2 Brooklyn James (3 page)

The sound of her heels click off the marbled floor as she departs the witness bench. Stopping at the prosecution table, she pulls a few Polaroids from her notepad. Making her way swiftly back to Manny Briggs, she continues, “You deny working for one Vincent ‘Vinny’ Gambini?”

“I told you, I’m an independent contractor. I work for no one, but myself,” he dodges yet another direct answer.

She taps the Polaroids in the palm of her hand before laying them in front of him on the witness stand. She splays them out side by side, pointing to an individual who appears in all three photos. “Can you identify this man?”

He eyes the pictures from a distance, still maintaining his disengagement with the process. “Yeah.”

“Vincent Gambini,” she clarifies for the jury. “Or do you call him Vinny?” she adds with a perceptive smile.

He does not respond. Not even a physical gesture.

Brianna points to the first picture in succession. “How about this man? Look familiar, Mr. Briggs?”

He refuses to make eye contact with the picture, fully aware of his presence in the montage.

She gathers the pictures, showing them to the jury. “As you can see, this is Mr. Briggs holding open a car door for one Vincent Gambini,” she directs, displaying the first picture. Thumbing through to the next, she holds it up. “From the local casino, owned by the Gambinis. You’ll notice, the man to the right of Vincent Gambini,” she points him out, his arms crossed one over the other, much the same as he is posturing in the witness chair. “Manuel Briggs.” She holds up the last picture. “And again, seen here making a delivery to the Gambini residence.” The image displaying an exchange between Manny Briggs and Vinny Gambini. Brianna circles to the judge’s bench, submitting the Polaroids as evidence before returning to her post in front of the witness chair. “For a man who says he does not work for Vincent Gambini, you spend an awful lot of time with him, Mr. Briggs.”

“So, anyone you spend time with, you work for?” he asks sarcastically.

“You’re a family friend?” she fires back.

He grins. “An acquaintance. I don’t consider an acquaintance a friend.”

“Apparently you don’t consider holding a woman down against her will and forcing yourself upon her rape, either,” Brianna barks, tiring of his antics.

“Objection,” the defense calls. “Counsel’s interrogating the witness.”

“Sustained,” the judge confirms.

“You deny any affiliation with the Gambinis, even though there are pictures placing you in their company. You, and your partner,” she flings her arm in his direction sitting beside counsel at the defense table, “deny raping three women who have positively identified both of you as their assailants.” She pauses, eyeballing the spider web tattoo on his neck. “That fine piece of artwork you have displayed on your neck…keenly identified by all three women you are accused of raping…do you also deny its presence?”

“I’m not the only guy in New Orleans with a spider web tattoo on his neck,” he dismisses.

“Why a spider web?” she asks, receiving a befuddled glance from the judge, who lets the question slide.

“You prefer a sweet little kitty cat?” Manny responds acrimoniously.

“‘Sweet little kitty cat,’” she chuckles cheekily. “No, I was hoping for a more profound explanation: you feel trapped, consider yourself sly as a spider, or maybe every ring in the web signifies the number of years you have been incarcerated.”

“Tattoos have come a long way. They’re not just for gang members or prisoners anymore.” He grins smugly. “You have any tats,
lawyer lady?”

“Mr. Briggs,” the judge begins.

Brianna holds a conciliatory hand up to the judge, who gives her a nod, refraining from reprimanding the witness. “What’s that saying?” she taps her chin. “‘Oh, what a tangled web we weave, when…’” She paces in a circle in front of Manny as if deep in thought.

“‘When first we practice to deceive,’” he finishes her quote in his most mundane tone.

“Ah, yes…‘when first we practice to deceive.’ You wouldn’t practice to deceive would you, Mr. Briggs? A smart man like you. Surely you know the truth always comes to the surface.”

“I got nothing to be deceptive about. It’s their word against ours.” His permanent smirk resurfacing. “You got nothing on me.”

She nods her head firmly one time, her eyebrow arched, lips pressed tightly together in preparation to put this case to bed. “What if it wasn’t simply your word against theirs? We’ve heard testimony of the three women you and your partner raped, separately, on three different occasions. We’ve heard your partner’s testimony. Now, we’re hearing yours. Seems to me we’re missing one.”

He looks at her unimpressed.

She approaches the railing separating her from the witness chair, leaning onto it, her posture and gaze intense. “That’s the thing about the mob, Mr. Briggs. For all the loyalty, tradition, swagger…from an outsider’s perspective it has a certain luster, a lore if you will. It can be intimidating. Makes mice of men.” She leans in toward him. “The thing about intimidation, it’s all image, nothing but appearance. Every system has a weak link. Even Rome fell, Mr. Briggs.” She pushes off the railing and turns to a police officer in the back of the courtroom. “Bring him in.”

Manny exchanges a concerned glance with his lawyer at the defense table as the police officer opens the door to the courtroom. Accompanied by two officers, as part of mandated witness protection measures, a visibly apprehensive man enters, his eyes darting about the courtroom, unwilling to settle on the witness stand. A shifting of bodies and muffled voices are heard throughout the interested congregation. The officers settle into a row in the back, the man positioned between them.

The judge clears his throat purposefully, causing the curious crowd to return their attention to the front of the room. “Counselor,” he urges Brianna to continue.

She turns back to Manny who looks around her, his icy stare fixed on the man nestled between the two officers, his eyes remain intently diverted from the witness. “Can you identify that man, Mr. Briggs?”

Manny looks at him, pure disgust and barely contained rage evident in his expression. He begins to speak through tight lips and a clenched jaw, “Well, let’s see, he’s got pink ears, a pointy nose and beady eyes. Must be he’s sitting on his tail.” His stare never falters as he sucks air through his front teeth, clicking his tongue agitatedly off the roof of his mouth, before finishing, “Yeah, I’d say what we have here is a rat.”

“You say rat. I say opportunist. Potato…Po
tah
to,” she digs. “This man,” she gestures to him tucked safely away between two officers, “Mr. Thomas ‘Tommy Boy’ Fontaine, is arguably the smartest of the bunch.”

“We’ll see how smart he is from six feet under,” Manny spews under his breath.

“What was that? You care to share with the courtroom, Mr. Briggs?” Brianna prods to no avail. “Mr. Fontaine can and will testify that he accompanied you and your partner, Mr. Angelo ‘G-Lo’ Tulane, to all three rape scenes. His statement matches that of the three female witnesses. You and Mr. Tulane took turns savagely raping each victim while he kept watch.” A gleam finds its way to Brianna’s eyes as she scans the spider web tattoo on Manny’s neck. She tilts her head to the side, tapping the pen in her hand against the palm of the other. “I read an interesting article the other day about the smartest animals in the world. Both the spider and the rat made the top ten list. Care to guess which came in higher in the ranks, Mr. Briggs?”

He remains leaned back in his chair, his arms folded staunchly across his chest, eyeing her as if he would obliterate her into a puff of dust if he could. He says nothing.

“The rat is smarter than the spider. You see, the spider is cunning and selective. They lure their prey, sometimes waiting for hours before they pounce. Very patient, the spider. They actually use trial and error to perfect the hunt.” She paces between the witness stand and the jury. “Now, the rat. The rat is keen, a fast learner, picking up on things at first try. That’s why they’re so good at solving mazes. Rats are actually social creatures, displaying signs of excitement, stress, loss…remorse.” She pauses on the word, allowing it to sink in with the jury.

“Objection,” the defense calls. “What is the relevancy of this commentary?”

The judge, along with the jury, is momentarily caught up in the scientific informative. Brianna takes keen advantage plowing through, “Rats also possess metacognition, a mental ability only previously documented in humans, and some primates. Metacognition is ‘knowing about knowing.’ Awareness, common sense, problem solving.” She approaches Manny, once again deliberately eyeing his spider web tattoo. “You put a rat and a spider in a maze, the spider waits patiently in a corner, building a web purposely to catch a prey unexpectedly as it happens by. Sneaky, deceptive little spider.” She winks at him.

“Objection!” the defense reprises.

The judge clears his throat, snapping to attention. “Ms. Castille, either get to your point, or move on.”

She nods affirmatively. “The rat will move swiftly from corner to corner, sniffing and searching his way through until he is finally released from the restrictive confines of the maze, where awaiting him on the other end is his reward, a big fat tasty piece of cheese. So you see, Mr. Briggs, instead of sitting in wait, conniving and deceiving, maybe you should have taken a few notes from the rat,” she gestures to ‘Tommy Boy’ Fontaine sitting in the back of the courtroom.

The defense attorney hastens his glare accusingly at the judge, his hands airborne at shoulder level.

“The jury will kindly disregard the prosecutions rat and spider commentary. Ms. Castille…” the judge begins.

Brianna intrudes, quickly finishing her discourse, “While Mr. Fontaine remains in the outside world chewing on his big fat tasty piece of cheese…maybe a nice Gouda.” A muffled round of chuckling is heard throughout the courtroom. She smiles at Manny. “Like the spider in the maze, you’ll be sitting in the corner of some prison block.” She turns her back to the witness stand promptly addressing the judge. “No further questions, Your Honor.”

The judge shakes his head, eyeing the riled crowd, tapping his gavel effectively hushing them.

“You’ll get yours,
lawyer lady.
You and the rat,” Manny threatens in a low voice.

Brianna spins around toward him. “What was that, Mr. Briggs?” She leans over the witness railing placing herself closer to him, making a show of offering her ear.

He says nothing, simply eyes her menacingly.

She smirks, referencing their previous conversation about tattoos. “What’s the matter, Mr. Briggs? ‘Sweet little kitty cat’ got your tongue?”

Gina’s eyes mirror those of the man in the witness chair as her memory fades, releasing her back to the present. The prison gates of the Louisiana State Penitentiary are now in view. Aubrey pulls the earpieces of her MP3 player from her ears at the sight. She taps on the back of her seat, alerting Emily.

Emily jerks her head up from its resting position, abruptly relieved of her meditation, coming into full awareness of her surroundings, amped and ready. She and Aubrey share glances in Gina’s direction, both curious as to how she will handle coming face to face with the men who raped her and left her for dead, after killing her husband and her son.

Gina does not acknowledge their inquiring gazes, as she, too, is indecisive about how she will handle their presence. Logically, she understands she should stick to the plan and stay calm, sane. But will she be able to remain lucid looking into the eyes of Manny Briggs and ‘G-Lo’ Tulane, when instinctively every fiber of her being seems stretched to its limit with sheer madness, her only release instant and complete retribution?

Emily leans forward toward Gina’s seat, uncharacteristically supportive in her demeanor. “Just get them off the property, Gina. Then they’re all yours,” she promises, her voice low and smoldering.