Worst Case (Michael Bennett 3)

He stuffed a twenty through the greasy partition’s slot and popped the door latch. He was running unbelievably late. He’d have to hoof it.

He broke into a run as he hit the sidewalk. Christ, what a day, he thought as sweat began to pour down his face. He had so many balls in the air, he could hardly keep count.

He got to 137th Street without a minute to spare. He was headed to the apartment of the death-row inmate Reginald Franklin’s mother. Even with all his plans and all his incredibly important work, his conscience wouldn’t let him forget the doomed man.

Off Lenox Avenue, down from the Harlem Hospital Center, he entered the battered front door of a narrow three-story brick tenement. The barking started the second he stepped through the open inner door and into a rancid-smelling stairwell.

No wonder Kurt from New York Heart had been reluctant to follow up on the case, he thought, listening to the unbelievably loud barks. No matter. Dogs or no dogs, someone’s life was at stake here.

The door to Mrs. Franklin’s second-floor apartment cracked open when Francis X. made the landing. He froze as an enormous dog lunged out of the apartment. It looked like a monster. It was a Presa Canario, the same breed of unbelievably vicious dog that had mauled a woman to death in San Francisco. It had a brindled coat and had to weigh close to 150 pounds.

Francis X. started breathing again only when he saw that there was a taut chain around its neck. It was being clutched by a wiry old black woman.

“I’m from New York Heart, ma’am,” Francis said quickly. “The lawyer advocacy group? I’m here about your son, Reggie. I’d like to try to help him get a stay of execution. Could you please put up your pet, ma’am?”

“You got any ID, white boy?” she said between the earsplitting barks.

Francis showed her his card from the social services agency. The dog snapped for it, almost swallowing it along with Francis’s hand.

“Okay, okay. Just a second,” the old woman finally said.

Was it him, or did the old African American woman have a smirk on her face?

“You said you was coming, too, right? Must have forgot. Sit tight till I get Chester back in the closet.”

The door shut and opened again. The sound of Chester going absolutely batshit came from the rear of the apartment.

“C’mon in, I guess,” she said, waving impatiently. “Close the damn door behind you. What did you say about Reggie?”

He followed her into the living room. Judge Jud

y was on the TV. The woman lay down on a couch and put up her feet. She didn’t lower the volume.

“Well? What you want?”

“I heard about Reginald’s latest denial, and I’ve gone to the liberty of writing up a request of stay to the governor. It’s all done. I just need you to sign it. Then I’ll take it to FedEx. A friend of mine from law school is in the Florida State Legislature, and though he can’t guarantee anything, he is going to personally advocate for Reggie. I think we have a real good shot.”

“I gotta pay?” Mrs. Franklin said as she motioned for him to bring her the paper.

“For my legal services? Of course not, Mrs. Franklin.”

“No, I know that,” she said as she scratched her signature. “I meant for the FedEx. That shit’s expensive.”

“No, that’s covered, too, of course.”

“Good,” she said with another little smirk. “Anything else?”

How about a fucking thank-you? Francis X. thought, unable to control his anger. Then he looked around the room. It wasn’t her fault, he realized. Abject poverty made people this way. Mrs. Franklin was a victim, like her son.

“That’s all,” Francis said. “I’d better get going. Helping you and your son is my pleasure. It’s the least I could do.”

Chapter 55

IT WAS COMING on five when I had Emily drop me off at my apartment. The end-of-day task force meeting downtown at headquarters had been bumped up to six-thirty, and I was in desperate need of a shower and a change of clothes. I wasn’t looking forward to the meeting. They would be looking to blame someone for the missing five million.

Inside, I grabbed a suit fresh from the dry cleaners from the front hall closet. It’s always been a policy of mine to make sure to look my best when I’m going to be called on the carpet.

“It can’t be, but it is! Daddy’s home before dinner! Ahhhhh!” one of my daughters, Fiona, shrieked ecstatically as I appeared in the dining room doorway.