After Hours by Edwin Torres

Author:Edwin Torres
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: book
Publisher: Graymalkin Media
Published: 2013-11-14T08:00:00+00:00

14

The Special State Prosecutor, Lawrence Norwalk, stood behind his desk on the fifty-seventh floor at number-two World Trade Center. He faced west, toward the Hudson River traffic beneath his spacious window. It was eight thirty A.M. Norwalk had run five miles at the Central Park Reservoir, showered and breakfasted (on oranges, lemons, and Hoffman’s Super-Protein). The freshness and rosy color of his face exuded health and temperance. His tall, regal frame was clothed in a custom-made tan suit and yellow tie. Solid brown brogues shod his large feet. He favored a white sidewall cut to his black, gray-flecked hair, consistent with the functional, no-nonsense image he cultivated. His small, even features were drawn in a slightly pinched expression that detracted from their symmetry. That and his lightly tinted metal-framed glasses evoked a mildly sinister air. The Times had earlier that week editorialized on the need to prosecute errant judicial officers and the inefficiency of Norwalk’s office in obtaining convictions in this area. Norwalk pondered the indescribable injustice of the situation.

A massive cover-up. Of Watergate proportions. The whole judicial system is shot through with corruption. From the clubhouse, all the way to Albany. It’s deals, contracts, nepotism, favoritism, from the starting gun to the finish line. And to date I’ve only nailed two of the cigar-smoking bastards, both reversed on appeal. These newspapers don’t realize that a judge’s career will, of necessity, wind in and through the system. And no matter where you confront him, there’s always someone to bail him out, exert pressure, feed him information. They all run from my name, like a scourge. Of course, the bastards are corrupt. But you can’t fool the public, the public knows that I alone can weed them out, I have no favorites and owe no favors. And yet, I have to justify my existence to the legislature on a yearly basis, like a goddamned retainer. The district attorneys are all out to destroy my office. They want to hide the corruption in their own houses and grab my budget, I’m alone in this fight. Under siege from all sides. My only hope is the man in the street. You can’t fool him, He knows the whole judiciary is putrid. That you have to get down on your knees and pull it out by the roots. Clean the bastards out, Shaughnessy. Supreme Court justice. Thief. A common thief is all he is. Goddamned jury must have been crazy. Rock-cruncher facts I presented. Pulverizing case, I missed nothing. Stupid, blind bastards.

Maybe it’s these dark glasses. Maybe I should have let Duncan try it. Nonsense, Who knew the case better than I? Nonsense,

There was a prudent knock on Norwalk’s door.

“Come in.”

Jeffrey Duncan, Norwalk’s chief assistant, entered the room followed by William Rutledge and Frank Rizzo. The three men padded in on the thick, wall-to-wall rug. The two visitors took in the luxurious ambience of the setting and its magnificent view. The desk, like the person, was ordered and clean, almost antiseptic.

“Please sit down, gentlemen,” Norwalk said.

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