Free The Juror by George Dawes Green

head. “Wait,” she says. “Wait a minute,
     how do I—”
    “How do you know these pictures are real? I guess you don’t know,” he says. “You can’t.”
    He takes the book from her lap.
    He says, “You’re right, this is foolish, isn’t it? This is like a child’s game of show and tell. It doesn’t prove a thing.”
    He slips the book back into his breast pocket. “I want to persuade you, Annie. That’s all. If I could have brought you someone’s
head
, someone’s head in a box, I’d have done it. All I want is to persuade you. Because if I don’t? If I can’t convince you that
     we mean what we say, if you decide to go to the police—then Louie Boffano goes down and I go down with him, and someone close
     to you will be hurt beyond repair and to what purpose? For nothing. For the sake of stupid vengeance, so much pointless suffering.
     Then if they execute me it’ll be too good for me. So please, Annie, please.
Believe me
.”
    When she looks up he’s squatting on his haunches in front of her. His face is huge, it’s the only thing in her vision.
    “Will you believe me?” he says. “Will you help me?”
    She hears her breath getting ragged, breaking up. “I
can’t
. I wouldn’t be, I’ll just, I’ll cry. I’m a crybaby. I won’t be able to stop crying, they’ll take me off the jury, they’ll—”
    “You think if the judge sees you crying he’ll excuse you from the jury?”
    “He, he’ll
have
to.”
    He shakes his head. “But if he did excuse you, then we’d suspect some kind of betrayal on your part—”
    “Oh, God,
no
, I wouldn’t say a word, never, I swear—”
    “Annie, I know you wouldn’t
mean
any harm but still, there would be that smidgen of doubt in our minds. And in turn? I know that some tragedy would befall
     someone you care for—”
    “No, please! I, please, I only meant—”
    He gives her a small dismissive wave. He rises and crosses to the bench in the middle of the studio, and sits.
    “That’s not a way out. I wish it were. But there’s only one way out. We
need you
.”
    “But I
can’t
. If he’s guilty I can’t. Please! You don’t know me, I can’t lie. People always know. If I said I thought he didn’t do it,
     but I really thought he did? They’d know I was lying. And he
did
kill them, didn’t he? He killed that old man, and that boy, he killed both of them! Didn’t he?”
    He smiles. “This is perhaps too philosophical for my taste.”
    “I’m just asking you! He’s guilty! Isn’t he? He killed lots of people. He—”
    “He’s in the mob, Annie. He’s been blamed for some murders, yes. But his so-called victims, they were vermin themselves.”
    “Not that
child
.”
    “The boy was an accident. Even Louie Boffano wouldn’t deliberately kill a child. As for the old man, you want to weep for
him
? You want to weep for a stone killer like Salvadore Riggio? Because, Annie, I assure you, Salvadore Riggio never wept for—”
    The telephone goes off. It sends a shock of panic up her spine.
    “What, what do I do?”
    He hands her a handkerchief.
    “Wipe your tears. Answer it. It’s probably your child.”
    “What do I say?”
    “Whatever you like. Say that you’re upset. Say that your date turned out to be a creep.”
    He offers his hand to help her up. She waves him away, stands on her own. She stumbles to the corner of the studio and picks
     up the phone.
    “Yeah.”
    “Mom?”
    “Yeah.”
    “You all right?”
    “Yes.”
    “Mom, what’s the matter?”
    She sniffs. “Nothing. I didn’t have a good time. With this guy. I’m all right.”
    “What’d he do, Mom?”
    She draws a breath and says, “He didn’t do anything, he just—How are
you
doing, Oliver?”
    “You said you’d call.”
    “I’m sorry. So, so are you being polite to Jesse’s mom?”
    “Yeah.”
    “So. OK.”
    “Mom, you sound really weird. Is the guy still gonna buy your boxes?”
    “It doesn’t matter. Get a good sleep, OK? See you