The Law of Second Chances

by James Sheehan

  Now Benny the crazy man was led into the room where Jack and Henry were waiting. Two guards were with him, and he was handcuffed. When they’d seated him, the guards left the room and waited right outside, where they could still see through a window in the door.

  Henry knew that once Benny was convicted his accoutrements would change. He’d have leg and waist shackles as well as handcuffs, and the guards would never leave the room. Henry also saw the look of the animal in Benny’s eyes, a look he had seen many times.

  Jack started the interview.

  “Mr. Avrile, my name is Jack Tobin. I’m a lawyer. Your father has asked me to look into your case and, if possible, to represent you in your upcoming trial.”

  “So you’re here to check me out to see if you really want to do it,” Benny growled.

  “Something like that,” Jack answered.

  Benny was conducting his own assessment. Jack certainly looked a lot more competent than Sal Paglia, but looks could be deceiving. He was probably another flunky that his father got for a bargain-basement price. But who was the big black guy? He certainly didn’t look like a lawyer.

  Henry read his mind.

  “I’m Henry Wilson, Benny,” he said. “I spent seventeen years on death row in Florida before Jack got me released last year. He’s the real deal, in case you’re wondering.”

  Benny turned to Jack to respond. “If you’re the real deal, my father must be paying you a hell of a lot of money.”

  “This isn’t about money,” Jack told him. “I knew your father when we were teenagers. I have a great deal of respect for him.”

  Benny rolled his eyes. He didn’t know it, but he was on the verge of burying the only hope he had left.

  At that moment, Henry decided to take over. “Benny!” he said sharply but not very loudly, and he waited for Benny’s eyes to meet his. “My mother was a heroin addict,” he began, keeping his gaze fixed on Benny. “She used to bring these guys home who beat the shit out of me every day. I was six years old when I found her dead by a creek near where we lived. I was put into the foster system, which was as bad as any prison I was ever in. I had my own bout with drugs and everything else on the street, and I despised my mother for the life she’d given me. I never even knew my father. But when I was strapped to that gurney and they were about to put my lights out forever, all I thought about was seeing my mother and hugging her and telling her I understood because I had my own demons. You hear what I’m saying?”

  Benny nodded. Henry had tapped into something that he didn’t believe anybody else understood.

  “Your father,” Henry continued, “had his own demons. He was drafted into a war he knew nothing about and he lost his best friend in the process—which drove him to heroin. We could talk about how he got there just like we could talk about how we got there. That part doesn’t matter. What matters is that he picked himself up and he fought his way back and now all he wants to do is help you. Yeah, he feels guilty, and he should feel guilty. He’s doing something about it, though. He’s had a second chance, and he wants you to have one. You’ve got to get past your hate and let him—and us—help you.”

  Henry stopped talking but continued to look directly into Benny’s eyes. It was a challenge. Henry was waiting for some straight talk back.

  Benny didn’t speak right away, but there was no mistaking the emotion in his eyes and on his face.

  “I got past it once—the hate,” he finally said. “I’d wanted to kill them both, but then I let it go. It all came rushing back when I saw him again. This ain’t exactly the best place to sort out your feelings, if you know what I mean. I hear you, though. And I know you’re right. It’s just gonna take me some time to get there.”

  “I’m with you,” Henry replied. “One other question: is there a bar you used to hang out in?”

  “Yeah, Tillie’s.”

  “Does the bartender know you?”

  “Tillie’s the bartender. Yeah, he knows me. Why?”

  “I’ll tell you the next time we see you.” Henry looked at Jack to see if there was anything else he wanted to talk about. Jack shook his head. Henry stood up, reached across the table, and shook Benny’s hand.

  “You were awfully quiet in there,” Henry said to Jack as they were walking to the car. It was exactly the same comment Jack had made after their visit to Bruce Sentner, the public defender.

  “Touché!” Jack replied. “Actually, there was no room for me in there. You two were in your own world. You get it now, Henry, don’t you? If you hadn’t come on this trip I would never have seen that other side of Benny. I’m not convinced yet, but if I’d been by myself today I’d be heading for the airport now.”

  “You’re probably right,” Henry replied. “Now, I think we should pay a little visit to Tillie.”

  45

  Jack had a general idea from reading the police files where Tillie’s was—general in the sense that he knew it was in the South Bronx. They looked up the address in the phone book but had to stop a couple of times on the way to get directions from people on the street. By seven o’clock that evening, they were sitting at the bar, talking to Tillie.

  “If you guys can hang on a few minutes,” Tillie said after they had introduced themselves, “I’ll be off the bar and we can sit in the back and talk.” So Henry and Jack each ordered a club soda and waited for Tillie to get off. The six other people in the bar looked at them like they had some sort of disease. One by one they stopped looking, however, when Henry returned their stares.

  Fifteen minutes later, Tillie led them to a table in the back so that they could talk freely.

  “So one of you guys is gonna represent Benny?” he asked, just to make sure he had it right.

  “It’s a possibility,” Jack replied. “We’re kind of in the investigative stage.”

  “How do I know that you are who you say you are?”

  “You mean are we cops or something?” Jack suggested.

  “I don’t wanna seem like an asshole or anything, but the thought had crossed my mind, yeah.”

  “Do I look like a cop?” Henry asked. “Besides, we’re not going to ask you about anything that could hurt Benny. If we do, then you can refuse to talk to us. We just want to get a little flavor of who the guy is. He gave us your name.”

  “All right,” Tillie said. “I don’t know if I can help you that much, but I’ll tell you what I know.”

  “Fair enough,” Henry told him.

  “Benny is a street guy,” Tillie began. “He don’t own nothin’—at least nothin’ of value. He lived in one of those condemned buildings. He’s never had anything going for himself. Never could keep things together, you know what I mean?” Henry nodded. He knew exactly what Tillie meant. “I know he’s a thief,” Tillie continued, “but in a lotta ways Benny’s harmless. This is a violent neighborhood, but it never rubbed off on Benny. Not that I could see, anyway. He’s a character. To tell you the truth, I miss him.”

  “He’s charged with murder, you know,” Jack pressed.

  “Yeah, I know, but I figure that’s a trumped-up charge. Some big shot was killed, and Benny’s the fall guy.”

  “There are eyewitnesses who put him at the scene,” Jack added.

  “I don’t know anything about that,” Tillie said. “But I’ll tell you this. The cop who arrested him—he arrested him right over there by the pool table. I was here. Benny and me were playing pool at the time. Anyway, this cop told Benny that he was arresting him for something he didn’t believe Benny did. And he told Benny to clam up—not to talk to anybody until he had a lawyer. Now, that’s a cop talking, and a cop who knows Benny real well. That’s why I’m saying he’s a fall guy.”

  “What’s this cop’s name?” Jack asked.

  “Joe Fogarty, but that ain’t gonna do you no good. He ain’t never gonna admit he said those things.”

  “Is that good enough evidence for you?” Henry asked on their way out.

  “If it’s true,” Jack replied.r />
  “What do you mean, if it’s true?”

  “I mean, Tillie is Benny’s friend. He’s going to say things to help Benny. Do you think a jury would believe him without some corroboration?”

  “Maybe not,” Henry admitted. “But I believe him, and I’ve been a street person.”

  “You’re not a disinterested party anymore, Henry. You’re on Benny’s side one hundred percent. Maybe more. I just need something more.”

  “Where are you going to get that? The cop isn’t going to talk to you.”

  “Maybe not. But I can try.”

  Jack dropped Henry off in Harlem on the way back to Charlie’s. They agreed to meet for breakfast the next morning.

  Jack wanted to make a decision about whether to represent Benny before they left New York. When he arrived back at the apartment, Charlie was waiting for him, anxious to hear about the events of the day. Jack put her off for a few minutes. He had to call an old friend right away.

  Frankie O’Connor picked up the phone on the second ring.

  “Frankie?”

  “Yeah,” Frankie answered hesitantly. Nobody called him Frankie anymore.

  “Frankie, it’s Johnny Tobin. How are you doing?”

  “Johnny! Long time no see. Where are you?”

  “I’m in the city. Actually, I’m in the old neighborhood.”

  “How long are you going to be in town?”

  “I’m not sure. Maybe a couple more days.”

  “You know, some of us get together at the Carlow on Thursday nights. I’m off on Fridays. It’s one of a hundred bad things about being a cop—you rarely get weekends off.”

  “I’ll come down. I was planning on going to the Carlow anyway. Listen, I need to ask a favor.”

  “Shoot,” Frankie replied without hesitation. They hadn’t set eyes on each other since Mikey’s funeral several years before, but that didn’t mean anything to Frankie. Johnny was an old friend.

  “I’m trying to get in touch with a cop.”

  “I’ll help you if I can, Johnny, but there are twenty-five thousand cops on the force now. If he’s an old-timer, I’ll know him. Still, I’m not sure I can help you.”

  It was an unwritten code, and Jack was well aware of it. Frankie wasn’t going to give out any information about any cop until he called the guy, filled him in on the situation, and got his permission to do so.

  “I know what you mean, Frankie. The guy’s name is Joe Fogarty.”

  “Oh, I know Joe. He came on a few years after me. Tell me what it’s about and I’ll give him a call.”

  Jack filled Frankie in on Benny’s case and told him all about the conversation with Tillie. He didn’t tell him who Benny’s father was just yet. He wanted to let the situation play itself out.

  Frankie hesitated. “I don’t know, Johnny. You know I’d do anything for you personally. But this would put Joe in an awkward position, and I don’t want to do that. Why are you getting involved in this case anyway? Nick Walsh was the lead detective, and Nick’s a legend in the department. This guy is guilty.”

  “He may be, Frankie. I’m just trying to decide whether I should represent him or not.” Jack sensed the moment was right. “His father is an old friend of mine. And yours too.”

  “Who?”

  “Do you remember Rico who played with us on the Lexingtons?”

  “The skinny Puerto Rican kid who taught you how to play cornerback?”

  “That’s the one.”

  “Sure, I remember him. He was one tough cookie. He and Floyd got a raw deal too. Being a cop, I think about what happened to them from time to time. This Benny kid is his son?”

  “Yup.”

  There was a pause on the other end of the line. Then Frankie said, “I’ll give Joe a call and tell him about the situation, but it’ll be up to him if he wants to talk to you or not. Just remember, Johnny, if he confirms what he said to Benny and the higher-ups downtown find out about it, they’ll be writing him up for spilling his coffee.”

  “I hear you, Frankie. I won’t do anything he doesn’t want me to.”

  “By the way—and this is really strange—there’s another connection between this case and the Lexingtons.”

  “Oh yeah, what’s that?”

  “Do you remember Jimmy Walsh, the kicker?”

  “Of course.”

  “Well, he was Nick Walsh’s younger brother. That won’t get you anywhere with Nick, though. He’s strictly by the book. It’s just kinda interesting.”

  “Yeah, it is,” Jack replied.

  “I’ll tell you something else that should make the hair on the back of your neck stand up.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Nick investigated the murder of this Benny kid’s last lawyer. Someone blew his brains out. Nick said it was a mess. Watch yourself, Johnny.”

  “I thought they decided there wasn’t any connection.”

  “They couldn’t find a connection, but they never solved the murder either.”

  Half an hour later, just as Jack was winding up telling Charlie about the day’s events, Frankie called to let Jack know that Joe Fogarty would be at the Carlow East on Thursday night.

  46

  “We’re meeting with Joe Fogarty tonight at a local bar,” Jack told Henry the next morning at Pete’s, a local greasy spoon in the old neighborhood.

  “How did you arrange a meeting overnight?” Henry asked.

  “You’ve got to know the right people, Henry. I’m a man with connections.”

  “I guess you are.”

  “Listen, we’re going to show up about eight. It will be the three of us. I already promised Charlie I’d take her.”

  “You don’t need me for this one, Jack. Cops and I don’t get along anyway. I’ll just take the family out for dinner.”

  “Are you sure? This is pretty important.”

  “I’m sure, Jack. You can handle this one. What else do you have planned?”

  “I thought after breakfast you and I would go down to the murder scene to see where the eyewitnesses were and things like that.”

  “That’s a good idea.”

  “And then I’m going to prepare my stipulation for substitution of counsel.”

  “Good. You’re already anticipating that Fogarty is going to confirm what Tillie said. I like that.”

  “I figured you would.”

  “Are you licensed in New York?”

  “Oh yeah. I took the bar exam here more than twenty years ago. I always thought I’d practice here. I don’t know how to find the courthouse yet,” he laughed, “but I will.”

  Frankie O’Connor was still a leader of men thirty-plus years after he played for the Lexingtons. Although he barely finished high school, Frankie rose to the rank of lieutenant in the New York City Police Department. He could have been a captain but turned the job down.

  “You get too high in this department, you can’t smell your own shit stinking,” he’d explained to a friend. That was Frankie. He didn’t want to get too far away from the rank and file—too far away from his roots. Not too many lieutenants could call a detective like Joe Fogarty and arrange a meeting where he’d be explaining why he’d violated department rules. Frankie could do it because Joe trusted him. It was that simple.

  Jack had been back to the Carlow East a few times since the old days but they had been random visits. Nothing could have prepared him for this night. It was a journey back in time. His old friend Norm Martin was behind the bar. Although they hadn’t seen each other in years, Norm recognized Jack as soon as he walked in the front door.

  “Hey Johnny, how ya doin’?” Norm greeted him as if the two men had had lunch together that very day. The only difference was that they both leaned across the bar and hugged each other.

  “Good, Norm. I’m doing good.” He almost forgot to introduce Charlie. “This is my friend Charlie. She used to work with Pat.”

  Norm shook hands with Charlie. “Nice to meet you, Charlie,” he said. “Pat was a gr
eat lady. Jack, we haven’t talked since Pat passed. I’m real sorry for your loss.”

  “Thanks, Norm. I appreciate it. Where’s Frankie? Is he here?”

  “Yeah. He’s down at the other end of the bar with everybody else.”

  The Carlow looked almost exactly the same as it had thirty years ago, except there were a few more televisions for the sports fans, and fake Tiffany lamps hung from the ceiling illuminating the bar. In the old days, people liked being in the shadows. The other noticeable change was the clientele. Thirty years ago this Irish bar had been full of Irishmen—until the Lexingtons came along. Now it was a mixed crowd.

  The “everybody else” Norm had referred to were all people Jack had grown up with. His good friend Chris Dennehy was there, along with Tony McKiernan, Joe Powell, Kathy Tripptree, and Lynn Schultz.

  Chris gave Jack a big hug.

  “What are you doing here?” Jack asked.

  “We all come on Thursday night,” Chris explained. “It’s Frankie’s night off. We’ve been doing it for years.”

  Jack introduced Charlie to everybody.

  “I can’t believe you know all these people,” Charlie whispered to Jack as the introductions went on and on.

  “I went to kindergarten with most of them. You see Joe Powell over there? He was my first friend in the whole world. His mother used to take us fishing in Central Park. You know where Rowboat Lake is?”

  “Where they have the rowboats? I didn’t know they called it that.”

  “That’s what we called it. We used to catch big carp in there. We were so small we could barely hold them.”

  Eventually Jack left Charlie chatting with his friends and made his way over to Frankie, who was sitting at the end of the bar with a few guys who looked like cops. Frankie had gained a few pounds since the Lexington days, but he still looked fit. He stood up and gave Jack a big hug.

  “Johnny, how’s my rich and famous pal? You haven’t forgotten where you came from, have you?”