"Cuff him," Jake ordered his father, throwing him the handcuffs. And as Jake held the gun to the kneeling Bobby's head, Mark cuffed Bobby's hands behind his back. Jake grabbed a handful of Bobby's hair and pulled his head back. "Open up," he told Bobby, forcing the gun into his mouth. Bobby jerked away, and somehow Jake was on top of him, pushing the gun into Bobby's abdomen, and pulling the trigger, again and again until first one, then two…three…four…five…six bullets were lodged in Bobby's gut. Bobby could see the pool of blood, his blood, growing ever larger on the floor. I'm dying. I'm dead.
"Wake up! C'mon, Bobby!" Alex was trying to wake Bobby, who had managed to wake the whole household with his screaming. Deakins appeared, along with his wife, and their daughters trailing behind. "What the hell--?"
Bobby was yelling, flailing at the air. He was terrified, sweating profusely; he had no idea where he was.
"It's okay, Bobby," Deakins said. "It was a dream, Bobby, just a dream. You're okay." But Bobby wasn't awake yet, and his arms and fists flailed dangerously. One fist caught the edge of Deakins' chin, nearly knocking him down. For everyone's safety, Deakins grabbed and held his arms, while trying to wake him up.
Finally Bobby woke up, startled to see Alex and Angie and the girls standing there, with Deakins on top of him, pinning him down.
"What? Get…off!" Bobby tried unsuccessfully to dislodge Deakins.
"I will when I know you're okay. Are you?"
"Yes! Now get off!" But Bobby didn't look okay. When Deakins finally got off him, he made a feeble attempt to get up, then fell right back down onto the couch. He was drenched in sweat, and he ran his hands through his damp hair and over his face, over and over. "Oh God!" he kept whispering. Bobby's heart was pounding in his chest; it was obvious even through his tee shirt, and he was breathing shallowly and rapidly.
"What happened?" one of the girls asked Angie. "Is he gonna be all right?" asked the other.
Before Angie could answer, Deakins shooed them back to bed, with the assurance that Bobby would be fine.
Alex sat by Bobby, wiping his face with a cool rag, while Deakins stood with his wife, unconsciously rubbing his chin where Bobby had hit him. "This whole thing has been really tough on him," he told Angie softly. "And it's not getting any easier."
"Poor Bobby," Angie whispered. "He doesn't deserve this."
Deakins didn't mention this to Angie, but he was somewhat concerned about Bobby emotionally, particularly after Joe had mentioned the incident from the other night.
"I'm…okay," Bobby was fully awake now, completely embarrassed and feeling guilty for waking everyone. "I'll be alright. You can go back to bed if you want."
"Bobby," Deakins started.
"No, really. Go back to bed. I won't be waking anyone anymore tonight. I'm not going back to bed tonight. There's no way I'm going back to sleep now, no way in hell."
After Deakins and Angie finally went back to bed, Bobby said, "I shouldn't be here. I should've gone to a hotel or something—"
"Bobby, they want you here. Do you think they would have asked you to stay here if they didn't want you?"
"I don't know. C'mon, Alex, I have enough problems with nightmares on a normal day. Why should I figure it'd be any different the night after some psycho puts a gun to my head? I shouldn't be here—for any number of reasons. I should be dead ten times over! And I definitely shouldn't be here in Deakins house, bothering him and his family!"
Alex didn't want to argue with him about it, so she dropped the subject.
Bobby slumped back down on the couch. Alex sat next to him, where they stayed for the rest of the night, alternately talking, sometimes dozing off. Every time Bobby dozed, he'd wake with a start. When Deakins and Angie came down in the morning, they found Bobby still awake. He had not dared to move so he wouldn't disturb Alex, who had fallen asleep leaning against Bobby's shoulder. At last Bobby got up, easing Alex all the way down on the couch.
"How are you feeling today, Bobby?" Angie asked.
"Better, thank you," he lied. "Anxious to find out what's going to happen now that Connelly confessed."
"Well, you've got a lawyer," Deakins said. "Call Joe, see what he thinks. Hell, he was there! Get him over here! Here, call from my den."
Bobby nodded, then went into Deakins' den and waited somewhat impatiently for Joe to answer. About ten minutes later Bobby emerged.
"Well?"
"I'm going over there. Not sure when I'll be back."
"Angie's got some breakfast going. Ham, eggs—"
"Later."
"At least take some coffee."
Deakins glanced at Alex, who was still sleeping on the couch, and looked questioningly to Bobby.
"Just let her sleep. I'll talk to her when I get back. She needs some sleep, she stayed up with me most of the night."
Bobby started for the door, but was stopped by a hand on his shoulder. "And what about you, Bobby?"
"What about me?" It was almost a challenge.
"When are you going to get some sleep? When the hell are you gonna eat? When the hell are you going to start taking care of yourself? Ever since this thing started—"
"When it's over! When it's over, and I know that I'm going to make it. When I know that I'm going to live. When I know I'm not going to wake up in prison with six inmates standing over me! That's when I'll worry about taking care of myself. When I know there's going to be something left to take care of."
After a moment his anger died down, and his face softened a little. "Thanks, Captain. I know you're…things haven't exactly been going that well for me and well…thanks." Seeing the slight bruise on Deakins' chin from Bobby's fist last night, and feeling understandably embarrassed, he said, "Uh, sorry about that." Then he was gone.
The Captain watched as Bobby left. He was worried, but he couldn't put a finger on just what exactly he was worried about. Bobby had come through so much already—being arrested, charged with murder, being beaten, and an especially horrendous assault which led to numerous injuries, many of which still hadn't healed. He finally decided it was Bobby's head he was worried about. Last night's nightmare had been just one in a long line of recurring nightmares and flashbacks. And Joe had told him of the episode a few days back when Bobby totally lost it, thought Joe was attacking him. Whether or not Bobby was ever cleared, it would not be an easy road for him.
Office of Joseph Simon
Joe stared at Bobby as he walked in. "Jesus, Bobby, you look like hell!"
"Yeah, well you don't look so good yourself."
Joe smiled. "My first time in a hostage situation," he defended himself.
"Keep hanging around me," Bobby told him. "The way my luck's been going…"
"I'm in the process of doing something about that. I've already spoken to Judge O'Toole, and ADA Williams. I've asked him for a continuance to discuss new evidence. We're going to take a statement from Connelly, have latent check out any print evidence they can on him, and look into any other kind of evidence he gives us. If the evidence checks out, and the ADA and the judge accept it…well it might soon be all over for you, man. The tough part will be getting the judge to go for it."
Nicky's Bar and Grill—two nights later
ADA Peter Williams sat at the bar at Nicky's, nursing a double whiskey, a little soused already. A lawyer friend of his approached from behind.
"Looks like your case is skewed."
Williams looked up, and glared at his friend angrily. "Fuckers!"
"You going to let them get away with it?" his buddy asked, sitting on the stool next to him, and signaling the bartender for a drink.
"Ain't no way in hell that bastard didn't do it," Williams groused.
"Too bad, this is the kind of case that can make you or break you."
"Think I don't know that?"
His buddy grinned at him, egging him on. "In fact, this could be the case that turns Joe Simon into a household name, the new Johnny Cochrane."
Williams slammed his empty glass down.
"Yeah? Well, we'll see about that! Ain't no way that fucker didn't do it! I don't see what kind of evidence they could possibly have to the contrary."
"Well they must have something."
Williams glared at him. "I don't give a damn what they've got! I've put over four months into this case so far. That son of a bitch did it, and he's going down for it. I don't care what it takes." He signaled the bartender. "Why don't you just leave that bottle here." It wasn't a question.
Joe's office, next day
Bobby was at Joe's office again, at Joe's request.
"Coffee?" Joe asked, getting himself a cup.
"Sure, why not. So what's going on?" Bobby was antsy again, the waiting was driving him crazy.
"Well," Joe said, a satisfied look on his face. "As I told you, it depends on the judge and the ADA. The judge has agreed to a continuance, and later this afternoon I'll be meeting with them both. I've got Connelly's statement, and all the evidence I could muster. He came completely clean, Bobby."
"So how's it looking?" Bobby asked.
"It all depends on the judge, and that damn ADA. Think that bastard is out to make a name for himself, and this is just the kind of case to do it. So if they decide to continue with the trial, then that's what we have to do. But we've got good evidence, great evidence, if this doesn't clear you, then nothing will. I'd say if we can get those two to really see the evidence, maybe end this without even continuing the trial. And we've got a pretty damn good shot."
All Bobby wanted was an end to his misery, to have his life returned to him, to be a free man once again. He closed his eyes briefly and prayed. Please God let it happen…
tbc