The Amazing Harvey (23 page)

The guard stuck a key in the cell's lock and turned it with a thunk. He grabbed the pull handle and leaned back as he jerked open the heavy door.

“Here you go.” He gestured for me to go in.

I looked at him, then looked back up the hall. “Will my lawyer be able to see me as soon as she gets here?”

“We'll let you know.”

“You'll let me know right away?”

He blew out a sarcastic breath. “Oh, sure. We got nothing to do besides get messages to the prisoners.”

Prisoners?

Holy shit.

The guard said, “Inside.”

I took a small step, just inside the door, then turned back to him so quickly that my foot came out of the sandal. I said, “How fast can I get bailed out?”

“There's no bail for murder.”

I froze. “What?”

“You want that in sign language?”

I tried to get my foot back in the sandal. “No bail for murder? What's that mean?”

“It means you're gonna be here awhile.”

He shoved the door shut.

 

CHAPTER THIRTY

 

I stood inside the cell, staring at the locked door, holding the scratchy blanket. The tiny room smelled like bleach, which didn't completely cover the smell of piss.

No bail for murder?
How's that possible? I felt my chest tighten. Is he just razzing me?

I turned around, without going farther in. There were upper and lower metal bunks bolted to the gray concrete wall. On top of each bed was a thin blue vinyl mattress and a blue vinyl pillow. The only other thing in the cell was a stainless-steel pedestal sink, which had a seatless steel toilet jutting out from its base. The damn toilet was only about three feet from the bed. You're supposed to take a crap with some other guy watching you? You're supposed to sleep while some guy pisses right next to your head?

I realized I was gripping the blanket so hard that my fingers were shaking. I took a few steps, threw the blanket on the lower bunk, then sat down. I could feel the cold metal through the thin vinyl mattress. I looked up. The ceiling was a dusty metal grate with fluorescent lights buzzing above it.

Could I be in a place like this for the rest of my life? Or maybe get out when I'm an old man with an oversize asshole?

I looked at my wrist. Shit. They took my watch. Hannah, you goddam bitch, where are you? Get me the fuck outta here.

It's gotta be one in the morning by now. Why are the lights still on? Are they on all night? Whatever Hannah's doing, she must have gotten my message by now. Unless she's spending the night with Prince Mercedes. Wouldn't she check her cell phone?

No bail for murder? Does that mean I'll be in jail for months before I even go to trial? Years? That can't be right.

Can it?

My breathing was near a full-on whooping.

Can other people hear me? I felt my eyes flood. I started to cry with heaving sobs.

Stop it!

Get yourself together, for God's sake.

I laid down on the bunk and felt my chest heave. My feet stuck off the end. I unfolded the blanket and spread it around until it covered most of me. My chest was still heaving. How am I supposed to sleep with the lights on? I wiped at the corners of my eyes.

I sucked in a deep breath, held it, then blew it out. My breathing slowed a bit. The whoops wound down into whimpers.

I opened and closed my fists. My ribs still hurt from where that guy fell into me. Try to relax.

Yeah, right.

I let out a breath.

What kind of germs are on this mattress?

I closed my eyes. Could still see light through my lids.

How could my DNA match the DNA at the murder scene? It's impossible.

Well, obviously not impossible. How? Why?

I turned on my side, pulled the blanket around my shoulder.

Can you fake DNA? Am I being framed? Why me? I can't even grip a basketball, much less strangle someone. When I was a kid, while everyone was out playing football, I was inside doing magic tricks.

I rolled onto my back. The blanket came off my feet.

Hell, if I was looking at the evidence, even I'd think I was guilty. How can I defend myself? All I've got is David Hu's testimony that I was with him at the Magic Castle. Is that enough?

How am I going to pay for this? I can't work if I'm in jail. My rent is overdue. I've got no place to live.

Fuck. I have to sell my trick. No other choice.

I shook my head.

That trick is genius. Even Copperfield thought so. You only get a genius inspiration once in a lifetime. If I let it go, I'm back to working plumber conventions.…

I turned onto my side and curled up. There has to be an explanation for this fuckup. How did my DNA wind up in the dead girl? Think. How would I do it? How would I make everyone think it was real?

I heard the door lock turn. Hannah?

I sat up so fast that I banged my head on the lip of the upper bunk.
Ow.
Shit. I rubbed the Throb-spot.

The cell door swung open. A large Samoan man, bulging in his orange jumpsuit, walked in holding a blanket. I ran toward the door and called after the guard, saying, “Excuse me.” Maybe he can find out something about Hannah.

The door closed. I called him through the small window. Yelled for him.

Asshole.

I turned around and saw the Samoan step on my bed, then climb to the upper bunk. When he laid down, the metal creaked. I got back in bed and stared at the bottom of the bunk over me. How strong are those rivets? How strong is the concrete holding the bolts? I heard the Samoan breathing heavily.

I closed my eyes. Still saw the fucking light through my lids.

*   *   *

I laid there for a few hours, not sure if I was sleeping or not, until the door clunked open. A voice yelled, “Kendall.”

Rubbing my dry eyes, I sat up on the metal bed, hunching to avoid hitting my head. “Yeah?”

“Your lawyer's here.”

Yes!
I sprang from the bed and hurried to the door.

The guard held up his hand. “Easy, tiger. Walk real slow.”

He led me through a series of halls to a small room, where Hannah sat behind a gray metal table. The only other furnishing was a chair, which I noticed was bolted to the floor.

She half-smiled at me. Her eyes were red. She had no makeup on. Strands of loose hair dangled across her face. Never seen her look better.

The guard left and closed the door.

She said, “I can't believe those assholes arrested you after I wrote a letter offering to surrender. I am seriously pissed off.”

“
You're
pissed off?”

Hannah tilted her head. “You okay?”

“Yeah, it's lovely here at Che Hoosegow. I got a mattress thinner than a Pop-Tart, and I'm three rivets away from being the meat in a Samoan sandwich.”

“Huh?”

“Never mind. Just get me the hell out of here.”

She stuck the tip of her tongue out the corner of her mouth. “Not so simple.”

My breathing accelerated toward
whoop.
“What's that mean?”

“Well…”

I said, “The guard told me there's no bail for murder. Is that true?”

“Not exactly. The cops don't set bail for murder. It's up to a judge.”

“Up to a judge? Does that mean the judge decides how much the bail is? Or that he decides whether there's any bail at all?”

“Both.”

I swallowed. “You mean the judge doesn't have to set bail?”

“I'm pushing for an arraignment first thing in the morning. The only purpose of an arraignment is to enter a plea. You say ‘Not Guilty'; then I ask the judge to set bail. I need to show you're a good person who—”

“Bring me some decent clothes. They took my—”

“No. I want you looking pathetic in your orange jumpsuit. It makes the judge more sympathetic to springing you loose.”

I ran my fingers through my tangled hair. “Pathetic should be easy.”

Hannah took a pack of gum from her purse, pulled out a stick, and folded it into her mouth. She held out the pack to me. I waved it off.

She said, “Don't get discouraged. I need some of your friends and family to sit there looking like sad puppies, showing their support. I may want some of them to tell the judge what a fine person you are.” She chewed hard on the gum.

I shook my head. “Don't use my mother.”

“Why not?”

“I don't want to upset her.”

Hannah leaned back in her chair. “She'll be more upset when she notices you haven't shown up for six months.”

Shit.
I stood, paced. “Fine. Call her. Wait until morning. Otherwise, she'll come down here and sit all night.”

“Who else you got?”

I gave her David Hu and my agent, Marty.

Probably not Carly.

I couldn't think of anyone else. Talk about pathetic …

Hannah stood. “I gotta get up early and push for the arraignment. Hang in there.”

I nodded. “Thanks for coming down in the middle of the night.”

She gave me one of those smiles that you give someone who's in the hospital when you say “I'll see you soon,” but you really think they'll be dead in a week.

 

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

 

Next morning, they took me to court with my hands cuffed behind my back. A guard led me into a wood-paneled courtroom, where the elevated judge's podium was flanked by a U.S. flag on the left and a California flag with the silhouette of a bear on the right. Behind the podium was an empty high-backed black leather chair. In front were two wooden tables. Hannah sat behind one, wearing a crisp brown business dress. At the other was a thin man in a black suit and rep tie, studying an open file. He looked like he was in his forties, and he had a crescent scar at the corner of his eye that resembled a dried teardrop. With his tight mouth and scrunched eyes, it sure didn't look like he had a sense of humor. Gotta be the district attorney.

Behind the lawyer tables was a short wooden barrier, separating the court from several rows of wooden benches. My mother sat in the front row, biting her lip. Her eyes jittered. She saw me and forced a smile. Next to her, my agent, Marty, was yawning with a hand over his mouth. When he noticed me looking at him, his cheeks trembled as he stifled the yawn and gave me a wink. Guess David Hu couldn't make it.

The guard steered me to a chair next to Hannah. He told me to turn my back, then unfastened one handcuff and locked it to the chair arm. I sat down.

Hannah, wearing a forced smile, gave me a quick nod. I tried to smile back. It felt like there were a few thousand critters creeping over my scalp. Do I smell?

I looked at the handcuffs. I hadn't been able to see them behind my back. Good-quality cuffs: York 103's. With my picks, I could be out in thirty seconds.

Behind me, I heard the courtroom door open. I turned and saw David run in, clutching a briefcase. He slid onto a wooden bench in the back, breathing heavily, and gave me a thumbs-up.

I leaned over to Hannah and whispered, “What happens next?”

She whispered back. “We wait for the judge.”

“What do I do?”

“Sit there and look like a waif.”

A door behind the podium opened. Off to the side, a bailiff boomed, “All rise.”

I heard the creak of butts leaving seats. As I stood, the handcuff cut into my wrist, jerking me to a halt before I could straighten. I leaned awkwardly to the side.

The bailiff said, “Los Angeles Superior Court is now in session, the honorable Benjamin Bowers presiding.”

An African-American man with tightly coiled white hair came through the door behind the podium, moving fast enough to swirl his black robes. He nodded at the courtroom and sat.

The bailiff said, “Be seated.”

I sat down and looked at the judge. This guy has the power to change the rest of my life. If he had a fight with his wife this morning, I could go down for twenty years. My locked hand shook hard enough to rattle the handcuff chain against the wooden chair. I grabbed the chair arm to steady myself.

The clerk said, “
People versus Kendall.
”

The judge put on half-glasses, sifted through some papers, then looked up over the glasses. “Are both sides ready?”

The black suit at the next table said, “Ken Warren for the people.”

“Hannah Fisher for the defendant.”

The judge looked at me. “Mr. Kendall?”

I whispered to Hannah, “Do I stand?”

She whispered, “No.”

The judge said, “Mr. Kendall?”

I said, “Yes, sir.”
Did my voice quaver?

He stared into me and said, “The purpose of this proceeding is to advise you of your rights and the charges against you. It is also to consider bond and set conditions for such a bond, if one is appropriate in your case. This is not a trial. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say will be used against you. You understand that?”

I nodded.

He said, “Answer audibly for the record, please.”

“Yes, sir.”

The judge wrote something, then looked at me. “Mr. Kendall, are you under the influence of drugs or alcohol?”

“No, sir.”

“Have you had any drugs or alcohol in the last twenty-four hours?”

“No, sir.”

Hannah stood. “Your Honor, the defendant waives formal reading of the charges.”

“All right.” The judge took off his reading glasses. “Mr. Kendall, you are accused of the murder of Sherry Allen. How do you plead?”

As I opened my mouth, Hannah said, “Not guilty.”

I closed my mouth.

The DA stood, placed his hands on the table, and leaned forward, dangling his tie. “Your Honor, the people do not believe bail is appropriate in this case.”

The judge looked at him. “Why is that, Mr. Warren?”