Part 27 (1/2)
”We know who he is.”
”Kids are being s.h.i.+pped to diversion programs, padding numbers. Out of state. North River. It's all about trying to get that new private prison built.” I was too tired to reiterate the rest. ”Talk to Jim Case,” I said. ”He's a reporter with the Monitor. He'll fill you in on the details.”
”Would you mind answering a few more-”
”Look at him, man,” Charlie said. ”I think he's had enough for now.”
”Finn's right,” Turley said. ”Jay's been through the wringer. He can probably use some rest.”
Just then the doctor walked in, a young Asian woman half my age. ”Yes,” she agreed. ”Jay needs to sleep. I'm going to have to ask you all to leave and come back later.” Then to me: ”How are you feeling?”
I shrugged through a dopey smile, feeling blissed out and stoned.
”Morphine will do that.” The doctor tapped the tube running from an IV bag to the crook of my elbow, before reading blips on a machine. ”Vitals look good. But you really should rest.”
Everyone turned to go.
”Hey,” I called out to Charlie and Fisher, the doc. ”Can I get a minute with my friends?”
”Sure,” she said. ”But make it quick.”
Ludko or Lotko gave me their business card and said they'd be in touch.
Soon as they left, Charlie asked what happened.
”First,” I said. ”I need to apologize.” I made sure Fisher saw I was looking at him too. ”These last few days. This last week. I don't know. I mean, I'm hooked up to this machine, my leg is shredded cheese, I'm pumped full of painkillers, so this could be the drugs talking. But I finally feel like myself again.”
Charlie pointed at my leg. ”What happened out there?”
I gave them an abridged version of the events that transpired after I borrowed Charlie's car without permission-the reporter Jim Case, Nicki's betrayal, Michael Lombardi's surprise visit, the two Longmont cops dead on the mountain.
”Holy h.e.l.l,” Charlie said. ”Michael Lombardi?” He looked toward the door, where no one stood. ”Why didn't you tell those two investigators?”
”Because it would sound nuts. Especially now. After how I've been acting. A state senator? I gave that reporter everything we had. When they read those papers, they'll glean what's really going on. It'll make more sense if they see it with their own two eyes.”
”Except Nicki sold us out.”
”Only on the smoking gun. If those two IA cops are serious, there's plenty else to get started. They'll have UpStart dead to rights.”
”How much money did Lombardi pay her?” Fisher asked.
”No idea,” I said. ”I'm guessing a lot. Can't blame her.”
”You mean that?” Charlie asked.
”Sure. Why not?”
I knew it was Nicki who had placed that anonymous tip to Turley, saving my life. Since she'd been the one to jeopardize it in the first place, we were talking sideways move, at best. She'd chosen to cash out instead of pursuing a dead-end cause. I had no interest in excuses or apologies. But I understood the decision.
”I wish we knew why Lombardi wanted that photocopy so bad,” Charlie said.
Fisher slapped his shoulder. ”Let Jay sleep. This will still be here tomorrow.”
I tried to wave goodbye but could feel that morphine dream pulling me back under.
I proceeded to pa.s.s out for the next nineteen hours.
It was all over the news the next day. Soon as I woke in the hospital bed, something told me to click on the TV set.
The Kids for Cash Scandal raged across every station, footage of Judge Roberts being led out of the courthouse, shackled, head hung in shame. Details tickered across the bottom of the screen. Roberts' attorneys offered neither steadfast denial nor ten-cent words to obfuscate the facts. I waited for allegations of baseless, egregious, politically motivated witch hunts. Something. But there was nothing. From the looks of it, Roberts was willing to hang himself out to dry all by his lonesome.
I caught glimpses of Michael Lombardi milling about with the rest of the talking heads in the background, glad-handing, mugging for the cameras, milking the photo ops.
My hospital phone rang.
”You watching this?” Charlie asked.
”Got it on now.”
”You see Michael Lombardi? What the f.u.c.k?”
”I don't know, Charlie.”
”You catch the interview?”
”What interview?”
”Lombardi's taking credit for the whole thing.”
”What?”
”Claims his office put a task force together to investigate. Been months in the making. All his doing.”
”How is that possible?”
”You tell me.”
”I'll call you back.”
A nurse came in, all smiles and perky cheer, inquiring whether I was hungry. I told her to leave me alone.
How had Michael Lombardi been able to get in front of this? His office, far from getting blamed, was being lauded. And the press gobbled up the bulls.h.i.+t. A special task force a.s.signed? Were you kidding me? In less than twenty-four hours, fallout occurring in my sleep.
When I saw Jim Case laughing alongside Michael Lombardi on top of the courthouse steps, I understood the fix was in, a lone gunman sacrificed. I scrolled through other stations. More of the same. n.o.body connected obvious A to blatant B. No one hinted at impropriety by UpStart. Two independent bad guys, Judge Roberts and North River, spurred by individual greed, had done wrong, everyone else in the clear.