Part 14 (1/2)
”An inmate tried to strangle you.”
”Jesus Christ,” I gasped, ”I know that. I mean, how did it end?”
”The guards came in and subdued him. There are always two guards outside. They got there just in time.”
I lay on a hospital bed in a room with two white inmates; one had had his appendix removed, the other's leg was in a cast. They were swapping stories of other joints where they had done time. ”Now, Terre Haute,” the broken-legged one said, ”that was a bad stop. I'm in the chow hall one day, there's one jelly doughnut left on the tray. n.i.g.g.e.r at the head of the chow line starts to take it, then the n.i.g.g.e.r in back of him grabs it. So the n.i.g.g.e.r in front whips out a shank and shoves it into the other n.i.g.g.e.r's guts. And he goes over to a table and eats the jelly doughnut while the other n.i.g.g.e.r just lays on the tile right at his feet. No s.h.i.+t, I saw that happen.”
This is a dangerous place to be, I thought. On my first visit, I hit a man. On my second, someone tried to kill me. Violence might be infectious. Or perhaps, as the philosopher Hobbes had suggested a few centuries ago, it was the natural state of man outside the constricts of society.
Be kind, enjoy, try not to worry. Okay, Mom.
I signed the necessary release papers and left the prison. I didn't stop off at the administrative office to see Raymond Wright; he hadn't come to visit me.
In Jacksonville I checked into the Marina Hotel again, showered, then called Ruby at the office. ”What's new, sweetness?”
”Jerry Lee Elroy's getting paranoid. Wants to know what he's supposed to do.”
”If he calls again, remind him not to leave town. And be cool until I get in touch.”
”I have difficulty hearing you, Ted. Do you have laryngitis?”
”Something like that. Who else called?”
”Charlie Waldorf. Says, 'Do we have a deal? Miami needs to know.' ”
”If he calls again, tell him yes, be cool, I believe we do.”
”Barry buzzes you twice a day, and also your other partners. In varying states of apoplexy.”
”Same message. Be cool. I'll be back on Monday.”
”Are you sure you're not in the Caribbean with a bimbo?”
”Goodbye, Ruby.”
I called home. ”How is Alan?”
Toba's voice, like the weather at the end of summer, had a chilly edge. ”He's all right. Today he's at the beach with Sue Hoppy.”
”Could this be romance?”
”The dope fiend and the anorexic. Made for each other.”
”I'll try to be back by the weekend.”
”Were you out carousing last night?”
”Yes, at the CCR law library in Tallaha.s.see. I have a sore throat. I love you.”
She didn't say it back to me, as she usually did.
I put in a call to Brian Hoad at the public defender's office. He had gone but had left a message: a name, address, and telephone number.
On the second ring a woman answered. ”Yes?”
”Carmen Tanagra?”
”Yes.”
”Ms. Tanagra, excuse me, but this is Ted Jaffe. I was chief a.s.sistant state attorney here a long time ago.”
”I don't want to go through this again.”
”I'm not out to ha.s.sle you. I'm in private practice now. I'd like to talk to you about something.”
”I'm not interested,” she said, and hung up.
I called Muriel Suarez at her office. ”You knew Tanagra. Can you help me with her?”
”It was too long ago. I can't get involved.”
I clenched a fist in frustration that bordered on anger; she couldn't see that. But perhaps she could sense it.
”I'm not being unfriendly,” Muriel said. ”There's a reason. What are you doing tonight?”
”I plan to shove a fist through the cardboard wall of my hotel room and go to bed early.”
”I'll cook you dinner.”
”And you'll also tell me the reason you won't help me with Carmen Tanagra?”
”That's not on the menu. Do you eat meat?”
”Yes. And potatoes. And cheese, and b.u.t.ter, and chocolate mousse. The life expectancy of lawyers is not quite as good as that of NFL defensive tackles. Eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow you go to trial.”
”A lot of people don't eat meat nowadays. In the short run it'll make you aggressive, in the long run it'll kill you. Nevertheless,” Muriel said, ”tonight I have the urge. So to h.e.l.l with my arteries, I'm roasting a leg of lamb in fatty gravy. Eight o'clock. And since you're about to ask ... yes, a very good bottle of red wine.”
The slim forms of the Bordeaux bottles were patterned by the candlelight in wavering black shadows upon the walls. Muriel wore a scooped-neck blue silk blouse and floppy white harem trousers. With her golden skin and moody dark eyes, she captured my attention not only as a lawyer.
I told her in detail the story of what had happened that morning at Raiford. I was glad to be alive, despite the traps that seemed to lie ahead. Maybe the wine had given me a fit of optimism.
Muriel brought coffee. ”You liked the lamb? Really?”
”Loved it. I ate too much, but I'll sleep well.”
”You're lucky you're not sleeping the big sleep tonight, hombre. I guess you see now that you'll have to turn this case over to someone else.”
Coffee in hand, I moved over to the couch and replied, with the air of a perfectly sane man, ”Just because the client tried to strangle me?”
”Do they have to draw blood to make you lose interest?”