Now You See Her - Michael Ledwidge [61]
“This?” he said, pointing at the bruise with a goofy grin. “I bumped it water-skiing.”
I let out a breath as I held eye contact with him. He had a week to live, and he was being a wiseass? Was Harris actually nuts? I wondered.
“I know you didn’t do this, Justin,” I said quietly. “I’m here to help.”
Anger flashed in Harris’s suddenly wide eyes. His chains jingled as he sat up. “Oh, really. How do you know I didn’t do it? Because I’m black, and you voted for Obama? Listen, I fought for this country with honor with the Army Rangers in the first Iraq War, and now they’re closing down Gitmo. Maybe you and your ACLU pals should skip me and try springing a terrorist.”
“I know you believe in this country, Justin,” I said even quieter now, as I took his medal out of my bag.
“Who gave you that?” he said, outraged.
“Your mother. I’m here for her as well as you.”
He stared at the medal. He took a breath, held it. He shook his head, quickly closing his eyelids before a tear could escape.
“They executed Ted Bundy here. Did you know that?” he said matter-of-factly. “The electric chair is down the hall. They said there’s a new portable one I could choose if I want. Or I can go the needle route. Problem is, they botched one a few years back when they missed the vein. Left foot-long chemical burns up both of the guy’s arms.”
“I’m going to get you out of here, Justin,” I said.
He huffed out a breath, then looked at me for a long beat. Finally, he smiled at me. A genuine smile for the first time. He had straight teeth, dimples. For a split second, I saw the resemblance to the young, grinning drum major on the Carnegie Hall stage.
“I’m sorry about the Obama crack. I didn’t mean it,” he said, squeezing his hands together as if in prayer. “I understand what you’re trying to do, Miss Bloom. I admire it. Trying to help out desperate people is a nice thing. You really seem like a nice person, and I thank you for believing in me. But the governor of Florida isn’t going to grant me a stay. I got myself into this mess, and I’m resigned to suffer the consequences. I lived my life. It didn’t turn out so hot. Now it’s going to end.”
“Look at me,” I said passionately. “I’m not talking about a stay. I’m going to get you out of here, Justin. I know your DNA was from consensual sex with Tara Foster and that your fiancée lied about you. I’m going to straighten the whole thing out. Can you remember anything at all that can prove your alibi?”
“It’s been really nice talking to you, Nina, but I need to get back to my reading now,” Justin said, knocking on the wired glass.
As the guard was taking him away, Justin turned back. “Wait, there actually is one thing,” he said.
“What? What is it?” I said, sitting up.
“If you hear from my mom, tell her I love her, and that I’m OK, and that I don’t want to see her at the execution, OK?”
I nodded and let out a breath as I watched Justin be led away.
Chapter 76
CHARLIE WAS ON THE FRONT PORCH of his Key West bungalow, playing an electric steel guitar, when I arrived at his house at around nine on Saturday morning. He actually had an amplifier and everything. His eyes were closed as he maneuvered the glass slide over the strings, really getting into the jangling blues tune he was playing.
He opened his bloodshot eyes immediately when I stormed up the stairs and yanked the amplifier’s plug.
“I see that writing isn’t the only occupation that you share with Papa Hemingway,” I said as I kicked the half-empty box of Heineken keg cans between his feet. Had he been drinking all night? Or just all morning?
“How’s Justin? Still as optimistic as ever?” Charlie said, finally looking up at me after a slow sip of breakfast beer. “Did you know the Today show called me to see if I wanted to go on and plead Justin’s case? I asked Justin, and he went crazy. He wouldn’t let me do it. He doesn’t want to be defended. He’s sick of living in prison, sick of living, period. How do I fight for the life of a man who