On the floor, Fornecchio was stirring, groaning and cursing at the same time, his face gray as lava. On his way out of the room, Bobby reached for the ice bucket, then dumped its contents-cubes and frigid water-on the fallen man.
'Three of my wives were good housekeepers. When we got divorced, they kept the house.'
— Willie Pep, featherweight boxing champion
37
Friday, February 3
Two Days Before the Super Bowl
Judge Seymour Gerstein studied the legal documents and twitched his nose, rabbit-like, nearly tossing his rimless glasses overboard. 'You filed a motion for rehearing?' he asked, peering over the top of his reading glasses.
'Yes, respectfully Your Honor, I would submit that the Court's prior ruling should be set aside,' Bobby said. He employed his bootlicking, lawyer-to-judge tone, in which a clever advocate delivers the message: 'you blew it, asshole' without offending the court. 'It is not in the interests of my son to be shipped off to a boarding school.'
'And where is your lawyer?' the judge demanded, shooting a glance at the grandfather clock in the corner of his chambers. Next to him, the court stenographer, an older woman with eyeglasses on a chain, waited for Bobby's answer.
'I've discharged Ms. Suarez,' Bobby said. 'I'm representing myself.'
I've fired her from my life, too.
She'd been calling Bobby, wanting to get together, but he had neither the time nor the inclination. Ever since the night when Christine had nursed his injuries in her hotel room, his thoughts were only of her, and Angelica seemed to know it.
'Do you know why you're fighting this case so hard?' she had asked him.
'Because I want my son.'
'Because it's the only way to keep in contact with your ex-wife. It's sick, Bobby, but you don't see it. When will you face the fact that she's gone? She doesn't love you! You'll never get her back.'
After Bobby had pulled the sword from his stomach, he told Angelica good night, then burned rubber pulling out of her driveway.
Bobby returned his attention to the judge who was shaking his head unhappily.
'You know the expression about having a fool for a client,' Judge Gerstein said.
'Yes, Your Honor, but even a fool could win this case.'
Or see which way to rule.
'I've only granted a handful of rehearings in twenty-two years on the bench, so you've got your work cut out for you, Mr. Gallagher.'
'I understand, Your Honor.' Bobby knew the odds were against him, but this was his only hope. An appeal to the Third District would take a year, and Scott would be long gone. Here was a chance to get the trial judge to overrule himself.
'Very well, then,' Judge Gerstein said. 'Now, who's this handsome lad?'
Next to Bobby, Scott squirmed in his seat. Bobby had wanted to bring him to the first hearing to demonstrate their closeness, but Angelica told him it might backfire. Judges don't like to put kids in the cross hairs of their parents' big game rifles.
'Your Honor, this is my son, Scott.'
'Any objection?' the judge asked, turning to the other side of the table.
'Please allow me to consult with the boy's mother,' Jailbreak Jones said, turning to Christine, whose face was tightened up like a spring. Jones wore a beige suit with shoulder piping and a string tie with a silver clasp. Next to him, a stack of poster boards leaned against the table, covered mysteriously with a black cloth.
Bobby stared out the window at the downtown skyline. In a dozen high-rise office buildings, he imagined, lawyers at this very moment were fabricating their evidence, salting their briefs with false accusations, and billing their time at outrageous rates.
'There's no need to put the minor child through this torture.' Jones glared at Bobby with the same disapproval he might use for a pedophile kindergarten teacher.
'Scott is a material witness,' Bobby said. 'I'd like the Court to take his testimony.'
Across the table, Christine looked stricken.
'This is a rehearing, not a trial de novo. It's completely improper to take evidence.' Perched on the edge of his chair like a vulture on a limb, Jones seemed to consider a notion before continuing. Bobby had been a trial lawyer long enough to know that the Biggest Mouth West of the Pecos was changing gears.
'Upon reflection, Your Honor,' Jones continued, a smile stretching his thin lips, 'we welcome the re-opening of evidence at Mr. Gallagher's request.'
Uh-oh. What now?
'We will demonstrate that the father has exposed the minor child to lowlifes, felons and miscreants, to professional gamblers and bookmakers, and that the father himself is a bookmaker.' With a wave of a hand, he theatrically swept the black cloth from the stack of poster boards, and held up the first one, a grainy black-and- white photo blown up to gargantuan size. 'Exhibit A, Your Honor. The father, the minor child, and a convicted felon mingling in a saloon.'
'That's my Uncle Goldy!' Scott piped up, and Bobby hushed him with a gentle hand.
'Your Honor, that's Goldy Goldberg,' Bobby said,' a lifelong friend. We were in the Oceanside Deli eating dinner.'
'I had a Reuben,' Scott said.
'Goldy's like a member of the family,' Bobby said.
'A crime family!' Jones boomed. 'The man has a rap sheet as long as the reins on a forty-mule team. This disbarred lawyer who calls himself a father consorts with criminals in the presence of the minor child.'
'I like to hang with Dad,' Scott said.
'We have affidavits,' Jones said, without taking a breath. 'We have files from the county sheriff, the city police, the state Department of Law Enforcement, the FBI…'
What, no CIA?
'The boy would be better off in an orphanage than with this sorry excuse for a father,' Jones concluded.
'Bullshit!' Bobby boomed. 'That's complete crap, and this flannel-mouthed windbelly knows it.'
'Mr. Gallagher!' The judge glared at him, his cheeks reddening. 'I won't tolerate that! One more outburst, and I'll hold you in contempt. If that is the kind of language you use in the presence of your son, it's no wonder you're in such trouble today.' The judge adjusted the spectacles on the bridge of his nose, straightened in his high-backed leather chair, and nodded toward Jailbreak Jones. 'All right, both of you. Talk's cheap. Let's hear some evidence.'
The rest was dreamlike. Foggy and detached, Bobby felt as if he were floating above the conference table, looking down on the rest of them, listening to the babble. Isn't that what it's like when you have a near-death experience?
Jailbreak Jones droned on, thumping his drums, bellowing with indignation. He introduced his evidence, and the judge tut-tut-tutted and looked at Bobby, first with displeasure, then shock, and finally a blistering anger.
Bobby tried to defend himself, but he was in a daze. The voices in the room overlapped, his own words echoing like distant thunder. He seemed paralyzed. He tried to concentrate on what was being said, Jailbreak's voice rising and falling with the cadence of a country preacher, slathering on accusations like butter on biscuits.
