'They confessed.'
'Under coercion. Questioned without an attorney. Thrown in a cell.'
Peripherally, Jesse saw Abby shake her head at Fogarty.
'This is not a big building, Mr. Fogarty. I needed to talk to each of them alone. There was nowhere else to put them. Cell door wasn't even locked. I offered them an attorney at every juncture.'
'Handcuffed?'
'Once charged,' Jesse said.
'You led them to believe that Jencks had implicated them,' Fogarty said.
'That I did,' Jesse said.
'You pretended to let him go, in order to reinforce that belief.'
'Yes, I did,' Jesse said.
'He walked out the back door and Sat in the patrol car for an hour with Anthony De Angelo
'There is a conscious pattern of deception and coercion of three minors,' Fogarty said.
'You better deal.'
Abby shook her head again more vigorously. She knew that Fogarty's tactics wouldn't work with Jesse.
'I think your case may be shaky, Jesse,' Abby said.
'But that's not really the point. The point is do you want to put these kids and their families through this? The parents make restitution. The two gay gentlemen rebuild the house. Life goes on.'
'And the 'two gay gentlemen'? How do they feel?'
'They got their house rebuilt,' Fogarty said.
'People ought to be able to fuck who they want to,' Jesse said.
'Without getting their house burned down.'
Abby knew Jesse was stubborn. But she had rarely seen him mad too.
'And you're going to fix that by running three kids and their families through the criminal courts?'
'I'm going to run them through the courts,' Jesse said.
'To prove?' Abby said.
'That the kids can't mistreat whoever they want and have their parents buy them out of it.'
The two lawyers were quiet. Abby knew it was a lost cause. Fogarty tried again.
'You won't get the DA into court with this,' Fogarty said.
Jesse didn't reply.
'You'll look like a fool,' Fogarty said.
'You don't have a case.'
'No disrespect, counselor,' Jesse said.
'But I guess I'm not willing to take your word on that.'
FOURTEEN.
There was a large photograph of Ozzie Smith on the wall in Jesse's living room where you could see it while sitting at the kitchen counter. Jesse looked at the photo as he poured soda over the ice in a tall glass of scotch. He took a drink. If you didn't drink, Jesse thought, you'd never get it. You'd never know the way it felt.
Casual drinkers, people who drank to be sociable, who would just as soon have a 7 UP if it weren't so unsophisticated, they couldn't understand the fuss about the first drink. Jesse had always thought that the first couple of drinks were like life itself. Pleasing, smooth, bubbly, and harsh. For people who didn't like the taste, Jesse had unaffected scorn. The greatest pleasure came long before you got drunk. After the first one, with the certainty of more, there was gratitude for the life you led.
After a couple of drinks, the magic went away, and pretty soon it was just addiction.
'Got to work on that addiction,' Jesse said to Ozzie Smith.
Ozzie was in midair, parallel to the ground, his glove outstretched. As far as Jesse knew, Ozzie Smith had no addictions. Best shortstop that ever lived, Jesse said to himself. He knew it was too large a claim. He knew that Ozzie Smith was only the best shortstop he'd ever seen. He couldn't speak of Marty Marion or Pee Wee Reese, or for that matter, Honus Wagner. He drank some more scotch. They better than Ozzie, they were very goddamned good.
He was pretty certain that none of the others did a back flip.
'Wizard of Oz,' Jesse said out loud.
If he hadn't gotten hurt, he'd have made the show. He knew that somatically. He had always known he was a big-league shortstop. If he hadn't gotten hurt, he'd be just finishing up a career.
Maybe moved to third in the last couple of years. Hit.275-.280 lifetime. Ten, twelve home runs. Less average maybe than Ozzie Smith, but a little more power. Good numbers for a guy with his glove. Guy who could throw a seed from the hole. His glass was empty. He went to the refrigerator, got more ice, and mixed himself another. He drank. Yes. Still there.
