'Freeze! Federal agents!' shouted a man in a dark blue windbreaker. Stenciled on the back in yellow letters was DEA. Vargas dropped the flashlight and started to run, but two armed men appeared from the side of the garage. Carlos held his hands away from his body.
Booth froze.
'Drop the bags,' commanded the man in the windbreaker. Booth complied instantly. One of the garbage bags broke and a fine white powder seeped out of the tear. Booth was slammed against the side of the van.
Rough hands frisked him, then his arms were wrenched behind him and metal cuffs were snapped on his wrists.
When he was jerked around, Booth found himself standing next to Vargas. The slender Hispanic said nothing until they were left alone for a moment while their captors conferred. As soon as the agents were far enough away, Vargas turned to Booth and whispered, 'You are a dead man.'
Kevin Booth looked worse than Steve Mancini had ever seen him. Not only was his acne acting up and his body odor more repulsive, but he appeared to be on the brink of a psychotic break. Sweat was pouring off Booth, he jerked around constantly and Mancini could swear that his client had not blinked once since he sat down.
'Kevin, Kevin. You've got to get ahold of yourself,' Mancini cautioned.
'Ahold? What are you talking about? I was arrested with ten kilos of cocaine in each hand and Rafael Vargas, the executioner for one of Colombia's biggest drug cartels, has personally threatened to kill me. How can I get ahold of myself? You tell me.'
'I admit you're in some serious shit here, but Vargas was probably venting his anger at you. These threats are made all the time and rarely carried out. And as far as the dope goes, you said you were forced to carry the bags. I'll explain that to the feds, we'll agree to cooperate in the prosecution of Vargas and .. .'
'No. No way will I testify against Rafael Vargas.
And, besides,' Booth said in a suddenly subdued voice, 'the feds aren't interested.'
'How do you know?'
Booth ran his tongue across his lips. 'I tried. When I was arrested, I begged them to let me cooperate. They sol id they didn't need me. They ... they said they were going to send me away forever and ... and nothin I could say would help.'
'What happened exactly?' Mancini asked.
Booth told him. Mancini digested this information.
He looked at the case from the feds' point of view. The DEA must have been onto Vargas all along and followed him to Booth's home. Carlos and Vargas had probably been photographed loading the cocaine into the van and the three men had been caught red-handed. The case was open and shut. No search-and-seizure problems, no statements to be suppressed. just three amigos standing around with enough cocaine to get every man, woman, child and household pet in the state high.
Mancini shook his head solemnly. 'This is going to be tough, Kevin. I'm going to have to work overtime to save your butt.'
'You think you can win, Steve?' Booth pleaded, looking so pathetic that Mancini had to choke back a laugh.
'Didn't I take care of you the last time?'
'Yes. Yes you did,' Booth responded eagerly.
'Now, with a case this big, I'll need twenty thousand up front,' Mancini continued.
'Twenty ... The last time you only charged me seventy-five hundred.'
'The last time we were in state court and you weren't caught with twenty kilos of snow. Fighting the feds is expensive. They have the resources of the entire government. I'm fighting Washington, D.C not some small town D.A.'
'I don't have twenty thousand dollars,' Booth said desperately.
'What about your parents?'
'My father ran off when I was two. I don't even remember him. And my mother,' Booth said bitterly, 'she's dead.'
'Where did you get the dough last time?'
'Chris Mammon lent it to me.'
'Well?' Mancini said with a shrug. 'From what you've told me, you're in this scrape because of Mammon. Ask him to go your fee.'
Booth hung his head. 'I already called him. He won't talk to me.'
Mancini sighed. 'I want to help you, Kevin, but I can't work for free. Not on a case this big. You understand that, don't you?'
'You won so easy the last time. Can't you give me some credit? If you get me off I'll pay you double.'
'No can do. Sorry, but I have an ironclad rule about fees in criminal cases.'
Mancini looked at his watch. 'Hey, I'm going to have to break this off. I'm due in court.'
'Wait a minute. You can't just walk out on me.'
'I'm afraid I have other clients, Kevin.'
'Don't do this to me, man,' Booth whined, 'you gotta help.'
'I really am due in court.'
Mancini started to rap for the guard, but Booth grabbed him by the arm.
'I'll ... I'll tell the cops about you,' Booth threatened.
Mancini did not move his arm. Instead he turned until his face was inches from Booth's.
'Oh, really?' Mancini said. 'What exactly will you tell them?'
The former quarterback's bicep felt like steel through his suit jacket and Booth knew he had made a mistake.
'You ... you know,' Booth stuttered.
'Let go of my arm, Kevin,' Mancini said softly.
Booth's grip loosened. Mancini still did not move. Finally, Booth's eyes dropped and he released Mancini's arm. Mancini slowly lowered it.
'Never touch me again, Kevin. And never, ever threaten me. But if you feel compelled to talk, remember that two can play that game. Would you like me to visit Rafael Vargas and confirm his suspicions about you?'
Booth swallowed. Mancini smiled coldly, then made a point of turning his back on Booth. Booth sank back on his chair, shaking with terror at the thought of a life in prison, if he was fortunate enough to escape the vengeance of Rafael Vargas.
Chapter THIRTEEN.
Reporters from the Clarion, several other eastern Oregon papers and the local TV station were waiting for Peter outside the courtroom where Gary was to be arraigned. Peter made a brief statement expressing his total belief in his client's innocence. During the statement Peter made numerous references to the Bill of Rights, the Constitution and the American System of justice. He loved every moment in the spotlight.
Donna, Jesse and Alice Harmon were sitting with Steve Mancini in the front row of spectator seats. Peter stopped briefly to say hello, then walked through the low wooden gate that separated the spectators from the court. There were several defendants waiting to be arraigned and Gary was last on the list. Peter expected Earl Ridgely to handle Gary's arraignment, but Becky O'Shay was handling all the arraignments today and she called the case.
A guard brought Gary into the courtroom. He was used to his status as a prisoner by now and looked more confused than afraid. Gary spotted his parents. He started toward them, but the guard grabbed Gary by the elbow and pointed him toward Peter.
The clerk presented Peter and Gary with copies of an indictment charging Gary with aggravated murder, the most serious degree of homicide in Oregon and the only charge that carried the death penalty. The judge explained the charge and his rights to Gary, then the judge asked Gary what plea he wanted to enter. Peter told him to say, 'Not guilty,' and Gary said the words in a nervous whisper that could be heard easily only by those within the bar of the court. Peter and Becky discussed scheduling with the judge for a few minutes; then the arraignment was over.
'Hold up, will you?' Peter asked Becky. She waited patiently at her counsel table while Peter told Gary he
