Native Affairs
Page 17
“That isn’t fair!” Marisa countered, tossing her crumpled breakfast napkin in the trash. “I have no desire to see anyone else get hurt, either. I merely resent the fact that he thinks he’s going to pressure me into doing as he says when his own lawyer won’t listen to him.”
“Aren’t you overreacting a little? I guess he figured it was worth a try.”
Marisa leaned forward urgently. “If I ask for a delay, Lasky becomes even more prejudiced against me than he is already, Brady is in the clear, and Bluewolf gets what he wants without sacrificing an iota of Lasky’s goodwill for his side. Wouldn’t you feel used in my place?”
“I suppose so,” Tracy said slowly. Then, after a moment, “What are you going to do?”
“If Mr. Bluewolf wants a delay he can ask for it himself. I’ll be in court at nine o’clock as planned,” Marisa said flatly and went to the bathroom to take a shower.
* * *
Marisa’s bravado deserted her when she stepped outside the hotel at eight forty-five and saw the mob scene across the street at the courthouse. There seemed to be at least three times the usual number of people assembled outside and the sound level was deafening. As she moved toward the intersection with Tracy at her side, it seemed that the protesters turned as one body to stare at them and, incredibly, the crowd noise got even louder.
“Oh, my God,” Tracy said at her side. “We should have requested a federal marshal as an escort.”
“Don’t show them that you’re scared,” Marisa replied. ‘
“If you wanted a performance like that you should have sent me to acting school,” Tracy responded darkly.
They marched, side by side like soldiers, across the street and into the crowd, which parted for them like the Red Sea. Marisa looked straight ahead as they walked up the courthouse steps, so she didn’t see the arm emerging from the mob, the arm holding the gun.
What happened next was a blur. She heard Tracy scream and saw Jackson Bluewolf appear before her like a genie out of a bottle. He grabbed her upper arms and thrust her aside so powerfully that she fell. At the same instant she heard the crack of a gunshot and Jack tumbled to the steps nearly on top of her, his shoulder smudged dark with a powder burn and then blossoming red.
The scene was chaos. Marisa struggled to her knees, stunned, as people began running to and fro yelling, “He’s hit!” and “Get an ambulance!” Policemen she hadn’t seen previously materialized as if from nowhere and subdued the assailant, who was sobbing, “I didn’t mean Jack, I didn’t mean to shoot Jack!” And Bluewolf was crumpled like a discarded doll on the courthouse steps, his eyes closed, blood staining his jacket and running down his hand.
Marisa crawled over to him and yanked on his tie, loosening his collar. His eyes fluttered open and for a second she was sure he knew her. Then someone appeared at her side saying, “I’m a doctor,” and she was pulled away as all attention was directed to the wounded man.
Marisa didn’t realize she was crying until Tracy sat down next to her on the steps, oblivious to the crowd milling around them, and handed her a tissue. The clicking and whirring of cameras formed an incessant backdrop to the other noises surrounding them.
“That bullet was meant for me,” Marisa gasped.
“I know,” Tracy said, not meeting her eyes. “The shooter was the dead boy’s brother. I heard somebody talking about it.”
They both watched as Jack was loaded onto a stretcher and carried down the steps into a waiting ambulance.
“You don’t have to say it,” Marisa added dully. “I know it’s all my fault.”
Tracy just shook her head.
“I want to go after the ambulance to the hospital,” Marisa said quickly, rising.
“I doubt if they’ll let you in to see him.”
“I have to try.”
Tracy stood also. “At any rate, we’d better get out of here. Once the excitement dies down we might become very unpopular. Let’s go.”
They went back to the hotel, where Marisa called the hospital. Bluewolf was listed as stable, whatever that meant, but was allowed no visitors.
“Tracy, you’d better stay here,” Marisa said. “See if you can get through to Judge Lasky’s chambers, and then get in touch with the firm. Take messages for any calls that come through here.”
Tracy stared at her.
“Don’t look at me that way.”
“You’ll just be mobbed at the hospital,” Tracy said.
Marisa went there anyway.
The lobby was full of reporters and police. The NFN lawyer, Ben Brady, spotted Marisa and scuttled to her side, grabbing her shoulder and steering her into an adjacent hallway.
“What the hell are you doing here?” he said, looking past her at the room they’d just left.
“Same thing you are,” Marisa responded, yanking her arm from his grasp. “I want to make sure Bluewolf is all right.”
“If you go back out there the press will eat you alive. It’s common knowledge already that the kid was aiming at you.”
“And did you aid in disseminating that knowledge?” Marisa inquired coldly.
“Hey, don’t blame me for your screwup. If you had asked for the continuance this might not have happened.”
“You had the same opportunity to do so that I did! Bluewolf told me he wanted you to talk to Lasky and you refused.”
“When did he tell you that?” Brady asked, his eyes narrowing.
“Never mind, it’s not important now. Can you get me upstairs to see him or not?”
“Why should I do that?” Brady countered.
“Because he was hurt trying to protect me. A decent person would let me satisfy my conscience that he’s all right,” Marisa said evenly.
Brady studied her in silence.
“Or am I making an incorrect assumption that you’re a decent person?”
Brady shrugged. “I can take you up to his room, but my guess is that’s as far as you’ll get.”
“I’ll take that chance.”
Brady turned around and guided her through the crowd, shoving off aggressive reporters and ignoring the shrill cries which surrounded them. They were almost running when they reached the elevator. Brady punched the button with the flat of his hand and they fell against the inside walls of the cage as the doors closed and it ascended.
“Nice group, eh? ” he said sarcastically.
When they got to the third floor the atmosphere was much calmer, brisk and efficient. Brady introduced Marisa to the attending doctor at the nurse’s station.
“How is Mr. Bluewolf?” Marisa said anxiously.
“You’re not a relative, right?”
“No, I’m...”
“The target of the gunman,” Brady finished for her when she hesitated.
“Ah, I see,” the doctor said, nodding. “Well, he’s lost a lot of blood, but we’re transfusing him and he’s young and healthy. We’ll be operating soon to remove the bullet. Unless he throws a clot or something else extraordinary happens, he should recover from the wound all right.”
Marisa closed her eyes. “Thank you.”
“Why did that guy take the bullet for you?” the doctor asked her curiously.
“He didn’t mean to, it was an accident. He was trying to shove me out of the way,” Marisa said.
“Haven’t you heard, Doctor?” Brady said lightly. “Chivalry is not dead.”
Marisa silenced him with a look.
“May I see him?” she asked the doctor.
The doctor shook his head. “Not until after the surgery. His sister and mother are on their way from Oklahoma. Once they get here they can determine the visiting list.”
“May I wait around until the operation’s over?”
He gestured toward a small waiting room at the end of the corridor. “You can sit in there if you want. It will be a while.” He hurried off to waylay a passing nurse.
“Are you going to hang around here?” Brady asked Marisa.
“Yes.”
Marisa shook her head. “I’ll wait.”
“Feeling responsible?” he said baitingly.
“Goodbye,” Marisa said, turning her back. She walked to the waiting room and sat down in one of the plastic chairs.
It was a very long day. She talked to Tracy on the phone a couple of times, watched a soap opera on the lounge television and then fell asleep. When she woke up it was dark and a nurse was shaking her.
“Aren’t you waiting on the Bluewolf case?” she asked.
“Yes,” Marisa replied worriedly, sitting up quickly.
“He’s out of recovery and back in his room. He’ll be fine.”
Marisa nodded wordlessly and pressed the nurse’s hand.
“Why don’t you go home?” the nurse suggested kindly.
Marisa stood stiffly and headed for the hall.
It was stretching a point to call a hotel “home.”
* * *
“You’re not going back to the hospital?” Tracy said in an exasperated tone the next morning. They were in the hotel coffee shop.
“There might have been a change overnight.”
“And what if the relatives are there? Do you think they’re going to fall on your neck in welcome?”
“I’ll deal with them.”
“Charlie is supposed to call this morning. The detective from the local police is coming back. He wants you to fill out an incident report on the shooting. And that guy, Block, from the Bureau of Indian Affairs will be here this afternoon. He’ll want to see you, not me.”
“I’ll be back by four,” Marisa replied, picking up her purse. “I’ll check in with you in a couple of hours. Lasky may make a decision today about when to resume the hearing.”
“And what if he wants to talk to you directly?”
“Call me at the hospital, third floor lounge.”
Tracy threw up her hands and went back to her omelet. If Marisa insisted on keeping this vigil there was nothing she could do about it.
Jack’s mother and sister were in the hall outside Jack’s room when Marisa got there. They didn’t have to be identified. The tall, beautiful girl with waist length black hair looked just like him and the older woman was obviously her mother.
“I’m Marisa Hancock,” Marisa said to the girl, extending her hand, her heart pounding.
The girl looked at her blankly.
“The government’s attorney in the highway case,” Marisa explained flatly.
The girl’s eyes widened. “You’re the one Jeff Rivertree was trying to shoot,” she said incredulously.
Marisa nodded bleakly.
“What’s going on, Ana?” her mother asked, looking from one young woman to the other.
“I’ll handle this, Mama,” the girl said. “Why don’t you go into the lounge and have a seat? I’ll be right with you.”
The older woman hesitated, then left. Jack’s sister turned back to Marisa.
“I’m Ana Carter, Jackson’s sister. What are you doing here, Ms. Hancock?” she asked coldly.
“I was hoping to get in to see your brother.”
The girl folded her arms and stared back at Marisa, who refused to flinch.
“You want to visit my brother, Ms. Hancock?” she asked, raising her dark brows.
“Well, yes.”
“Do you really think he’ll want to see you?”
“It’s more like I need to confirm for myself that he’s all right,” Marisa admitted.
“The word of Jack’s doctor is not good enough for you?”
Marisa sighed and looked down at her hands. “Ms. Carter, this situation is complicated. Suffice it to say that I feel a responsibility for your brother’s injury. Isn’t that enough reason to be concerned?”
“Yes, I talked to Mr. Brady. I can understand your position, Ms. Hancock, and I would not want to be in it.”
Marisa straightened and looked at the other woman directly. “Do I get to see him or not?” she asked baldly.
“Not,” Ana Carter replied crisply. “Relatives only today.”
“What about tomorrow?”
“That’s up to the doctor.”
“Fine. I’ll be back tomorrow.”
Marisa turned to go and Jack’s sister called after her, “You’ll probably be wasting your time.”
“I’ll take that chance,” Marisa replied. She went around the bend in the corridor as Ana Carter looked after her.
That evening Marisa met with Randall Block from the Bureau. He was concerned only with winning the legal case and irritated her with a number of impractical suggestions designed to inflame the situation even further. After that unproductive experience she went to the police station and answered a lot of obvious questions. When she got back to the hotel she learned that the case had been continued for two weeks, and that her firm had given her permission to remain in Florida to work on it.
“Are you surprised Charlie isn’t flying down here to oversee things himself?” Tracy asked. They were both too keyed up to sleep.
“I’m surprised I haven’t been recalled to Maine and then shot at sunrise,” Marisa replied wearily, stretching out on her bed.
“Are they going to blame you for Bluewolf’s injury?” Tracy asked quietly.
“What does it matter? I blame myself.”
“Why? Legally, you made the right decision. If Brady wasn’t going to risk angering Lasky you had every right to resist doing so yourself. Any attorney would have done the same.”
“I didn’t make the decision for legal reasons only,” Marisa said, closing her eyes.
Tracy sat at the foot of the bed, waiting.
“I said I did, I even convinced myself that I did, but if I’m brutally honest I have to admit there was another element involved.” Marisa opened her eyes.
“Well?” Tracy said.
“I’m attracted to Bluewolf, and he knows it. He was trying to use that to manipulate me into doing what he wanted.”
“Oh, Marisa, are you sure?”
Marisa put her arm across her forehead. “I haven’t been with him that much, but the chemistry was vividly, definitely there. I’m sure he’s accustomed to having that effect on women and I didn’t want to be just another bimbo he dazzled and then controlled.”
“Even so, you made the right move for your client,” Tracy said stubbornly. “And I’m sure you would have made the right move for your client anyway, you’re too professional to do anything else.”
Marisa smiled wanly. “Thanks, Tracy. I can use the vote of confidence right about now.”
“And that Randall Block’s a jerk, isn’t he?” Tracy inquired sympathetically.
Marisa laughed. “Well, he’s a bureaucrat, forgive the pun. He goes back to Washington in the morning, thank God, and I hope he stays there.” She sat up. “What do you say we hit that Italian restaurant on Evans Boulevard tonight? I could use a break from all this angst, and Charlie’s picking up the tab.”
“You’re on.” Tracy rose and they headed for the door.
* * *
It was two more days before Marisa got in to see Jackson Bluewolf. His sister finally took pity on her— or got tired of seeing Marisa sitting in the visitors’ lounge—and led her into Jack’s room with a murmured, “I will probably regret this.”
Jack looked up as Ana said brightly, “Someone here to see you.” She vanished immediately as Marisa stepped into the doorway.
Jack was propped against a pile of snowy pillows, his dusky skin a pleasant contrast with the stark white linens. The stands for intravenous fluids were still next to his bed but the tubes had been disconnected. He was stripped to the waist, his left shoulder swathed in bandages. Marisa was relieved to see that he was looking far from frail; in fact, he appeared rather remarkably hale and strong for a recent gunshot victim. And it was clear that he was angry. Very angry.
“What are you doing here?” he demanded furiously.
“I...
I…” Now that she had finally made it into his presence, Marisa seemed to have nothing to say.
“I will have a few choice words to say to my sister for bringing you in here. Did you cast a spell on her?” he said.
“I just told her I wanted to see for myself that you were all right,” Marisa replied.
“Well, you’ve seen me. I’m alive. You can go.” He looked away from her pointedly.
“Is there anything I can do?” she said helplessly.
“Don’t you think you’ve done enough already?” he countered.
“You know I never wanted this,” Marisa said quietly, gesturing toward the bed.
“You wouldn’t listen to me!” he snapped, stabbing a forefinger in her direction. “If you had this never would have happened!”
“How nice for you that you know everything,” Marisa said sarcastically, losing patience with his attitude.
“How nice of you to apologize!” he countered. “You can’t even admit that you were wrong. God, I’ve heard of stubborn, but you are the living, breathing limit.”
“Oh, come on, there was more to it than that and you know it!” Marisa replied with equal heat.
“What do you mean?” he said, his eyes narrowing. He pushed himself upright in the bed impatiently, the muscles in his upper arms flexing as he did so.
“I mean the flowers, the nifty rescue from the reporters, the practiced routine. Don’t think I couldn’t figure out the reason for all that attention.”
He stared at her a long moment, his dark eyes penetrating, the hollows beneath them more pronounced from his recent illness. The shadow of stubble on his square jaw made him look even tougher than usual, and curiously even more attractive.
“Perhaps you’ll enlighten me,” he said quietly. Too quietly.
“You thought if you romanced me a little you could influence my conduct in the case,” Marisa said bluntly.
There was a silence for several beats, and then he said flatly, “You must not have a very high opinion of yourself, Ms. Hancock.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Can’t you think of any other reason for my ‘attention,’ as you put it, than my desire to best you in court?”
Marisa could feel herself flushing. She gripped her hands together, striving for equilibrium. “If you think I’m going to fall for that line you’re mistaken a second time,” she replied unsteadily.