Justice by InSilva
Disclaimer: Rusty and Danny still borrowed; still don't own. Wondering if I can start making down payments though.
A/N: edited with thanks to Ajedrez to try to capture Spanish pronunciation properly.
Chapter Four: Prosecution
The first thing Rusty noticed was that Vincente was absent from the courtroom. He ran the name through his head a few times. Not an English Vin-sent nor a Spanish Vee-then-tay…an Italian Vin-chen-tay. An Italian one-word name, almost as if that was the only identity he needed like Monroe or Chaplin or Elvis.
He looked at Danny, still sitting in the second row, who gave a slight nod of reassurance and he felt himself relax. At least he could focus on the trial.
There weren't in fact many people in the general seats. A handful of people who looked like this might be a regular outing and who would probably have booked front row tickets for the guillotine. A young man in his twenties who was scribbling away with the earnest air of a law student. And at the back, even though there were many empty rows in front of them, two women, one old and one young. From their body language, Rusty guessed mother and girlfriend/wife/sister of Gino. They were too far away for him to study and be sure. He made a mental note to get Danny's view.
Reluctantly, he looked at Gino, drawn and lifeless, looking as if he were already convinced how this was going to go down in spite of his "Not Guilty" plea and he closed his eyes for a moment because he really didn't like what he was seeing. Innocence and circumstances conspiring against it, innocence backed into a corner…yeah, he had a problem with that.
The facts of the case were straightforward, at least as far as the prosecution was concerned. Gino and Marcello had gotten into an argument in a bar. Gino had left and come back, waiting outside with a knife. He had stabbed Marcello to death on the steps and run off.
Rusty half-listened to the prosecutor's questions and the witnesses' answers. He was much more interested in reading the people.
The prosecutor was in his fifties, balding with an unexpectedly black moustache. Looking at it with a professional eye, Rusty didn't even think he dyed it. Something in the finish… He was steady and logical and thorough.
The defence lawyer was a woman in her thirties: short, bobbed brown hair, glasses with metallic rims, earnest, unsmiling. She cross-examined by firing short, little questions back at the witnesses and gave a peremptory nod at each of their replies. Rusty wondered if her heart was really in this case. She had an air of someone who had given up before they'd even started.
There were four witnesses. The policeman who was first on the scene – efficient, truthful, surprisingly honest; the bartender – world-weary, someone who had disappointed himself with his choice in life; a bar regular – easily led, indifferent; and Marcello's girl, Anna-Mae – none too bright and, Rusty suddenly realised, petrified.
The bartender and the regular testified to the row. Anna-Mae testified to the stabbing. She was, in fact, the only person to identify Gino, the only person to tie him in to the actual murder. Rusty looked at her even more closely and knew without a shadow of a doubt she was lying through her teeth.
Danny sat in court, also half-listening to the words and focusing instead on the players. He was also watching Rusty watching them and thought they were pretty much drawing the same conclusions.
It annoyed him that he couldn't get a good look at Gino to know the truth that Rusty saw. His mind travelled back to his own trial. It was lonely as hell in court when you were guilty, never mind when you were innocent.
He found himself ridiculously relieved that Vincente wasn't there. Something in the man's manner had suggested he could get very serious. And Rusty might just be obstinate enough to let him.
Lunchtime.
In the jury room, Rusty picked up a packet of chicken and mayo sandwiches and opened them, suddenly aware that Alice and Curls were deep in conversation with Novel Lady and that all three were glancing at him and nodding. Weird. Maybe they just liked the glasses.
His mind started replaying the morning. The witnesses had been definite and damning and at the moment, Gino was on the way to the big house. He hoped the defence had an alibi so watertight it could hold its breath with the best of them.
Damn. Three more jurors had joined the possible fan club. He sighed.
"What is it, ladies?" he addressed Alice and Curls and kicked himself immediately as they dissolved into giggles.
He looked at Novel Lady for assistance.
"We were just saying that when it comes to it, you would be an excellent choice," she smiled.
Excellent…?
"Choice?" He was completely clueless.
"As foreperson of the jury."
Shit, no!
"Oh, I don't think so," Rusty shook his head, consternation filling his face.
"Yes, yes!" This from one of the Lakers' fans who hadn't even been part of the fan club. "You will speak for us very well."
His two co-fans nodded vigorously.
Unwillingly, Rusty recalled an article on the statistics of jury foreperson selection that he'd read holed up in the back of beyond with limited choice of reading matter. Usually white, usually male, usually middle class, usually with at least the appearance of being better educated…which meant Robert Charles Ryan…damn, damn, damn!
He looked desperately round the room and spotted The Suit by the window and waved a hand in his direction. "I really think that-"
"No, no," The Suit said hurriedly. "I agree that you'd be perfect."
Rusty opened his mouth and closed it again, suddenly reading something that shouldn't be there. It looked like Vincente had been busy.
"You would be perfect," Alice agreed suddenly. "Absolutely perfect."
Curls nodded. More giggles. Everyone else nodded too.
Oh, crap.
The vending machines in the public area of the court held little choice. Danny's eyes roamed across the options and felt as he used to when Rusty and he were stuck in a motel with only the comfort of cable and machines that dispensed stuff to rot your teeth and wreck your gut. Not that Rusty ever seemed to care.
He decided on a can of soda and a bag of potato chips. "Potato's a vegetable, right?" he heard in his head and saw his own look of exasperation and frustration.
The seats in the corridors were among the least comfortable he had known and as he ate, he wondered how Rusty was doing. He'd seemed more confident today. More like Rusty. That probably had to be a good thing.
Lunch finished, a comfort break called and he headed to the bathroom, still wondering about Rusty. Rusty in court in any capacity didn't seem right and although he thought it funny as hell that it had happened, he found he didn't like the idea of Rusty being anywhere too near a judge and jury. Just too unsettling for words.
As he opened the door to leave the empty bathroom, Danny found his way blocked by someone who could only be a colleague of Vincente's. Vincente squeezed past him.
"We need to talk," he explained.
Danny turned round and folded his arms.
"OK." Let it play…
"My associates and I would like this case resolved in the shortest possible time and I believe that Mr Ryan is the key to that."
Vincente held himself perfectly still as he spoke and Danny was suddenly, bizarrely, put in mind of Rusty; Rusty, with his absolute composure and lithe grace. And somehow that frightened Danny a little more than it perhaps should. It spoke of a man who knew himself, who knew how he impacted on this world, who knew exactly how to handle himself, who moved leanly and with no excess effort: a man in complete control.
"How so?" he asked, genuinely curious.
There was a flash of a smile on Vincente's face.
"I pride myself that I can read people. The rest are sheep and will follow. Mr Ryan on the other hand can lead them. I want a verdict with unanimity. I want Gino Passinetti to go down for a very long time. Then Marcello can truly rest in peace."
"Gino might be innocent," Danny ventured, not entirely sure it was wise to do so.
The smile flicked on and off again.
"The evidence weighs against him, don't you think?" he said. "Persuade Mr Ryan that it is in his best interests to co-operate. We want this over. Quick and simple."
"Uh-huh."
Vincente sighed. "I really don't want this to escalate. But it will. Tell him I need a sign tomorrow that he's playing along."
"What sort of sign?"
"Get him to wear a colourful shirt if he's got any. That one yesterday was so bland."
He nodded farewell and disappeared, leaving Danny to think over his words and the one phrase in particular that left him cold. "I really don't want this to escalate"…he really didn't want it to either.