A Certain Justice

When Glitsky heard her voice all that went away. She wanted to see him again, needed to, could they arrange something for today?

Which wasn't reasonable, probably not doable, but they were going to try.

She had gotten a hold inside of him, where he'd told himself he wasn't letting anybody in ever again. He didn't know what worried him more – that it was happening at all or that it might end.

36

'Well, here I am, a grown-up at last, wanted by the police and all, and I guess if I want to call my mom and dad, no one's going to stop me.'

Kevin shrugged at Wes. 'She's just got this way in the last day or two, I can't really figure it out.' But he knew he liked it.

Melanie gave them both a smile. 'Adversity,' she said, moving toward the kitchen's wall-phone.

Wes slumped on the couch in the living salon. His long hair was down and he wore a pair of khaki shorts similar to the ones he had sported the day before, and he had his bare feet up on the footlocker that served as a coffee table. In his right hand was a can of Coors Light, stuck into a styrofoam holder that read: 'Beer – it's not just for breakfast anymore.' Bart had his face resting in Wes's lap.

Kevin was trying to find a way to get comfortable.

Wes's furniture leaned to the austere – there was a large shaggy lime-green bathmat doubling as a throw rug, two canvas-and-wood director's chairs, two straightbacks. The 'couch' was a futon on a plywood frame set a foot off the ground. What with the other amenities in the salon – a television on the floor, a small extra refrigerator for beer, a brick-and-board bookcase, the bean-bag chair Bart slept on, various grocery items whose expiration dates had expired – Wes's apartment might manage to look homey only to someone who had grown up in, say, the Senegalese bush.

'You haven't heard then?'

'Haven't heard what?'

Wes had been living with the television all morning and filled Kevin in on the mayor's initiative this morning, the city stupid-visors' show of solidarity with the rage of the black community. In one of the director's chairs, Kevin shifted. He was afraid he was going to have to see a doctor, but this was more immediate. 'Two hundred thousand dollars?'

The mayor had not been able to get his half-million.

'Round it off to three hundred if you include the original hundred thou – that's a good hunk of change on your poor ass. I'm thinking of turning you in myself, retire to Costa Rica.'

'You're already retired.'

'But I'm not in Costa Rica.' Wes smiled, took a slug of his beer.

In the kitchen Melanie raised her voice. She had been on the phone for fifteen minutes. 'He is not lying. He just did not do it, Daddy.'

Wes made a face. 'Somebody believes you at least.'

Which brought a frown. Any hint of defensive banter was gone. 'You don't?'

Wes tipped up his beer can, found it empty, made a small show of getting himself another from the reefer, offering one to Kevin, who shook his head. And then, his inflection rising with each word, said 'Hey? You hear me? You don't believe I didn't do this?'

Melanie again, from the kitchen. 'NO I AM NOT.' She slammed the receiver against the wall box and it popped out again, smacking on the floor.

Wes settled himself back on the futon, no reaction. The kid had better learn the cold facts of the world.

'Goddamnit, Wes…'

Bart didn't like threatening noises made to his master and, although he knew Kevin, his back hairs went up and a low growl began. Wes patted his rear as Melanie appeared back in the kitchen doorway.

Kevin was laboring out of the chair. 'Let's go, Mel.'

Wes's voice was flat. 'What do you think you're doing? Sit down.'

Melanie, from the doorway: 'What?'

Kevin threw her a look. 'He doesn't believe me, either.'

'Yes, he does. Of course, he does. Wes?'

'It doesn't matter what I believe, that's not the issue-'

'That is the only issue, Wes. That's the reason I'm here.'

Wes didn't reply, sipped at his beer. Which heated Kevin up another notch.

'Well, what do you think? What the hell you think I'm here for?'

'Hey, listen, you want to yell, you'll strain yourself. I got an old bullhorn in the bedroom, maybe we shoot some flares out the window, let everybody know there's a party up here.'

Holding his ribs, Kevin was collapsing back into his chair. Melanie went over to him.

Wes leaned forward, his eyes dark. 'For the record, Kev, the real reason you're here? You got me. You called me, remember? You think I'm somehow putting my foot in this mess. I am done with that. I am not turning you in, and that right there is three hundred thousand dollars worth of good faith. And, though it's none of your goddamn business, I've got absolutely every reason in the world not to get myself involved in this, in you, in any of it.'

Melanie was on her knees by Kevin, glaring at Wes. 'What a great man you are.'

Wes drank some beer. 'I am who I am.'

'Come on, Mel, let's go.' Kevin was trying to get up from the chair again, his breath coming in short gasps.

'Where are you going?'

Melanie turned on him. 'What's it to you? What do you care?'

The tears in her eyes were anger more than anything, and for an instant Wes was reminded of his daughter Michelle. Something twisted in his gut and as a cover he forced another slug of beer, which was suddenly warm, stale. 'You're right,' he said, 'what's it to me?'

'I'm going downtown,' Kevin said. 'End all this.'

'Kevin! You can't do that!'

He shrugged her off. 'That's what I'm doing. Screw this. I'll do it on my own.'

'Kevin, somebody will kill you.'

Wes was standing. 'Why don't you just get out of here, out of the city?'

Melanie clearly didn't want to side with Wes, but she had to say it. 'That's what I've been telling him.'

Wes pointed a finger at her. 'And you've been right.'

Kevin was up now, limping toward the door. His face was drawn. He stopped. 'I'm going down and telling them the truth-'

Wes laughed. 'Oh, that's great. That's really great, Kevin.' His expression withered Melanie. 'Would you two get real? You think anybody really cares about the truth at this stage?'

'I do,' Kevin said.

'Pretty fuckin' stupid, you ask me.'

'Yeah, well thanks. That's really good to know.'

Wes, a couple of shots of vodka and two beers in him, was heating up. He moved closer to them, his own volume rising. 'And what are you getting downtown in? Melanie's car? Which every cop in town is looking for? Or are you going to walk, limp, whatever the hell you're up to?'

Melanie came between them. 'He's got a point, Kevin. The car, I mean. We can't-'

'I'll give you my car,' Wes said, 'but for God's sake, use it to get out of this town.' His tone softened. 'Kevin, they will kill you. Somebody will put a knife in you, believe it. You won't last two days in jail. Sit down, will you?'

'I'll ask for a private cell.'

Rolling his eyes, Wes turned in a full circle. 'You think you know how it works? You don't have any idea how it works.'

Melanie, stepping in. 'And you do, I suppose.'

'Yeah, as a matter of fact, I do. And you know how it works? It doesn't. Which we're seeing a good example of now out of the window.' He faced Kevin. 'You want to put yourself in the middle of that?'

Kevin had gotten to the wall by the door and was leaning up against it, obviously weakened by the outbursts. 'That's why I came to you.'

'And what'd you think I was going to do? What miracle was I supposed to perform?'

'Forget it, Kevin… let's get out of here-'

'I thought you were going to help me, Wes. You know the ropes, you're a lawyer, get somebody to listen-'