Where Nobody Dies (The Cass Jameson Mysteries Book 2) by Carolyn Wheat

Author:Carolyn Wheat [Wheat, Carolyn]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
ISBN: 9781504002325
Publisher: Open Road Media Mystery & Thriller
Published: 2015-02-24T00:00:00+00:00

17

I’m the world’s worst pool player. I’ve been told this on many occasions, by people who ought to know. And yet, once in a great while, when I’ve had just the right amount of alcohol and the jukebox is knocking out just the right rhythms, I can run all the balls off the table without even thinking about it. It’s like Zen and the art of pool; everything comes together in a way that has nothing to do with my conscious mind.

I was feeling that same rush, that same sense of infinite possibilities, as I stood before Judge Segal’s bench. I was on a strange high, with not-quite-heard music sounding in my ears, feeling for all the world like Paul Newman in The Hustler, ready to take on Minnesota Fats.

I wasn’t sure what it was that put the beat in my head, the bounce in my step. Maybe it was the prospect of finally getting Terrell Hopkins and his grandmother squared away. Or maybe it was the thought of wiping the smirk off Todd Lessek’s face that had me jumping. I was primed for action, ready for anything, feeling reckless and powerful.

“Three-to-nine, Counselor,” Judge Segal intoned in his ponderous voice.

It was a bad break; I’d been hoping for two-to-six. But I refused to show disappointment; the game was a long way from over.

“Judge,” I said expansively, just a touch of pleading thrown in, “this is Brooklyn.”

“I do know what borough I’m sitting in, Ms. Jameson,” the Hon. Murray replied with a twinkle. “That’s why they made me a judge.”

“I just don’t want you to start remembering you were a Queens DA, Your Honor,” I explained. “My kid’s got enough to worry about without that.”

“Counselor,” Judge Segal said with a patient smile, “if this case were on in Queens, I’d have made it four-to-twelve.”

I returned a rueful grin; I had to admit, the judge was a fair pool player himself.

The district attorney picked up a cue, applied a little chalk, and decided to join the game.

“My office,” he began in a high voice that contrasted sharply with Segal’s full bass, “offered a plea to rob two in the complex. Ms. Jameson’s client could have had one-and-one-half-to-four, but he turned down the offer. Seven times!” His voice rose to a near-squeak of indignation. I suppressed my giggle when I recalled that courthouse rumor had him winning his last ten cases in a row.

“So now,” Judge Segal finished, “the district attorney is no longer offering the rob two. Your client must plead to the entire indictment, or go to trial. And I see no reason to promise a minimum sentence in a case where a gun was recovered. Ms. Jameson, what is your client’s pleasure? Plea or trial?”

It wasn’t looking good. The other two players were sinking ivory balls like crazy, while I just stood and watched. I had to turn things around.

I was saved by the bell. Only it wasn’t a bell, but the white light that served as a bell on the courtroom phone.

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