Nitti's lawyer leaned against the rail in front of the witness stand and, calmly, asked, 'Can you say under oath that the defendant, Frank Nitti, shot you?'
'No.'
A group of surprised prosecutors and police officials were on their feet and moving forward, and the chief prosecutor pushed his way to the forefront.
His face was red as he thrust a finger at Lana.
'Do you see the man who shot you?' he shouted. 'Is he in the courtroom, sergeant?'
'No,' Lang said. A calm had settled over him: with his bald head, and his folded hands, he looked damn near cherubic.
Nitti's lawyer stood next to the prosecutor but turned to the judge, who seemed to be having as much trouble believing his eyes and ears as the jury, and said, 'I object, Your Honor! The prosecution is impeaching its own witness!'
The prosecutor turned to Nitti's lawyer and said, with contempt, 'Yeah, he's my witness. But he turned out to be yours.'
That left Nitti's lawyer momentarily at a loss for words.
The prosecutor jumped back in. 'I want to ask him if he committed perjury just now. Or did he commit perjury when he testified before the grand jury, when this indictment was voted? Because before the grand jury, he said Nitti shot him.'
I could see Nitti, sitting in his chair sideways; he was amused by all this. He was leaning back, a smile turning the downward V of his thin mustache into an upward one.
I leaned toward Eliot and said, 'Your friend the prosecutor is getting pretty worked up about this.'
We both knew that the prosecutor wasn't finding anything out about Lang he didn't know already.
'I don't know what he's so steamed about,' Eliot said '
I was supposed to climb the stand and contradict Lang's Nitti-shot-me story; who could've guessed the pressure of the
Well, one person might have predicted it: Lang's lawyer, who was rising from the gallery to go toward the bench, saying as he went, 'Your Honor! Your Honor! I am appealing here as this policeman's lawyer. As his counsel I advise him not to answer any more questions.'
'Your Honor.' the prosecutor said. 'This man has no part in this proceeding. A witness has no right to a lawyer.'
The judge agreed, but Lang's lawyer did not retire to the gallery; he stood beside the defense table, where Nitti and his lawyer were sitting, just two more spectators fascinated by a trial straight out of Lewis Carroll.
'Either you lied before the grand jury,' the prosecutor said to Lang, 'or you're lying now. I am giving you the chance to straighten yourself out here.'
Lang's lawyer called out, 'I advise my client not to answer'
The judge's gavel interrupted him.
Lang said. 'Right after I was shot, my memory wasn't as good as it is now. Because of shock.'
'You weren't suffering from shock in January, when you testified before the grand jury.' the prosecutor said. 'You were out of the hospital and cured by that time!'
Lang said. 'I was suffering from shock. I can bring doctors to prove it.'
The prosecutor let out a short laugh and turned his back on the witness, walking away saying. 'You'll probably have that chance- in a trial of your own.'
And sat down.
The judge sat behind his big wooden box wondering why the room got so silent all of a sudden; and then, remembering he was in charge, called a recess, instructing the prosecutor to meet with him in chambers.
People stood in little groups out in the corridor; reporters mingled with the various groups, not getting anywhere particularly. Lang and his lawyer stood talking solemnly; Miller and some plainclothes dicks stood well away from Lang, but Miller was bad-mouthing his partner loud enough that the echoey corridor carried it to anyone who cared to listen.
'I think Miller feels double-crossed.' Eliot said.
I shrugged. 'The minute Lang recanted, it made Miller look dirty. He's been supporting Lang's story all along, remember.'
'He looks dirty because he is dirty,' Eliot said.
'Good point,' I said. 'But this is Chicago. I wouldn't go looking under any cop's nails, if I were you.'
Frank Nitti and his lawyer were standing down the corridor from us. talking; Nitti was all smiles. I saw him look my way a couple of times, but perhaps because I was standing with Eliot, he didn't come over right away. But eventually he did, and he looked at Eliot and nodded and said, 'Mr. Ness.'
'Mr. Nitti,' Eliot said, nodding.
It occurred to me that Eliot and Nitti, like Eliot and Barney, shared a certain respect; and if my suspicions were correct about Eliot working on his pal the prosecutor to help see I didn't perjure myself, then Eliot had, in a roundabout way, been working to help Nitti here. The irony wasn't lost on Nitti, either.
