The staked Goat

evidence, I tried to sort out McCIean’s strategy. I guessed that Mc-Clean felt Smolina’s version of the arson plot held no hope unless Joey confirmed it. If Joey testified, however, McClean would impeach him with his prior convictions and then argue ”Who should you believe” to the jury.
    Smolina declined cross-examination of the lab expert and the judge called luncheon recess. The Coopers and I went across the courtyard to a stand-up place. The Coopers wanted only coffee. As I ate a sandwich, I turned the case over and over in my mind. I couldn’t see any way out for Joey.
    Neither, apparently, could the jury. After lunch, the defense presented only family and priest as character witnesses, no Joey or Coopers. McClean waived cross-examination, and both attorneys made closing arguments. The case actually went to the jury that afternoon, and a guilty verdict was returned within an hour.
    After the jury went into deliberation, I offered to drive the Coopers home, but they said they wanted to stay for the verdict, that they felt they should. After the verdict, I offered again, but they resisted because of the traffic I would hit. I insisted, and they still refused. I was half glad they did, because as Emily kissed my cheek and Jesse shook my hand, I wanted to speak with Nancy Meagher.
    A courtroom when a judge has left the bench is like a bus stop at a madhouse. Joey had started crying after the verdict and was now nearly hysterical as the two officers recuffed him. Marco was calling Smolina an asshole, and a third officer was telling Marco to take it outside. Joey’s mother was wailing into a hankie and rocking back and forth in the embrace of her husband.
    I was almost to Nancy Meagher when Marco finished his piece and stormed out of the courtroom. I doubt he noticed me. I decided to follow him, though, to be sure the Coopers had gotten enough of a start. They hadn’t.
    As I came out of the courtroom door, Marco was near the elevators. He had Jesse by the jacket front, pushing him against the wall and yelling ”nigger”‘ at him and ”whore” at Emily. Six or eight people were standing around. Marco looked pretty imposing, and nobody helped.
    I came up behind Marco and said, ”Take your hand off his jacket or I’ll take your hand off your arm.”
    Marco slammed Jesse against the wall and came for me. He swung a roundhouse right at my head. I stepped under and slightly outside of it, whipping my right elbow forward and up into his right-hand rib cage. I stepped again, this time past him, slamming the edge of my right hand just above his right kidney.
    He gave a strangled cry and sank to his knees, both hands trying to feel all his right side, front and back, at once.
    I figured I had very little time before the authorities would arrive, so I leaned over Marco. I pulled him by his hair up to communion level on his knees, and said between my teeth, ”If you so much as look cross-eyed at these folks again, your family loses its other son.”
    I felt a hand on my arm. It was Nancy. A growing crowd of onlookers began to encircle us. A burly court officer bustled up behind her with his hand on the butt of his still-holstered revolver.
    I let go of Marco, and Nancy said over her shoulder, ”It’s all right, Frank. I saw it. Self-defense.” Frank nodded and began gesturing calmly, dispersing the crowd.
    I thanked Nancy, who asked Jesse and Emily if they wished to press charges. They didn’t. I told the Coopers I was driving them home. They offered no arguments this time.
     
    I saw the Coopers locked up tight at their house. Jesse assured me he had a shotgun and would use it if necessary. Emily said she would be sure to call me if they saw Marco.
    I got back into my car, a ‘73 Fiat 124 sport sedan, my ‘63 Renault Caravelle finally having blown an unobtainable part. It was only 5:45, and Al had told me 8:30. Between testifying and Marco, my shirt was pitted out, so I drove back to my apartment, getting the first break of the day in the form of a parking space right out front. I walked up to my third floor one-bedroom and checked my telephone tape machine. Three hang-ups, no messages. I stripped and did push-ups, sit-ups, and other exercises for an hour.
    I showered and had a hunk of Vienna bread and Gouda cheese to quell my growing appetite. I washed it down with the first of many screwdrivers that night. I listened to a side of Rachmaninoff with another drink. I finally pulled on a blue shirt,