Turning Angel

”That’s right. But I’m not.“

”Who are you?“

”A friend of Sonny’s.“

”Oh, man, don’t be telling me that. That shit be over with now.“

”It’s not over, Jaderious. But it can be. I need one thing from you. Just one thing. After that, I’ll burn your file. It’ll be like you never knew Sonny at all.“

”Don’t play that shit, man. You guys don’t never stop. You think I’m a slave or something.“

”You put yourself in this spot, Ethan. Not me.“

”Don’t say that name, man. Just tell me what you want.“

”I want to see you face-to-face.“

”No way! Shit gone crazy in the street. That task force be on everybody’s ass. Everybody’s uptight. I can’t be seen with you.“

”You don’t even know who I am.“

”I know you white, that’s enough. Just tell me what you want!“

”I need to know where Cyrus is.“

Jaderious sucks in his breath like a monk hearing the voice of Satan. ”You crazy, “ he hisses. ”You stone crazy, man.“

”You’re going to have to talk to me, Jaderious. One way or another.“

”No, I ain’t. If you know my number, you know where I stay at. And you ain’t coming up in here, I know that. Especially right now.“

”Tell me where he is, Ethan. Nobody will ever know it was you.“

Jaderious laughs openly. ”Not even if I knew, dog, which Idon’t. “

”If I have to come talk to you at home, people will see.“

”You come talk to me in person, you won’t make it out of here. So it don’t matter. You bluffing anyway, dog. I gots to go. Don’t call back.“

He hangs up before I can respond.

I sit quietly on the sofa for a while. Then I call Quentin Avery’s cell phone.

”What is it?“ Quentin asks in a taut voice.

”Are you still at the jail?“

”Yes. And I’m not happy.“

”I need to get into the Brightside Manor Apartments.“

”So?“

”I need to get in there safely.“

”And?“

”Shit, Quentin, don’t play stupid. Can you get me in and out?“

Silence. ”I suppose so. But I’m not sure I want to do that.“

”Why not? Drew’s acquittal could depend on it.“

”I’m not sure that’s a good enough reason, considering the price I’ll pay for doing it. Besides, this deluded ass you call your friend is ready to move to death row right now. He won’t listen to me.“

”What do you mean?“

”Are you at the Eola?“

”Yes.“

”Stay there. I’m on my way.“

Twenty minutes later, Quentin storms into the suite with as much violence as a man with one foot can muster. His eyes are almost wild.

”What did Drew do?“ I ask.

”Just what you said! He’s demanding to take the stand!“

I nod but keep silent. There’s no point in saying I told you so.

”This fucking guy,“ Quentin mutters, ”he’s the worst kind of chump, you know that?“

I still don’t respond. The best thing to do with this kind of anger is let it be vented as quickly as possible.

Quentin opens the minibar, takes out a small bottle of bourbon, unscrews the top, and swallows half the contents. ” Hell,yeah,“ he says, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. ”Doris would fry my ass if she saw that.“

”Why is Drew the worst kind of chump, Quentin?“

The lawyer walks to the plush sofa, ponders it for a moment, then turns and lets himself fall into it. ”Because that fool has decided he wants to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.“

”And that surprised you?“

”He’s a fucking Boy Scout!“

”An Eagle Scout, actually.“

Quentin drains the rest of the bourbon. ”Drew Elliott is a chump because he thinks the rules are different for him. Because he’s done the right thing for ninety-nine percent of his life, he thinks all he has to do now is get up on the stand to explain to everybody how it really was. And what I can not make that boy understand is that if he does that, he’s going to destroy himself. I mean, this guy has been lying to his wife every day for almost a year. He’s been fucking his babysitter! And now the girl is dead! Dead and pregnant! So why the hell should a jury believe anything he has to say now?“

”You’re preaching to the choir, Quentin.“

”There’s no way in hell I’m letting this guy get up and tell the jury he found Kate’s body and didn’t report it.“

”How can you stop him?“

”I can’t. But maybe you can.“

I don’t want to have this discussion right now. ”What about getting me into Brightside Manor?“

”What’s in there that’s so all-fired important?“

”A snitch who knows where Cyrus White is.“

Something tugs at the corner of Quentin’s mouth, something disagreeable. ”How about another bottle of bourbon?“

I go to the minibar and retrieve another bottle. Quentin sips slowly from it, his eyes still smoldering. ”I can get you in and out, all right. But if I do, every black man and woman in that complex is going to know I did it. And that’s going to cost me down the road. You understand? That may not be the noble thing to say, but it’s the truth.“

”What’s it going to cost you?“

”Cases. Business. Reputation.“

The question I left unasked on the day I met Quentin at my father’s office returns to haunt me now. Why did he stop taking civil rights cases to pursue personal injury and class action suits? But at this point, I feel the answer is self-evident.

”What the hell am I supposed to do?“

”I’m not saying I won’t do it. I’m just saying it would be better if you could find another way.“

”Such as?“

”Lure the guy you need out of there.“

”With what? He’s scared shitless.“

”Then find somebody else to get you in.“

”Such as?“

As Quentin ruminates over his whiskey, anger rises into my throat. Drew’s life is on the line, and his lawyer is worried about some personal injury case five years down the road? I get up without a word and walk to the door of the suite.

”Where are you going?“ Quentin asks.

”To do my job. You need to start thinking about whether you’ve got what it takes to do yours.“

”Hey, don’t-“

I slam the door and hurry down the hall.

The Brightside Manor Apartments stand like a visual reprimand to every liberal fantasy of government-