by Andrew Kane
“But what will you say?” Hannah asked.
Isaac thought about her question. “I’ll tell him that this is an opportunity for him to do a great mitzvah, to reach out and bring this young man into the fold of Yiddishkeit.”
“I’m sure that will go over well,” Hannah responded sardonically. “While you’re at it, tell him what a mitzvah it would be to bring his daughter back to Judaism as well.”
Rachel: “Mama, maybe they both will return.”
Hannah: “And maybe the Messiah will come tomorrow.”
Rachel didn’t want to argue, she had already won. “One more thing, Papa,” she said.
Isaac waited.
“Would you marry them?”
Did he really have a choice?
CHAPTER 41
Joshua and Connie passed the Bar exam, became full-fledged lawyers, and celebrated with steak dinners at Luger’s under the Williamsburg Bridge. Dessert was at some flea bag motel a few blocks from the restaurant. The next morning, Joshua marched into Fielding’s office, tendered his resignation, and informed Fielding that Willie Johnson would henceforth be represented by private council. Fielding didn’t seem to care much about either piece of news. “Better you than me,” was all he had to say.
Joshua was now a lawyer with a client, soaking behind the ears, and no place to hang his proverbial hat. He invited Connie to join him in private practice, but she wasn’t leaving the DA’s office so fast. He didn’t really try to persuade her. She would be more valuable where she was.
Loretta didn’t object when he asked if he could set up shop in the house. There was nothing she wouldn’t do to help her lawyer son, even if he was defending a suspected rapist. If he believed in Willie Johnson, so did she. He only hoped the jury would be as kind.
Another thing Loretta did was present him with a check for a thousand dollars. She said it was the last of the money she had saved over the years for his education. Not fully believing her, he took the money. Using Alfred Sims’ money to help Willie Johnson didn’t present much of a conflict.
Joshua had also saved a little from his job. In all, he had enough for supplies, a private phone line, and to tide himself over for a few months. He realized he didn’t have much of a case, but figured the DA didn’t either. He was also banking on Thompson being in court and handling the media. All the ingredients for an acquittal.
He knew he was being used by Thompson, but thanks to the professor there had been a lot of play about the case in the press, and more than a few hotshot attorneys approaching Willie with generous offers. Willie, however, wasn’t biting. He was following Thompson’s lead. Thompson had even managed to locate Willie’s mother and was now the official spokesman for the family. He had finessed Venice Johnson’s transformation from drug addict to solicitous mother, had raised the money for Willie’s bail, and had gotten the defendant a full-time job in a grocery store. Everything was looking up.
Joshua was well aware of why he’d been chosen. True, he had believed in Willie, and had brought the case to Thompson’s attention in the first place, but the professor was less concerned with rewarding loyalty than with promoting his agenda. Having an inexperienced nobody like Joshua as Willie’s lawyer insured that the spotlight would be Thompson’s, and his alone.
Joshua nevertheless knew that he was no patsy, nor any less driven by ambition than Thompson. The glitz had definitely seduced him, and he was keenly aware that winning the Willie Johnson case would launch his career. It was tough to keep perspective, to remember the real reason he was there.
There wasn’t a lot of preparation involved. He didn’t have any witnesses. Willie’s mother had wanted to testify as to her son’s excellent moral character, and had offered to have some of her neighbors do the same. Joshua had thought it an unwise strategy, considering the defense was planning on using Willie’s past record to prove otherwise. There was no sense in offering a bogus defense and losing credibility. Thompson had agreed.
Instead, he would simply attack the prosecution’s case. A few holes, the casting of some “reasonable doubt,” a lot of noise from Thompson about police racism, and voilà. Joshua had no problem with any of this, it was all true.
The night before the trial, Joshua sat at his desk, trying to review his opening statement. He just couldn’t help drifting off and thinking about the twists his life had taken. Tomorrow he would be standing before a judge and jury. As a lawyer.
Loretta came in. “Some men are here to see you. I recognize one of them from TV.”
He walked out to the living room and found Thompson waiting with two of his cronies and three kids. Joshua recognized one of the kids: scarred chin, beady eyes, rotten teeth. It was the kid he’d run into the night he had searched for Willie’s friends.
“Good evening, Mr. Eubanks,” Thompson said. “I wouldn’t dream of bothering you on the night before a trial, but I believe that these young men have some information which might be of value to your case.”
The kids appeared reticent, frightened. Thompson put his hand on the shoulder of the one Joshua recognized, and said, “Come on now, Arthur, tell Mr. Eubanks what you know about Willie Johnson’s whereabouts on the night that Jewish woman was raped.”
“I keep tellin’ you man, my name ain’t Arthur. It’s A.J., okay, A.J.!”
“Well, your Mama seems bent on calling you Arthur,” Thompson responded. “But that’s another matter. Why don’t you just tell Mr. Eubanks exactly what you told us.”
Arthur, aka A.J., looked at Joshua with trepidation, then at his buddies. “We still have a deal?” he asked Joshua.
“Yes,” Joshua responded.
Thompson looked bewildered. “You know this kid?”
“We’ve met,” Joshua answered, and then turned to the kid. “Well, A.J., what’s it gonna be?”
“So we got a deal?”
Joshua nodded.
“Cause if we gotta say this in court, we gonna be in a lotta trouble. We’ll need a real good lawyer.” His friends, though silent, seemed to be in agreement.
“Well, Mr. Eubanks is certainly one of the best,” Thompson interjected.
“Depending on what you’ve got,” Joshua said, “you may not have to say it in court. If it’s good enough, there may not have to be a trial.”
They looked at him curiously.
He explained. “If you guys have evidence which proves that Willie didn’t rape that lady, then the DA’s going to want to dismiss the charges before the trial even starts. See, the last thing the DA wants is the public embarrassment of losing a trial like this. Now, I can still insist we go to trial to expose the prejudice of the DA and the police department, and the DA’s going to want to do anything to avoid that. So I offer him a deal: no charges against you guys. Everyone goes home. But this all depends on what you’ve got.”
A.J. looked at his friends. They seemed to agree. Joshua wondered just how Thompson had found these guys, but didn’t ask. He figured there were some things he was better off not knowing.
A.J. and his friends told their story. They claimed that Willie was with them during the time when Emma Lukins was raped and beaten. They’d hit two liquor stores, one in Canarsie and one in Sheepshead Bay, and had stolen a little over three hundred bucks without hurting anyone. Willie had used his gun in both robberies, consistent with his previous MO.
Joshua called the respective Precincts and verified that both liquor store robberies did, in fact, take place that night. The first coincided exactly with the time of the Lukins incident, and the descriptions of the perpetrators were remarkably consistent with Willie and his friends. Joshua was certain the DA had seen the robbery reports, and had ignored them in favor of charging Willie with the rape.
He told the kids that he could probably get a deal for them, if they were prepared to go to the wall for Willie. They might have to repay the money, do some community service and probation, but that would be about it. They promised to show up in court the next day, but Thompson sent his “associ
ates” home with them, just to be sure.
Thompson stayed behind. There was something more he needed to discuss with Joshua. “No deals with the DA!” he said.
Joshua knew this was coming. “But we promised those kids.”
“Listen to me, Joshua. What the DA did in this case is unconscionable. It must be exposed. People have to know what happened here, the world has to know!”
“But those kids…”
“Those kids are criminals,” he said with all the self righteousness he could muster.
“And Willie Johnson is a criminal too!”
“That’s correct. Do you want Willie and his friends to go scot-free for the crimes they actually did commit?” More self righteousness.
“Willie has already been punished enough with all this. As for his friends, if they got a break, and saw that there were people they could trust, like us, who knows what would happen? I’ve seen kids like that my whole life, they think the odds are always against them, so they rob and steal what they can. Maybe once, just once, if they saw that the system can work for them the same way it works for rich white folks, they’d have a chance to clean up their act. Because I can tell you one thing: prison won’t do them, or anyone else, a bit of good.”
“My, you have quite a bleeding heart there.”
“Just a heart.”
“I’m sorry you feel this way, Joshua, and I’m sorry for those kids, but the trial must proceed! You have to see the big picture here! This isn’t about Willie Johnson; it’s about the police and the DA. If there’s no public hearing, they’ll be able to smooth things over, to say that they uncovered new evidence, new leads to pursue and investigate. They’ll make themselves look like heroes, instead of the racist scum we know them to be, and you will have helped them do it!”
“That’s where you’re wrong, professor. This is about Willie Johnson, and nothing else!”
Thompson held his tongue, gathered his coat, and opened the door to see himself out. He turned toward Joshua one last time, his face bearing a warning: Don’t defy me!
Joshua stared into Thompson’s eyes, knowing he couldn’t obey, and understanding that it would one day come back to haunt him.
The deal with the DA came off just as Joshua had predicted, and the DA’s statement to the media was just as Thompson had predicted. Joshua stood on the courthouse steps with Willie and his mother, watching the DA play to the press. Nobody was interested in the three of them. So much for his fame and glory.
He offered to take the Johnsons to lunch, but they declined. Venice kissed him on the cheek, thanked him, and promised to be a better mother. Willie shook his hand and promised to stay out of trouble. He wasn’t sure he believed either of them.
Professor Thompson hadn’t even bothered to show up. There was nothing left in this case for him. Also absent were the many Hasidic spectators that had been awaiting the trial. When the DA had stood up, and had announced to the court that “new” evidence had emerged exonerating Willie Johnson, the Hasidim upped and left in disappointment. They would have to await another day for justice for Emma Lukins.
The press was still surrounding the DA. Joshua watched Willie and his mother descend the steps. He started to walk off, and heard his name called. He turned, and saw a man with a microphone running toward him, and a TV camera following behind.
“Mr. Eubanks, is it?” the man with the mike asked.
“Yes.” The camera was aimed at his face.
“Well, sir, do you have any comment about this case? There are rumors that the DA really messed up and is giving us a snow job.”
“All I can say is that Willie Johnson has been exonerated of all charges, and that I hope the police work quickly and effectively to bring the true perpetrator of this horrible crime to trial.”
“No other comment? We understand that Professor Alvin Thompson was involved in this case, that there were charges of police racism, false arrest…”
“I’m sorry,” Joshua said as he began to walk away, “I have no comment on any of those things.”
CHAPTER 42
Rachel Weissman Frankel caught the eye of each and every one of Stephen Butler’s male friends. The royal blue bridesmaid’s dress was simply exquisite, and perhaps a bit too fitted for a “married” Hasidic woman. But Rachel chose to wear it anyway. She’d moved out of Binny’s house a month earlier, and though she hadn’t yet received her get, or Jewish divorce, it wouldn’t be far off.
Her father had disapproved of the dress, but had held his tongue. He and Hannah had been worried about Rachel. Not being able to bear children was the worst curse a woman could endure in their world, and the stigma of divorce was no picnic either. If this dress would bring Rachel even a glimmer of cheer, they could overlook it.
The bridal party gathered under the canopy. Esther, Stephen, their respective parents, Rachel, Stephen’s brother, and Rabbi Isaac Weissman. It had been a bumpy road, but somehow they’d all made it.
Lazar Mandlebaum was a wealthy man, so much so because he’d been obsessed with his diamond business and neglectful of his family. Constantly traveling the world, leaving his wife alone with their four daughters, sooner or later he knew it would catch up with him. His wife, Leah, had warned him that she’d sensed rebellious fires in their eldest daughter, that Esther had needed more love and attention than a mother with four children could afford. But Reb Lazar had pretended not to see.
The day that Isaac Weissman had visited the Mandlebaums had been a sad one, yet the news the rabbi bore hadn’t been so shocking. The Mandlebaums would have to find thankfulness in their hearts that the boy was at least Jewish, would have to pray to God to help Esther and Stephen find their way back to a Torah life, and would have to give more attention and devotion to their other girls.
After all the tears and anger, this had been the resolution. And Rabbi Isaac Weissman had acted both wisely and gallantly in helping bring it about. Rachel looked into her father’s weary eyes as he offered the betrothal blessings. The last time she’d heard him utter those words had been beneath her own canopy, and his eyes had seemed far more spirited then. He was not alone in having lost his zeal, he was not alone in having become tired, worn, and despairing. And he was not alone in forging ahead despite it all.
Blessed art Thou, oh Lord, our God . . .
Paul Sims sat in his living room, staring into space. It was past twelve, and as usual he couldn’t sleep. His mind had been ablaze since the news of Rachel’s divorce. He could think of nothing else. He had to admit that this gave rise to more than a tinge of guilt, but he was well beyond choice or probity. He had to have her.
He tried rationalizing, reminding himself that the actual biblical prohibition against adultery applied only to married women, not married men, and that—in fact—most of the men in the Bible had several wives. Of course he knew that there were clear rabbinic rulings against such practices nowadays, but he wanted what he wanted.
The only problem was Rachel. She hadn’t been interested in him before, so why should he imagine that she would feel differently now? He didn’t, but he still had to try. As for his being married, he couldn’t see her rejecting him on those grounds; after all, she had been married when he had caught her with Joshua.
And what of Joshua, Paul wondered. Were they still seeing one another? Were they truly lovers, or had he exaggerated their association for his own designs? Soon enough, he mused, he would have answers to all his questions.
Paul waited, and watched her parents’ home for days. From shadows and alleyways, he tracked her every move, meticulously calculating just the right moment to approach her.
“Here, let me help you with that,” he said, jumping out of nowhere, grabbing the door to her building.
She was returning from the market, with overflowing bags in each arm. “Paul! You scared me,” she reacted. “Thank you,” she added, trying to catch her breath.
“It’s Pinchas now.”
“Oh yes, I remember. Sorry.”
&n
bsp; “How have you been?”
“Good, I suppose.” Uneasiness. She was still shaken by his appearance, and was uncomfortable with such questions to begin with. It seemed the entire world had been aware of her travails, and she wished everyone would stop reminding her. She hurried through the door.
“Let me help you,” he repeated, following her into the lobby.
“Thank you, but it’s not necessary.”
“It’s nothing,” he said, reaching for the bags.
She gave him the bags, but wished he would go away.
Stay Calm, she told herself as she pressed the elevator button. They stood there in silence, the elevator moving ever so slowly. He couldn’t help staring; she couldn’t help noticing.
This was what God had intended a woman to look like, he told himself.
I can’t wait to get upstairs and lock the door to my apartment, she told herself.
The elevator arrived. “Thank you very much, Pinchas, but I think I can handle them from here,” she said, attempting to recover the packages.
“Really, it’s fine,” he insisted. “It isn’t right for you to schlep when I can do it for you. Besides, I haven’t seen your parents in such a long time.”
“My father’s in the yeshiva.”
“He is? I should have realized. But I would like to say hello to your mother.”
Rachel thanked God that her mother would be home. They approached the apartment door, and Rachel took out her keys. She opened the door and, as she walked in, she realized they were alone. Her anxiety had caused a momentary lapse of memory: Hannah was at her weekly Bible class. Pinchas, however, had known all this. He had done his homework.
Paul saw himself to the kitchen, laid the packages on the table, and made as though he was leaving. He approached the door, where Rachel was standing, waiting to see him out.
“Well,” she said, “thank you again. I’ll tell my parents you came by.”