"What?" the word escaped Frank like a breath.
"Is he telling the truth?" demanded Fenton, grabbing Ezra's arm tightly and getting his attention.
"I believe so," replied Ezra.
"Give him a deal," Frank commanded. Why did he even have to ask?
"It's not up to me," Ezra said. "I have talked to the District Attorney and he has agreed on the condition the Cohen's agree. I know Phil's your friend," he said, looking at Frank again. "I thought it would be better if you talked to him."
Frank nodded and got to his feet. "I'm on my way," he said, heading out of the door. He ran out of the building, pulling his keys from his pocket as he ran. Getting behind the wheel, he started the motor and tore out of the parking lot. He came to a stop in the Cohen's driveway in just under ten minutes.
Frank put the car in park; killed the motor; and applied the emergency brake. Taking a deep breath, he pulled the keys from the ignition and opened his door. He had set a speed record getting from Collig's office to here but now his pace was slowed by hesitation. Oh, he knew he was doing the right thing. But how was he going to broach the subject? How was he going to ask Phil to not press charges against the man who had sentenced him to using a cane for the rest of his life? Frank reached the Cohen's front door and hit the button for the doorbell. Two minutes later, the door was opened by a tall woman with short sandy hair and brown eyes.
"Hello, Frank," Mrs. Cohen greeted him. "Won't you come inside? I'm sure Phil will be glad to see you."
Maybe, thought Frank, giving her a strained smile. "Actually, I would like to talk to you and Mr. Cohen as well," he said.
"This has something to do with the fire?" she asked, her eyes clouding over and her lips tightening.
"Yes, ma'am," admitted Frank.
"Have a seat in the living room," she instructed him. "I hope this means that cretin has been captured," she added, heading toward the back of the house.
Frank bit his bottom lip and sat down on the edge of the sofa. His back was stiff revealing to the onlooker he was doing something he didn't want to do but had no choice. It was this thought that assaulted Phil as he entered the room.
Frank stood as the Cohens entered and took their seats. He turned to face them, prepared to tell them about Morris but the words froze in his throat as he saw Phil absently rubbing the side of his knee.
"Sit down and relax," Mr. Cohen ordered Frank. It was obvious to him that Frank knew what he was about to say wasn't going to sit too well with them.
Frank shook his head and swallowed. "David Morris, the man who set the fire at your agency, was picked up today," he said.
"Of, Frank, that's wonderful!" Mrs. Cohen exclaimed, jumping to her feet and throwing her arms around his neck. "You told us you already had the evidence against him. If only that creep hadn't escaped capture when you went after him," she added, scowling at the memory.
"Mom, sit down," Phil said, watching a variety of emotions flit across Frank's features. "There's more."
"What more?" she demanded, backing up and looking at Frank questioningly.
"He wants you to drop all the charges," Frank said. "He'll still be charged with arson and evading arrest," he hurriedly added. "But he wants all the other charges dismissed."
"He's out of his mind!" thundered Mr. Cohen, rising from his chair. His face was red which provided a stark contrast to his green eyes and white hair. "Why would he even think we would do such a thing?"
Frank bit his lip and looked down at the floor. "Frank," Phil said, his voice quiet and his eyes curious. "What haven't you told us?"
Frank took another deep breath then looked in to Phil's eyes. "He knows who framed Joe," he said, forcing the words out. "He said he has the proof that will clear him."
Mr. and Mrs. Cohen fell silent. They knew Joe had been sent to prison almost six months ago for attempted murder. They knew, too, he had plead guilty at his arraignment. "I don't understand," Mrs. Cohen said. "If he was innocent, why did he plead guilty?"
"Because we thought he was guilty," confessed Frank, his brown eyes filled with shame and self-loathing. "He told us he was innocent but when he realized we didn't believe him..."
"He decided no one else would either," Phil guessed. He licked his lips before continuing. "We'll drop the charges."
Mrs. Cohen gasped but said nothing as her son continued to speak. "Joe's been through a worse Hell than me. Get him out. It's his eighteenth birthday tomorrow," he added remembering with a smile. "I'll call the gang and when you bring him home, we'll throw the biggest bash Bayport has ever seen!"
"Is he telling the truth?" demanded Fenton, grabbing Ezra's arm tightly and getting his attention.
"I believe so," replied Ezra.
"Give him a deal," Frank commanded. Why did he even have to ask?
"It's not up to me," Ezra said. "I have talked to the District Attorney and he has agreed on the condition the Cohen's agree. I know Phil's your friend," he said, looking at Frank again. "I thought it would be better if you talked to him."
Frank nodded and got to his feet. "I'm on my way," he said, heading out of the door. He ran out of the building, pulling his keys from his pocket as he ran. Getting behind the wheel, he started the motor and tore out of the parking lot. He came to a stop in the Cohen's driveway in just under ten minutes.
Frank put the car in park; killed the motor; and applied the emergency brake. Taking a deep breath, he pulled the keys from the ignition and opened his door. He had set a speed record getting from Collig's office to here but now his pace was slowed by hesitation. Oh, he knew he was doing the right thing. But how was he going to broach the subject? How was he going to ask Phil to not press charges against the man who had sentenced him to using a cane for the rest of his life? Frank reached the Cohen's front door and hit the button for the doorbell. Two minutes later, the door was opened by a tall woman with short sandy hair and brown eyes.
"Hello, Frank," Mrs. Cohen greeted him. "Won't you come inside? I'm sure Phil will be glad to see you."
Maybe, thought Frank, giving her a strained smile. "Actually, I would like to talk to you and Mr. Cohen as well," he said.
"This has something to do with the fire?" she asked, her eyes clouding over and her lips tightening.
"Yes, ma'am," admitted Frank.
"Have a seat in the living room," she instructed him. "I hope this means that cretin has been captured," she added, heading toward the back of the house.
Frank bit his bottom lip and sat down on the edge of the sofa. His back was stiff revealing to the onlooker he was doing something he didn't want to do but had no choice. It was this thought that assaulted Phil as he entered the room.
Frank stood as the Cohens entered and took their seats. He turned to face them, prepared to tell them about Morris but the words froze in his throat as he saw Phil absently rubbing the side of his knee.
"Sit down and relax," Mr. Cohen ordered Frank. It was obvious to him that Frank knew what he was about to say wasn't going to sit too well with them.
Frank shook his head and swallowed. "David Morris, the man who set the fire at your agency, was picked up today," he said.
"Of, Frank, that's wonderful!" Mrs. Cohen exclaimed, jumping to her feet and throwing her arms around his neck. "You told us you already had the evidence against him. If only that creep hadn't escaped capture when you went after him," she added, scowling at the memory.
"Mom, sit down," Phil said, watching a variety of emotions flit across Frank's features. "There's more."
"What more?" she demanded, backing up and looking at Frank questioningly.
"He wants you to drop all the charges," Frank said. "He'll still be charged with arson and evading arrest," he hurriedly added. "But he wants all the other charges dismissed."
"He's out of his mind!" thundered Mr. Cohen, rising from his chair. His face was red which provided a stark contrast to his green eyes and white hair. "Why would he even think we would do such a thing?"
Frank bit his lip and looked down at the floor. "Frank," Phil said, his voice quiet and his eyes curious. "What haven't you told us?"
Frank took another deep breath then looked in to Phil's eyes. "He knows who framed Joe," he said, forcing the words out. "He said he has the proof that will clear him."
Mr. and Mrs. Cohen fell silent. They knew Joe had been sent to prison almost six months ago for attempted murder. They knew, too, he had plead guilty at his arraignment. "I don't understand," Mrs. Cohen said. "If he was innocent, why did he plead guilty?"
"Because we thought he was guilty," confessed Frank, his brown eyes filled with shame and self-loathing. "He told us he was innocent but when he realized we didn't believe him..."
"He decided no one else would either," Phil guessed. He licked his lips before continuing. "We'll drop the charges."
Mrs. Cohen gasped but said nothing as her son continued to speak. "Joe's been through a worse Hell than me. Get him out. It's his eighteenth birthday tomorrow," he added remembering with a smile. "I'll call the gang and when you bring him home, we'll throw the biggest bash Bayport has ever seen!"