.
“Go fuck yourself, robot,” I said.
The kidney punch drove me to my knees, and I decided to shut my mouth. His final gesture was to kick me in the ass so hard as I walked into the holding cell that I couldn’t feel my left leg for twenty minutes. They left the cuffs on me.
When it came time for me to go into the courtroom, two different marshals accompanied me. Neither of them said a word during the walk. I didn’t, either. When I walked into the courtroom, Grace was sitting at the defense table. She got up immediately and stepped to the lectern where the marshals led me. A man I recognized as US Attorney Stephen Blackburn was standing next to the prosecution table. There was a clerk sitting next to the judge’s bench, my mother sitting in the gallery, and that was it. There was no one else. No lawyers milling around. No reporters. The two marshals who brought me in were standing against the wall, seemingly camouflaged by the woodwork. Grace put her hand on my forearm and patted it.
“Almost there,” she said.
One of the marshals came off the wall long enough to announce that court was in session as Judge Donnie Geer walked in. Geer took his seat and peered down over his nose at me like I was an insect, an unsavory pest.
“Well, Mr. Street, you’re back,” he said.
“Yes, sir.”
“Unusual circumstances this time.”
“Pretty unusual circumstances last time, too,” I said, and I felt Grace kick me in the ankle. She obviously wanted me to shut up.
“I understand the government has a motion in this case,” the judge said.
“Yes, Your Honor,” Blackburn said from my left. “New evidence has come to light in Mr. Street’s case, evidence that leads me to believe beyond any doubt that Mr. Street did not commit the crime for which he was convicted. I cannot, unfortunately, comment on the exact nature of the evidence at this time because to do so would impede or, at the worst, entirely compromise an ongoing investigation. However, given the evidence, I also cannot, in good conscience, allow Mr. Street to remain in prison. Therefore, the government moves the court to vacate the jury’s verdict against Mr. Street and enter a judgment of not guilty.”
“I understand an escape charge was filed against him in the district court in California,” the judge said. “Is he to be remanded to custody to deal with that charge?”
“No, sir. I have here a copy of an order signed by a judge in the eastern district of California yesterday afternoon. The case is dismissed.”
Blackburn passed a copy of the order to the clerk, who handed it to the judge.
“Very well, then,” Judge Geer said. “Miss Alexander, do you have anything to say?”
“I thought the file was going to be sealed,” Grace said.
“There really isn’t any need,” Blackburn said. “We arrested Ben Clancy this morning.”
Grace’s head jerked toward Blackburn, who looked at her and said, “I changed my mind. We’ll let a jury sort it out.”
“Thank you,” Grace said. I could tell she was as stunned as I was. The first thing that went through my mind was Clancy having to squat and cough during a strip search. The bastard. He’d finally get a little of what he deserved.
“Mr. Street?” the judge said. “Anything you’d like to say?”
“No, sir.”
“All right. Then upon motion of the government and there being no opposition from the defense, the court hereby vacates the jury’s verdict in The United States of America versus Darren Street.”
“Would you please ask the marshals to remove his handcuffs?” Grace said.
The judge nodded toward the marshals, and one of them walked over and removed the cuffs. I rubbed my wrists and looked up at Geer, and a feeling of relief enveloped me like a lagoon of warm seawater. My vision suddenly became clearer, and Grace’s perfume filled my nostrils. I felt light, like rice paper. If a gentle breeze had blown at that moment, it would have lifted me up and floated me out of the courtroom.
“I presided over your trial, as you know, Mr. Street,” the judge said. “I heard all of the evidence, and from what I heard, the jury was justified in returning the verdict it did, so I don’t think this court owes you an apology. I admit that signing Mr. Clancy’s arrest warrant troubled me greatly, but seeing you released like this reaffirms my faith in what I believe to be the most effective system of criminal justice in the world. In the meantime, I wish you the best in your return to society. Do you plan to return to practicing law?”
“I’m not really sure,” I said. “Maybe. Probably.”
“Perhaps I’ll see you again sometime, then. Mr. Street, you’re free to go. Court is adjourned.”
Suddenly, Grace, Mom, and I were the only people in the courtroom. We wrapped our arms around each other and stood near the bar. Tears were streaming freely and I was unashamed.
None of us could say a word.
CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE
I walked out of the courtroom that day a free man, but my life as I knew it had still been obliterated. It was as though I’d woken up from a coma that had lasted for more than two years; I had to start over from scratch. I had a little money stashed in the corporation my mother had helped me form when I was in prison, but I’d paid a substantial amount to Big Pappy Donovan and what I had left was barely enough to get by on. I had no job, no car, no house or apartment, so I immediately moved in with my mom, who was genuinely glad to have me but who had grown accustomed to living on her own. We worked it out, but not without some tense moments.
As soon as Katie read in the paper that I’d been released from prison, she had her lawyer file a petition in court to revoke my mother’s visitation privileges with Sean. I filed my own petition asking for visitation rights. I represented myself and it took months, but I was finally able to get in front of a judge and Katie was forced to let me see my son. The visits for the first month were supervised by a worker from the Tennessee Department of Children’s Services, but she very quickly figured out how much I loved Sean and how much he loved me, and the supervision ended. I get him every other weekend right now.
Katie demanded child support, of course, which I was more than happy to pay. I’m paying 21 percent of the approximately $500 a week I’m making as a freelance paralegal for several different lawyers in Knoxville. She gets $420 a month. I’m hoping to get joint custody of Sean as soon as I can afford my own place. I’m sure Katie knows it’s coming, and I’m sure she’ll fight me tooth and nail. She still lives in the nice home we bought when we were married, and from what I understand, her parents are helping her out a great deal. She’s also still seeing her sugar daddy from Lexington. I hope he has a heart attack in the sack.
Initially, I sent an e-mail to the Tennessee Board of Professional Responsibility and asked them to reinstate me as an attorney since the jury’s verdict had been vacated in my case. I was very quickly informed by those miserable, bureaucratic bastards that I had been disbarred because I was a “danger to the community,” and the only way to have my license reinstated was to go through a long, drawn-out hearing process, during which a heavy burden of proof would be placed upon me to prove I was no longer dangerous. I told them to schedule the hearing. They said it would be six months, which is two months from now.
Grace and I are taking it slow, which, I believe, is a sign that I’m not as impetuous as I may have been in the past. She’s a remarkable woman, and I remain convinced that I’m in love with her, but we went through such a turbulent time
together that I want to be sure we can stick together without a war to fight, without a cause to champion. If it works out, and I have no reason to think it won’t, then I could see us having a future together, maybe even working together. I’d like nothing better than to build a firm that would usurp Richie Fels’s firm as the top group of criminal defense lawyers in the state of Tennessee.
Two weeks ago, Grace, my mom, and I made a trip up the mountain to spend an afternoon with the Tipton clan to celebrate Granny’s seventy-fifth birthday. It wasn’t my weekend with Sean, and even if it had been, I wouldn’t have taken him. The Tiptons were, after all, alleged drug dealers. But those folks knew how to throw a party. They’d smoked chicken and ribs and had slow roasted a small pig and pulled the meat from it. There was also a large picnic table covered entirely in side dishes and desserts. The barbecue sauce they’d made for the meat was the best I’d ever tasted. All three grandsons were there along with wives and children and several close friends who I suspected were employees of the family drug business. A bluegrass band consisting of a guitarist, an upright bass player, a fiddler, and a banjo picker was set up on Granny’s front porch. About fifteen minutes into their first set, they broke into a song called “Rollin’ in my Sweet Baby’s Arms,” and I felt a tug on my arm.
“Let’s dance,” Grace said.
I’d never danced to mountain music, but I’d had a couple of beers and was feeling pretty good, so I said, “Okay.”
I took her right hand in my left and wrapped my other hand around her waist, and we started gliding across the grass.
“You’re a natural,” Grace said. She was smiling widely, which I loved.
“My partner ain’t bad, either,” I said.
We danced around the yard for a few minutes with the sun on our faces and Grace’s beautiful hair flying like a golden web. When the music stopped, she leaned in and kissed me on the cheek.
“Thank you,” she said.
She did those sorts of things all the time. Simple things. A smile here, a wink and a nod there, a kiss on the cheek. And every time she did something like that, it gave me goose bumps.
We spent the afternoon eating, drinking, dancing, and playing. Along about seven thirty, as the sun was starting to drop behind the mountain ridges to the west, Granny, who had a white shawl wrapped around her shoulders, came up and placed her hand on my elbow.
“Do you have a minute for an old lady?” she said.
“I have all the time you need,” I said.
“Walk with me.”
She wrapped her right arm in my left and we wandered away from the others. Before I knew it, we were standing in back of the barn. Four hogs were on the other side of a stout wooden fence. When they saw Granny, they came over and began snorting and rooting.
“I wanted to tell you we’re out of the business we used to be in,” she said. “It was just too much trouble, too dangerous.”
“That’s good to hear, Granny. What are you guys going to do?”
She chuckled and her eyes flickered.
“We’re going to make moonshine, but we’re going to do it legal. Eugene has already gotten things pretty much set up. We’re having a still shipped in from Canada, of all places. It should be here in a couple of weeks.”
“Good luck with it,” I said. “I hope it works out well.”
“Can I ask your honest opinion about something?” Granny said.
“Absolutely.”
“Do you think they’ll be able to convict Ben Clancy?”
I’d given that a lot of thought, and I didn’t like the government’s prospects.
“It’ll be tough,” I said. “James has already testified in my trial, and you can believe Richie Fels will have the transcript. He’s going to hammer James. It’ll be, ‘are you lying now or were you lying then?’ James will have to admit he committed perjury during my trial, and Fels will use the admission to plant doubt in the jury’s mind. Plus, James will have to admit that he pulled the trigger and that he isn’t going to serve any time. I don’t see the jury convicting him.”
She was nodding slowly as I talked.
“That’s what I thought,” she said. “But the man tried to ruin James’s life. I don’t think he’ll ever quite get over it. Forced him to kill a man, forced him to lie about it and help send you to prison, burned his home, and tried to kill him. That’s an evil man.”
“I agree with you about that. He’s evil.”
“Do you believe in karma?”
I pondered the question for a few seconds. “I’m not sure if I’d call it that, exactly, but I think there might be some kind of moral force in the universe that eventually balances things out. It takes a while sometimes, but eventually people seem to get what they deserve.”
“I believe a person ought to get what he or she deserves,” Granny said. “Sometimes it happens naturally, and sometimes . . . well, sometimes somebody has to help things along.”
She moved closer to the fence and nodded toward the pigs.
“How much do you know about hogs?” she said.
“Not much. I’m a city boy.”
“I’ll tell you why I ask. You remember that night you came here after you got out of prison?”
“I don’t know how I could ever forget it.”
“You said something that night that made me curious. You asked us to leave you a gun. You said you’d climb in with the hogs and shoot yourself. You said they’d clean up the mess. What made you think a hog would eat a human?”
“I’m not really sure. I guess I’ve probably read it somewhere sometime. Maybe it’s just some kind of urban legend.”
She nodded and was quiet for a minute. “I’ve been around hogs all my life,” she said. “I’ve helped butcher hundreds of them, maybe a thousand or more. They’ll eat most anything, including a human. And if the jury doesn’t convict him and they let him go, I might just see to it that Clancy winds up in this pig pen.”
“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that,” I said, and she gave me a coy smile. I had no doubt she was capable of killing Clancy, or having him killed. If Clancy wound up being acquitted and suddenly disappeared . . . I put the thought out of my mind.
We turned and walked back toward the party as the sun continued to drop behind the ridge to the west. The mountains were shimmering in the soft light, and I suddenly felt a sense of deep contentment. I’d made it through false accusation, humiliation, indignity, government-sponsored isolation and torture, beatings, and stab wounds. It had taken years, but the wheels of justice, which had nearly ground me to dust, had somehow been reversed and were trying, at least, to make things right. Clancy probably wouldn’t be convicted, but he might. And in the meantime, he’d been denied bond and was sitting in the same county jail on the same max block where I’d awaited trial.
The fact that Clancy was in jail and I was out gave me a satisfying sense of redemption, but the contentment came from something much deeper. As I walked along with Granny and I spotted Grace and my mother standing together among the small crowd of people, it dawned on me how fortunate I was to have them and Sean and how much I wanted to serve them, to protect them, to help make their lives meaningful and enjoyable. When we got close to the group, I broke away from Granny and walked straight up to Grace. I wrapped my arms around her waist, lifted her off the ground, and began to turn slowly in a circle.
“Have I thanked you for everything you did for me, Grace?” I said. “I’m here today because of you.”
She lifted her hands to my face and kissed me softly on the lips.
“You’re here today because you’re a survivor,” she said. “And I’m glad to be along for the rest of the ride.”
The rest of the ride. I had no idea what it would entail, but if it was to be anything like the ride I’d been on for the past couple of years, one thing was certain.
At l
east it wouldn’t be boring.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thank you to Kjersti Egerdahl and the team at Thomas & Mercer for giving me this opportunity and helping me along the way. And thank you to Charlotte Herscher and Ivan Kenneally, who reminded me of the importance of top-notch editors.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Photo © 2015 Dwain Rowe
Scott Pratt’s first novel, An Innocent Client—the first book in his Joe Dillard series—was chosen as a finalist for the Mystery Readers International’s Macavity Award. Born in Michigan and raised in Tennessee, he earned a bachelor of arts degree in English from East Tennessee State University and a doctor of jurisprudence degree from the University of Tennessee. He is a veteran of the United States Air Force. He resides in northeast Tennessee with his wife, two dogs, and a parrot.