Free Black Water Transit by Carsten Stroud

trafficking and weapons possession and attempted armed robbery. He would be in Lompoc for—at the least—ten more years.
    Jack tried all the levers. Nothing worked. A state attorney in Albany explained it over a whisky sour. Jack had nothing to
trade
. Deals were always possible. If Jack wanted a medium-security bunk for the kid, maybe get him into a detox program, maybe some professional counseling, that could perhaps be done. But the feds would want something in return.
    Like what?
    The lawyer shrugged, tried to look casual, and said golly, he had no idea. Gee, wait a minute … what if? Maybe a lead on a big bust, something that would make the local U.S. attorney happy? That would be good, right? Something that came equipped with major headlines. Something conspiratorial and sexy.
    Got anything like that? Jack?
    Disarming smile, a sip of his whisky sour, and then he looked quickly away. Jack stared at the side of the man’s head in silence and tried to keep his temper under control. The guy knew damn well that Jack had lines into the Italian community, that he knew people who were pulling the usual crimes, but he also knew that there was no proof whatever that Jack was a connected guy. No proof, because he wasn’t. Not now. Not then. Not ever.
    But around Albany the courthouse sharks were dead-bang certain there was no way a man like Jack Vermillion—a gutter wop from Astoria—could make Black Water Transit such a success without some kind of Mafia backing. How about the way those Teamsters backed off him last year? That had to be Jack’s old school buddy, Frank Torinetti, now suspected of being a major figure in the local families. So naturally Jack wasa source to be worked. And that wasn’t going to happen, not even for Danny. Which meant that, other than being a rat to guys he grew up with, it was pretty clear that Jack Vermillion had nothing to offer the state or the feds by way of ransom for his kid, who, for some reason that Jack could not quite define, even to himself, was still his son, and whom Jack still wanted to protect, if there was any way on earth he could, because you don’t throw away family, even if they deserve it, and you don’t set a limit on forgiveness, because if you do, the time will come when you’ll need it for yourself and it won’t be there, because it comes from God, who remembers these sins like a Sicilian remembers an insult.
    Danny had called two weeks ago. Jack had contacted his caseworker, Lucy Carillo-Vega, and she had confirmed that Danny was going back into general population next week. Was there anything Jack could do? If he was going to do something, it had to happen soon, she said. Jack had no answer. And then a total stranger named Earl Pike showed up at the Frontenac Hotel, and everything changed.
    CENTRAL BOOKING
LOWER MANHATTAN
2150 HOURS
    Euphonia Shabazz was actually the Honorable Euphonia Shabazz, known to the cops and the lawyers around Centre Street as the Eight Ball because she was round and shiny and black and had only three answers to any legal question—
yes, no
, and
reply hazy, ask again later
. Judge Shabazz was catching that very same evening when Eddie Rubinek filed an urgent request for dismissal of charges against Tony LoGascio on the groundsthat the information provided by his client while in the back of the Sex Crimes DT car was wrongfully obtained under circumstances that constituted a clear violation of New York State’s absolute right to counsel.
    Ah yes, said Judge Shabazz, opening a yellow eye. She knew of this ruling. The absolute-right-to-counsel provision, known as ARC, states that a suspect may not be questioned until he waives his Miranda rights
in the physical presence of an attorney
.
    Furthermore—Eddie Rubinek was a guy who liked to use that word—furthermore, if the suspect is in actual custody, under the control of a police officer and not free to leave of his own volition, then ARC applies for
all
matters and there may be no