I went into my meeting with the D.A. in a cold sweat. Leather chairs, mahogany furniture, framed degrees. I tried not to tap my foot nervously on the floor.
I cleared my throat. The D.A. looked to be about 40, looked like he ate things fried in lard for all of those years. His eyes were small, blinky, lost in the folds of his face. He lit a cigar, one of those thin ones with the white tip on the end.
"I'd like to suggest that the state drop the charges on my clients, Ponyboy Curtis and John Cade. I've reviewed the evidence and it appears that their actions were in self defense. We both know it is lawful to kill someone in self defense."
He took a long, slow puff on his cigar, leaving me to twist on the end of my proposal. My foot wanted to start a wild tap dance and I gripped my knee, hard.
"I've reviewed the evidence, too," he said, his face serene, giving me no clue as to how he was leaning.
"It's very separate. Let's take one case at a time, uh, Ponyboy Curtis," he opened a file languidly, his movements almost exsquisitly slow.
"I'm willing to drop the charges from accessory to murder in the first degree and running away down to running away,"
I felt, for just a second an elation, sweet and victorious, then I remembered Johnny. Johnny wouldn't be so lucky.
"John Cade, however," the slow closing of Ponyboy's file, the slow retrieval of Johnny's.
"I'm afraid to say I can't in good conscience reduce these charges. This young man brutally murdered someone and then ran away, evaded the law for a number of days," He closed the file and I saw the way the light caught the amber stone of his pinky ring.
"But, sir, I believe the evidence suggests that this murder was not planned, it occurred as a result of actions the murder victim took, his harrassment and assault of my clients=" The D.A. held up his hand, a slight smile on his round face.
"This occurred here in the great state of Oklahoma. I can't just let him walk, what sort of example would that be setting for the juvenile delinquents who follow him? I'll tell you what. They'd think they could get away with murder," he took another slow and luxurious puff on his ridiculously thin cigar and nearly winked at me, I swear it.
"Now he can go to trial, that's his due, that's justice," and he smiled, wide and expansive, like the cat who just swallowed the canary.
.........................................................Worse for Wear
The familiar jail, though I felt I hadn't been there for so long. The same meeting room, the same wait as a guard fetched Ponyboy and Johnny.
They came in, both looking a little worse for wear. They'd lost weight since I met them, and they didn't have that much to spare. They looked gaunt, Ponyboy was so pale he was nearly white. Johnny was expressionless, his eyes dull. I stared at the bandage on his broken hand.
"Um, I've got some good news," I began. Ponyboy's expression brightened. It was hard to say if Johnny even heard me.
"Ponyboy, they dropped the charges on you down to running away, and the bail is reasonable. You'll be able to go home today or tomorrow," He grinned, then glanced at Johnny.
"What about Johnny?"
I looked down, wanting more than anything to give the kid some good news. When I spoke my voice was quiet.
"No, the D.A. wouldn't budge,"
Ponyboy looked dissappointed but his pleasure for himself was there, too.
"It'll go to trial, but we've got a good shot, we've got the girls from the movies willing to testify..." I trailed off, afraid my words sounded weak, insubstantial. I focused on the scar on Johnny's cheek, my mind smack against that wall again. I wouldn't ask him about it, if he even remembered it. I'd leave that to Ms. Johnson.
I was going to go, to set the wheels of Ponyboy's bail in motion, when Johnny spoke, surprising me.
"Mr. Williams," he said, and lifted his dark eyes up to my face, "thanks for getting Pony off. He didn't do nothing. He didn't deserve this,"
"You're welcome," I said, finding it suddenly hard to speak.
.............................................................Trump Card
Back at my hotel I had barely settled in when the phone rang.
"Hello?"
"Mr. Williams?" A girl's voice. I had no idea whose.
"Yes?"
"This is Cherry, Cherry Valence, we met the other day,"
Oh, God. She wasn't going to testify.
"I spoke with Randy, um, Randy Adderson, he is, was, Bob's best friend,"
I closed my eyes, popped an aspirin into my mouth, took a swallow of water.
"Well, anyway, he said he'd testify for Ponyboy and Johnny, that it was Bob's fault, their fault, and they only fought back in self defense,"
"Wait a minute. He was there? He was one of the socs at the park?" This couldn't be true.
"Yeah, he was, and I spoke to him. He feels really awful,"
Oh, it was good. I thought the girls were a trump card, but if I had this kid testify...I felt hopeful about things for the first time in so long I almost didn't recognize the emotion.
