Jennifer hesitated. “If we were in another jurisdiction I could probably do it. But Di Silva won’t plea-bargain with me.”
Thomas Colfax said quickly, “Perhaps we should let someone else take care of this.”
“If I had wanted someone else to take care of it,” Michael snapped, “I would have said so.” He turned back to Jennifer. “I want you to handle it.”
Michael Moretti and Nick Vito watched from the window as Thomas Colfax climbed into his sedan and drove off.
Michael said, “Nick, I want you to get rid of him.”
“Colfax?”
“I can’t trust him anymore. He’s living in the past with the old man.”
“Whatever you say, Mike. When do you want me to do it?”
“Soon. I’ll let you know.”
Jennifer was seated in Judge Lawrence Waldman’s chambers. It was the first time she had seen him in more than a year. The friendly telephone calls and dinner invitations had stopped. Well, that could not be helped, Jennifer thought. She liked Lawrence Waldman and she regretted losing his friendship, but she had made her choice.
They were waiting for Robert Di Silva and they sat there in an uncomfortable silence, neither bothering to make small talk. When the District Attorney walked in and took a seat, the meeting began.
Judge Waldman said to Jennifer, “Bobby says that you want to discuss a plea bargain before I pass sentence on Lorenzo.”
“That’s right.” Jennifer turned to District Attorney Di Silva. “I think it would be a mistake to send Marco Lorenzo to Sing Sing. He doesn’t belong here. He’s an illegal alien. I feel he should be shipped back to Sicily where he came from.”
Di Silva looked at her in surprise. He had been going to recommend deportation, but if that was what Jennifer Parker wanted, then he would have to reevaluate his decision.
“Why do you recommend that?” Di Silva asked.
“For several reasons. First of all, it will keep him from committing any more crimes here, and—”
“So will being in a cell in Sing Sing.”
“Lorenzo is an old man. He can’t stand being confined. He’ll go crazy if you put him in jail. All his friends are in Sicily. He can live there in the sun and die in peace with his family.”
Di Silva’s mouth tightened with anger. “We’re talking about a hoodlum who’s spent his life robbing and raping and killing, and you’re worried about whether he’s with his friends in the sun?” He turned to Judge Waldman. “She’s unreal!”
“Marco Lorenzo has a right to—”
Di Silva pounded his fist on the desk. “He has no rights at all! He’s been convicted of extortion and armed robbery.”
“In Sicily, when a man—”
“He’s not in Sicily, goddamn it!” Di Silva yelled. “He’s here! He committed the crimes here and he’s going to pay for them here.” He stood up. “Your Honor, we’re wasting your time. The state refuses any plea bargaining in this case. We’re asking that Marco Lorenzo be sentenced to Sing Sing.”
Judge Waldman turned to Jennifer. “Do you have anything more to say?”
She looked at Robert Di Silva angrily. “No, Your Honor.”
Judge Waldman said, “Sentencing will be tomorrow morning. You are both excused.”
Di Silva and Jennifer rose and left the office.
In the corridor outside, the District Attorney turned to Jennifer and smiled. “You’ve lost your touch, counselor.”
Jennifer shrugged. “You can’t win them all.”
Five minutes later, Jennifer was in a telephone booth talking to Michael Moretti.
“You can stop worrying. Marco Lorenzo will be going to Sing Sing.”
41
Time was a swiftly flowing river that had no shores, no boundaries. Its seasons were not winter, spring, fall or summer, but birthdays and joys and troubles and pain. They were court battles won, and cases lost; the reality of Michael, the memories of Adam. But mainly, it was Joshua who was time’s calendar, a reminder of how quickly the years were passing.
He was, incredibly, seven years old. Overnight, it seemed, he had gone from crayons and picture books to airplane models and sports. Joshua had grown tall and he resembled his father more every day, and not merely in his physical appearance. He was sensitive and polite, and he had a strong sense of fair play. When Jennifer punished him for something he had done, Joshua said stubbornly, “I’m only four feet tall, but I’ve got my rights.”
He was a miniature Adam. Joshua was athletic, as Adam was. His heroes were the Bebble brothers and Carl Stotz.
“I never heard of them,” Jennifer said.
“Where have you been, Mom? They invented Little League.”
“Oh. That Bebble brothers and Carl Stotz.”
On weekends, Joshua watched every sports event on television—football, baseball, basketball—it did not matter. In the beginning, Jennifer had let Joshua watch the games alone, but when he tried to discuss the plays with her afterward and Jennifer was completely at sea, she decided she had better watch with him. And so the two of them would sit in front of the television set, munching popcorn and cheering the players.
One day Joshua came in from playing ball, a worried expression on his face, and said, “Mom, can we have a man-to-man talk?”
“Certainly, Joshua.”
They sat down at the kitchen table and Jennifer made him a peanut butter sandwich and poured a glass of milk.
“What’s the problem?”
His voice was sober and filled with concern. “Well, I heard the guys talkin’ and I was just wonderin’—do you think there’ll still be sex when I grow up?”