The Racketeer

and you replied, ‘That’s right.’ Do you deny this, Quinn?”
    “You’re putting words in my mouth. Stop it.”
    Pankovits jumped in: “Okay, Quinn, we need to inform you of some recent developments. About two hours ago, Dee Ray finally admitted he gave you the cash to pass along to Judge Fawcett, and that he, Tall Man, and some of the others helped you plan the murder. Dee Ray’s come clean, and he’s already got a deal—no death penalty, no capital murder. We picked up Tall Man two hours ago, and now we’re looking for one of your sisters. This is getting ugly.”
    “Come on. They don’t know nothing.”
    “Of course they do, and they’ll be indicted with you tomorrow.”
    “You can’t do that, man. Come on. It’ll kill my mother. Poor woman’s seventy years old and got a bad heart. You can’t be messing with her like that.”
    “Then step up, Quinn!” Pankovits said loudly. “Take the heat! You did the crime. As you like to say, now do the time. No sense taking the rest of your family down with you.”
    “Step up and do what?”
    “Cut a deal. Give us the details, and we lean on the U.S. Attorney to lay off your family,” Pankovits said.
    “And there’s something else,” Delocke added. “If we do the right deal, there will be no death penalty. Just life, no parole. Seems the Fawcett family does not believe in the death penalty, nor do they want a long, painful trial. They want the case closed, and the U.S. Attorney will respect their wishes. According tohim, he will consider a plea agreement, one that will save your life.”
    “Why should I believe you?”
    “You don’t have to, Quinn. Just wait a couple of days for the indictments to come down. There could be as many as thirty people named for various charges.”
    Quinn Rucker stood slowly and stretched his hands as high as possible. He took a few steps in one direction, then another, and began saying, “Bannister, Bannister, Bannister.”
    “Beg your pardon, Quinn,” Pankovits said.
    “Bannister, Bannister, Bannister.”
    “Who’s Bannister?” Delocke asked.
    “Bannister is a rat,” Quinn said bitterly. “Scum, an old friend in Frostburg, a crooked lawyer who claims he’s innocent. Nothing but a rat. Don’t pretend you don’t know him, because you wouldn’t be here if he wasn’t a rat.”
    “Never met the man,” Pankovits said. Delocke was shaking his head no.
    Quinn sat down and thrust both elbows onto the table. He was wide-awake now, his narrow eyes glaring at the two agents, his thick hands rubbing each other. “So what’s the deal?” he asked.
    “We can’t make deals, Quinn, but we can make things happen,” Pankovits said. “For starters, we call off the dogs in D.C., and your family and gang are left alone, for now anyway. The U.S. Attorney has been taking heat for five weeks, ever since the murder, and he’s desperate for some good news. He assures us, and we can assure you, that there will be no capital murder charge and that it will be a stand-alone indictment. Just you, for the two killings. Plain and simple.”
    Delocke said, “That’s one half, the other half is a video statement from you confessing to the crimes.”
    Quinn wrapped his hands around his head and closed his eyes. A minute passed as he fought himself. “I really want my lawyer,” he finally said through clenched teeth.
    Delocke replied, “You can do that, Quinn, of course you can. But Dee Ray and Tall Man are in custody right now, singing like birds, and things are only getting worse. It might be a day or two before your lawyer can get down here. You say the word, and we’ll turn your brothers loose and leave them alone.”
    Quinn suddenly snapped and yelled, “All right!”
    “All right what?”
    “All right, I’ll do it!”
    “Not so fast, Quinn,” Pankovits said. “We need to go over a few things first. Let’s review the facts, put things in order, set the stage, make sure we’re all on the same page with the crime scene. We need to make sure that all important details are included.”
    “Okay, okay. But can I have some breakfast?”
    “Sure, Quinn, no problem. We have all day.”

CHAPTER 16
    O ne of the few virtues of prison life is the gradual acquisition of patience. Nothing moves at a reasonable pace, and you learn to ignore clocks. Tomorrow will come around soon enough; surviving today is enough of a challenge. After my quick trip to D.C., I roam around Frostburg for a couple of days reminding myself