Typical Male - Sample Chapter

CHAPTER THREE:

Novotny’s eyes moved, but his head was stationary, poker face still firmly in place. His gaze was on the public defender as she made a hasty retreat from her odious client after the jury filed out to be sequestered. She sashayed herself out of the courtroom as fast as her tight, pencil skirt could allow. Funny how she no longer wanted to be within ten yards of Spinelli now that the audience was gone. That’s right, you go girl, he thought acidly, and take those tacky Manolo Blanik Mary Jane knockoffs with you.

He slipped his notes into his briefcase, nodding to the bailiff with a knowing look. His cell was vibrating against his hip, but he didn’t reach for it. He just wanted to sit for a moment and let go of the rage, let it slip off him like a sheet on a hot night. Whoever wanted him right now would have to wait.

We are evil animals, he thought. Spinelli, his attorney going for the Academy Award for Best Supporting Actress, himself for wishing he could simply pull out a gun and put the pedophile down like a rabid dog.

“Anyone who ever doubts we live in a broken world,” he muttered under his breath, but couldn’t bring himself to finish the sentence.

He pushed himself up and away from the prosecution table, retrieving his Armani jacket from the back of the wooden chair and slipping into it. He straightened his already impeccably aligned tie, smoothed his hair, touching the silver clasp around his immaculately groomed ponytail. Time to meet the hyenas and vultures. Even if he wasn’t going to put a face on the San Diego County D.A.’s office for the press, he would leave the courtroom looking cool, stylish, perfect. He knew he overcompensated, but did not care. To thine own self be true.

His cell vibrated again. He checked the caller id briefly before heading out into the frenzy of reporters, microphones and cameras. Otilio, the D.A., his boss. Same as the earlier message flashing on the small color screen. Well, first things first.

CNN was asking the same question they’d asked since the capture of Spinelli. Are you going for the death penalty, Mr. Novotny?

“It is the position of the San Diego County District Attorney’s Office that to do otherwise would be sending an exceedingly negative message out to victims everywhere, Sharon,” he replied, using her first name and skewering her with an icy glare. “We will not tolerate the harming of a child in this state. We will punish such offenses with the strongest measures allowed by law. Yes. Yes, we are seeking the death penalty for the defendant.”

He didn’t say the pervert’s name, objectifying Spinelli with a psychological ploy used by lawyers everywhere. It helped a jury feel detached from the defendant. . .or even the victim in some cases. If you put a name and a face to someone, you have to acknowledge them as real living, breathing flesh like yourself.

His cell jittered against his belt again like an enraged bumblebee. Whatever Otilio wanted must not be able to wait. He eschewed further questions with a sharp wave of his had before turning toward the bank of elevators that would take him upstairs to the main D.A. offices. The doors were barely open as he shimmied through and jogged to his office. He tossed the briefcase onto the credenza, grabbed the handset from his desk phone and stabbed the speed dial to Otilio’s office.

“Yeah,”

“I got your messages, Jaime,” he said into the receiver. “What’s up.”

“Oh, hey Bass,” Otilio greeted him, then sniffed audibly before a brief chuckle. “I need to, ahem. . .talk to you about something.”

“Shoot,”

Another chuckle. There was something about this that was disturbing, Novotny thought. Damn he hoped that hyper-feminine little public defender hadn’t tried an end run plea bargain.

“This about the Spinelli case?”

“Ah. . .no,” Otilio replied.

Novotny wasn’t sure if there was anger or some weird humor in the edge of his boss’ voice.

“You know what, Bass, come across the hall, will you please?”

There was a click before he could reply.

Novotny was across the hall in three strides, through the receptionist’s area, then opening the door to face his boss. “What’s up, Jaime?”

Further words died on his lips as he saw a United States Navy Master-at-Arms, in black—or rather, the black the Navy referred to as blue—crackerjack uniform complete with 9mm pistol at his hip, standing respectfully in front of Otilio’s desk.

“Would you step outside, Petty Officer Kennedy,” the D.A. told the young man.

Had the temperature in Otilio’s office just dropped twenty degrees, Novotny pondered. His boss had an indescribable look on his face as he turned a large white envelope over and over in his hands.

“Um, Jaime?” Novotny prompted.

“I think you need to sit down for this one, man.”

Otilio held the envelope out to him face down, seeming eager to be rid of it. Novotny took it and flipped the addressed side into view. His fingers tingled with a certain dread. A doomed feeling shot straight through him like suddenly finding his tongue stuck to something icy. Nothing good ever came in an envelope like this one. He didn’t even want to consider the samba his bowels were doing right now thanks to one look at the blue seal and bold, all-caps words beneath it:

DEPARTMENT OF THE NAVY

He moved in slow motion, sliding the tip of his left index finger beneath the flap. Gingerly, he peeled upward garnering a nice paper cut on the tender cuticle near the manicured nail. These were the sorts of letters that usually started out with, ‘Dear sir or madam: the Department of the Navy regrets to inform you. . .’ He unfolded the crisp, white document within.

“Son of a bitch!” Novotny shouted. “You’ve got to be shitting me!”

Otilio looked up in astonishment.

“The refined Mr. Novotny let curse words slip through his pristine lips,” the D.A. gaped.

Shock of all shocks, but this called for it, Novotny thought.

The world had just fallen away from beneath his feet. Novotny rocked forward, elbows on knees, eyes no longer able to focus on the officious all-caps sentences that made up numbered paragraphs. His tongue was cotton wadding, in his ears a clanging like the bells of Notre Dame clamored louder than the racing pulse in his temples.

Otilio’s caterpillar eyebrows were creeping toward his receding hairline when Novotny looked up.

“What’s up? Did they finally figure out a practical way of taking your birthday away from you?” The D.A. asked, grinning as he attempted a common Navy jest.

“Holy, crap,” Novotny hissed between clenched teeth before he could help it.

“Is that a no?”

“Worse than my birthday, Jaime,” he shot back, dropping the letter onto the desk between them. “My whole damned life!”

He got a grim satisfaction when the smirk on Otilio’s face melted like a sliver of ice tossed onto a hot skillet.

“This can’t be good.”

“Ladies and gentlemen, District Attorney Jaime Quique Otilio, master of the obvious,” Novotny retorted.

He watched as his boss picked up the letter and skimmed it before letting it fall back onto the desk. Otilio gaped at him, with bifocals low on his nose, and sighed, “Shit.”

“That’s what I said,” Novotny retorted, sagging into the cool leather chair and covering his eyes with his hands.

“I thought you’d done your time with these guys,” Otilio said.

Novotny pulled his hands from his face, said, “Yeah, well I did.”

Otilio rubbed one chubby finger against a graying temple, then replied, “Then how on earth can they just drop you a letter that says, ‘Congratulations, Mr. Novotny, you’re in the Navy now. . .again?”

Novotny fingered his own meticulously groomed mustache and goatee thinking odd thoughts; pictured shoving his hands up over his face, applying a Halloween mask of his clean-shaven former self. Despite five years of sobriety and all it took to get there, a Stoli, straight up in a tall glass sounded irresistible right now. He took a deep breath, slowly letting it out through his mouth.

“Part of my early-out package back in ’94 was an agreement to eight years of Reserve time,” Novotny explained, the words feeling alien in his mouth. “You know those little jaunts I take up to Camp Pendleton or over to Naval Station once a month?”

“And that nice little all-expenses paid two-week summer vacation last year to Great Lakes, Illinois?” Otilio added, as though he thought it helped.

“Don’t remind me,” he groaned remembering that there was nothing quite like spending part of July in Waukegan to make you long for sudden death. He shuddered. If I wanted to fry an egg on my head, I’d just sit in a microwave. It would be less painful that way, he mused.

“And so?” Otilio prompted.

“And so. . .in about one month, eighteen days and a sundry number of hours, my Reserve obligation would have been served.”

“Would’ve been,” Otilio replied. “Not that you were counting down the time.”

“Not quite to the nanosecond, no.” Novotny shot back. “But of course being just a lawyer—a veritable day weenie—I never honestly expected to be called back into active duty service. It’s not like I fly jets or carry the launch codes for our nation’s nukes. I prosecuted and defended drunken sailors and brawling jarheads by virtue of my oath to uphold the UCMJ. So unless we’re getting ready to sue Saddam, I can’t fathom why the Judge Advocate General Corps needs my services again.”

Otilio’s phone buzzed, jarring Novotny’s already frayed nerves. His boss nodded empathetically at him, but held up one finger to call for silence.

“Uh-huh,” Otilio answered. “Okay, Helene, send the young men in.”

Otilio rose and Novotny shot a glance up at him. “What?”

“I think you’re about to get an answer to that question, Bass,” his boss replied gravely. “Another one of those crackerjack boys just turned up.”

Novotny was on his feet and turning when the double doors of the D.A.’s office opened. Beside the Master-at-Arms now stood the newcomer, a Navy Legalman, Petty Officer First Class, also in standard dress blues and carrying a conspicuously large envelope beneath his left arm.

“Sirs,” the Legalman said, and it seemed like an apology. “Mr. Novotny?”

“That would be me,” Novotny replied, leaving off the word ‘unfortunately’ that was set to bungee jump off the tip of his tongue.

Novotny eyed him the way a horse does a burning barn it’s hapless enough to be inside. Young Legalman was likely no more than twenty-six or so, with that fresh from the barber’s chair look about him. His SDBs were poster-boy perfect; steam-pressed to within an inch of its life, giving off an almost acrid, halfway sweet smell of dry cleaning best described as eude de Uniform Store. I bet I could carve a Thanksgiving turkey with the creases in those pants, Novotny thought. And I could shave in the reflection on the toes of his shoes, that is if I wanted to shave.

All this military wool was activating Novotny’s fight or flight response.

Oh. My. God.

“You probably light the top layer of your can of shoe polish just to get that Clean-Marine shine, huh?” Novotny said, apropos of nothing, then swallowed hard in a dry throat, knowing he must sound more than slightly insane.

“Sir?”

“Never mind,” Novotny said, voice hollow.

“Sir, I have been directed by the Commanding Officer of Naval Station San Diego, per the Office of the Judge Advocate General of the Navy to hand-deliver this packet to you, sir.”

Two sirs were definitely too many in one sentence, especially that one. Novotny thought he might break out into hives with the very next ’sir.’ Could someone have an anaphylactic reaction to militaristic dialog? Suddenly an alphabet soup of acronyms niggled unpleasant memories to the surface.

PCS. SECNAV. OJAG. BOHICA.

Bend Over. Here It Comes Again.

NAVY

Never. Again. Volunteer. Yourself.

Novotny accepted the packet with numb fingers. It takes a brain to make nerves work and mine has obviously just hopped a rocket to Mars, he thought. He looked at the Legalman, the Master-at-Arm’s 9mm, then down at the packet with an expression he knew mimicked that of Ray Bolger in the Wizard of Oz.

Inside the pristine white US Navy packet was another envelope; a golden brown paper guard mail pouch secured with a red string. A Holey Joe. God, I’m already thinking in military-ese. Like riding a bike. I fell off my bike the first time I tried to ride it as a kid, Novotny remembered, and knocked out a tooth.

Novotny eased the multiple copies of official orders from the packet, along with a sheaf of paperwork that looked all too familiar. A little voice in the back of his head seemed to be suggesting he throw himself down on the floor in a tantrum.

Damn.

Before anything else had the chance to sink in, he noticed the two signatures at the bottom of the cover letter. The first identified himself as the Judge Advocate General of the Navy. Novotny did not recognize the name, but this meant nothing. The JAG Corps was a large division. However, the second name very nearly had him writhing on the floor. One hand reached behind him to find the arm of the chair and he carefully lowered himself.

Captain Emma Alden, Assistant Judge Advocate General of the Navy.

“Jesus wept,” Novotny groaned, closing his eyes to the horror.

“Hey, man, you ought to watch it with that blasphemy stuff. ” Otilio teased, obviously not understanding Novotny’s predicament yet. “From the look on your face, you probably need God right about now.”

“Sir,” the Legalman said from somewhere behind Novotny. “Whenever you’re ready.”

“What?” Otilio asked.

“What!” Novotny practically shouted.

He suddenly felt as though he were being arrested and taken to the brig. He expected the NCIS folks to stroll in at any moment, in their oh-so-trendy, trying-too-hard-to-look-cool civilian attire, but with those trademark enlisted haircuts that gave them up a mile away.

“What are you talking about, LN1?” Novotny demanded, using the traditional form of address before he even realized it had come to mind. Legalman First Class.

“The CO sent the command car to transport you to PSD so that your reactivation paperwork could get done ASAP, sir.” The Legalman explained.

Oh, so fleeing to Canada or even Bolivia wasn’t going to be an option, Novotny thought churlishly. Not that he would, of course, but that little devil on his shoulder that previously argued for the tantrum was whispering sweet nothings. Bali is beautiful this time of year, it said.

Novotny stood, drawing on that monster rage that lurked beneath the surface, his tone now icy and condescending.

“Young man, I’m the Assistant District Attorney for this county. I’m in the middle of an extremely important case and I’m not going anywhere until it’s finished. A capital murder case. A serial killer with more than a dozen child murders under his belt. Do you understand what that means, son? Do you get that?”

The Legalman seemed properly chastened, but then said, “Yes, sir, I do understand. However, my orders state that you have a twenty-four hour window for your report date to Washington Naval Yard OJAG. This is a hot-fill billet situation, sir. The Master-at-Arms here and I have been sent to make certain you make that window.”

This kid thinks he’s going to go Jack Nicholson in Last Detail on me, Novotny thought with a grimace.

“Well, your CO is going to have to reconsider those orders, kid. I’m not leaving until my case is finished.” Novotny angrily shot back.

The Master-at-Arms moved his hand discreetly to his side arm making Novotny take a step back, the edge of Otilio’s desk pressing into the backs of his thighs.

“Petty Officer Lamar,” Otilio said. “Would you and the other fellow step out for a moment?”

“Yes, sir,” they replied in unison.

Novotny wasn’t sure which was worse, the dread of returning to the Navy or the notion that he would be forced at gunpoint to quit his case against Spinelli. The secondary issue of Emma Alden in a position of authority over him was too ridiculous to intrude on his thoughts, at least for the moment.

“Jaime, they can’t do this!” Novotny shouted once he was sure he could turn to face his boss without falling over.

“Just keep your shirt on, Bass,” Otilio advised, pushing his bifocals up his nose with one hand and reaching for the Navy phone directory with the other. “I’m going to get to the bottom of this.”

Novotny didn’t trust himself to look at the cover letter or orders again. He dropped the packet onto the D.A.’s desk and it fanned out into disarray. He was waiting for the reaction he knew was coming. Her signature flashed behind his closed eyelids like a nuclear blast. The last time he’d seen it was on the divorce papers back in 1997. The ex Mrs. Novotny. Beautiful, blonde, brilliant and brittle-as-thin-ice Emma Alden.

He tried to block it all out by thinking of Spinelli’s ignorant, gap-tooth sneer. He tried to imagine what was being said on the other end of the phone as Otilio talked to one Navy official after another. He tried to think of all the things he needed to do to get ready for a trip to the east coast in the tragic even Otilio couldn’t get him out of this mess. The condo, his SUV, his dog, all his clothes, his bank accounts and the million and one other little details that made up his life here in San Diego. His civilian life, that little voice reminded him.

Novotny watched, holding his breath as his boss gingerly placed the phone handset back into the cradle. Otilio’s round face was pinched as the glasses came off. The bifocals were neatly folded and placed in their case. He massaged the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger before looking up to meet Novotny’s gaze.

“I don’t quite know how to tell you this, man,” Otilio sighed. “That was the JAG headquarters I finished with just now. The main JAG headquarters in DC. You’re screwed, Bass. You’re going to have to leave with these guys. There’s nothing I can do to get you out of it.”

“I see,” Novotny breathed, not so much in resignation as from shock. Some tiny part of him had believed it was a stupid mistake Otilio could sweep up and make neatly disappear.

Otilio picked up the cover letter once more, holding it out at the full length of his arm in order to read it without his bifocals.

“Um, and according to this Lieutenant Commander Novotny, Captain Alden.” He paused, looking gravely at Novotny over the top of the letter. “Hmm, funny. She didn’t keep your name?”

I am dead and this is hell, Novotny thought.

“She never used it,” he told Otilio. “Not in the eight years we were married.”

All manner of emotions washed over him with that statement. Disappointment, humiliation, anger, and a core of regret in the pit of his stomach that just wouldn’t go away.

After a long pause Otilio asked, “So, did you two ever. . .you know, mend your fences? Kiss and make up or whatever nauseating cliché is appropriate?”

Novotny let out an uncontrolled bark of laughter before straightening his tie, jacket and ponytail. He slowly retrieved the orders, tidying them before slipping them back into the guard mail envelope.

“Reagan and Qaddafi were on more congenial terms,” he replied.

Otilio scowled as if he’d tasted something sour. “Uh-oh. And now she’s your boss. Technically speaking.”

Novotny’s brain instantly shifted gears. Spinelli. The sentencing phase. Oh, God.

“The press is going to have a field day with this,” he began absently, then the words poured out too fast. “You need to step in with something right away. Don’t give the case to Cassandra. Not to sound sexist, but it’ll look petty if you put those two women going head-to-head over a sex offender. Who’s that new guy from Connecticut? Zelazny, Zelenka? He’s a bit young, but he knows what he’s doing. He’s got the right instincts to go for the jugular with Spinelli. We’ve got to secure that death penalty.”

Otilio let him ramble on and for this Novotny felt grateful.

“We’re going to take care of it, Bass,” Otilio said, rising from behind his desk and coming around it as if to physically close ranks. “We all know where it needs to go. Good call on Zelenka. Nick’s definitely got the chops for it.”

“I’ve got everything printed out and on my desk and my notes from today are on the legal pad I gave to my secretary to transcribe this afternoon,” Novotny rambled again, not able to help himself.

Otilio took his right hand, gripped it hard, his left on Novotny’s shoulder.

“You’re a good man, Bass,” the D.A. told him. “This is a hard hit, but you know you’ve got a job here as soon as the Navy lets you go again.”

Novotny nodded wordlessly.

“Maybe the president is getting ready to sue Saddam,” Otilio joked, patting Novotny’s back as he turned away.

He looked back over his shoulder at the D.A., “You’re probably right. I can’t think of any other reason Emma would condescend to put her name on the same piece of paper as mine.”

They nodded knowingly at one another before Novotny reached for the door knob. A wretched sound came from behind him, a breathy cross between a dying rabbit and air being slowly released from a balloon. Tone-deaf Otilio was attempting to whistle Anchors Aweigh.

“Not funny,” Novotny snapped without turning around.

“Not even a little?” Otilio asked, feigning hurt feelings.

“No, not even remotely.”

Novotny jerked the door open harder than he’d intended and left without another word.