tableau — anger, positioning, concern, grief, power. Brother Tom was at the center of it, perhaps slightly defused, but Hardy hoped nobody picked that moment to push him further. He would lose it.
Now, though, with no one to direct his anger toward, Tom stood there flexing his hands, feet flat on the floor, breathing hard. "Well," he paused, looking for an answer to something in the broad and echoing linoleum hallway, in the high ceilings. "Well, just shit."
"We'll all need to handle this," Lightner said. "This is a very trying situation and it's certainly okay to get angry, we all get angry…"
Hardy glanced at Freeman. All professions had their jargon. It probably passed for normal conversation in Lightner's set. But Nancy cared neither about anger or jargon. "They're not really going to ask for the…" she couldn't say death penalty… "for my daughter, are they?" She was close to tears, gripping her husband's hand.
Hardy thought he would take some of the focus away from Freeman, spread the pressure around. "We're a long way from even getting to a trial, Mrs. DiStephano, much less a verdict and a penalty. We don't have to worry about that yet—"
"We damn well better worry about it," Tom said. "We don't take care of it now, it's going to happen."
"Tom, you know something I don't?" Hardy said.
Now with a direction, Tom let it go. "Yeah, I know something. I know people like us don't get a fair trial, that's what I know. Not against them."
"Not against who? What people like you?"
"Poor people, working people, goddamn it. Against the people who have money."
"Jennifer's got some money, Tom," Phil said.
"It's not her money, Pop, and you know it. It's Larry's money. That's what this is all about, and the rest is all just bullshit! They want their money back."
"Who does?" Hardy asked.
"They're not letting her in. She just doesn't fit, does she? Just like we don't, like Larry cut us out. Except Jen tried to crash her way in, didn't she? Married her fancy doctor. Drove her fancy car. Tried to be one of them. And they don't forgive you for that, do they? They go get you for that…"
"Nobody's trying to get her, Tom—"
"Mom, you don't see . You buy their crap. That's what's kept us down—"
"Tom, stop it!" Phil stepped between his son and his wife but Tom now turned it on him. "Oh yeah, sure. And you'll take anything, Pop, won't you?"
It happened in an instant. Phil's hand flashed and rocked his son, hard, open-palmed, high on the cheek. The noise resounded in the hallway. "Don't dare use that tone with me!"
The men were squared off, Nancy now between them. She had started crying. Tom backed up, glaring at his parents. "Aw, screw it," he said finally, turning, running off down the hallway.
His mother turned to the two attorneys. "I'm sorry for my son. He thinks the world…" She let it hang, tears in her eyes.
This was the moment. Defenses were down. Freeman figured he could use it. He went after Phil. "Did you see Jennifer often, Mr. DiStephano? I mean, do you visit each other?"
"Well, sure. She's my daughter, isn't she? We're all close, even Tom… he's just got a hot head. Like you said in there, it's why we're here today."
Freeman turned to Mrs. DiStephano.
She shook her head. "We haven't seen them in years."
Phil tried to put a face on it. "Hey, Larry was a busy man. It wasn't that he didn't—"
Nancy cut him off. "Larry wouldn't let her. We never saw any of them. Never."
* * * * *
Hardy, Freeman and Lightner watched Jennifer's mother walk off stiffly, a step behind her husband. A young couple emerged from one of the doors behind them, hugging and laughing — maybe Thomasino had just given one of them a break.
Freeman, Mr. Small Talk, turned to the psychiatrist Lightner: "So what's her defense, Doctor?"
Relaxed, hands in his pockets, Lightner
Now, though, with no one to direct his anger toward, Tom stood there flexing his hands, feet flat on the floor, breathing hard. "Well," he paused, looking for an answer to something in the broad and echoing linoleum hallway, in the high ceilings. "Well, just shit."
"We'll all need to handle this," Lightner said. "This is a very trying situation and it's certainly okay to get angry, we all get angry…"
Hardy glanced at Freeman. All professions had their jargon. It probably passed for normal conversation in Lightner's set. But Nancy cared neither about anger or jargon. "They're not really going to ask for the…" she couldn't say death penalty… "for my daughter, are they?" She was close to tears, gripping her husband's hand.
Hardy thought he would take some of the focus away from Freeman, spread the pressure around. "We're a long way from even getting to a trial, Mrs. DiStephano, much less a verdict and a penalty. We don't have to worry about that yet—"
"We damn well better worry about it," Tom said. "We don't take care of it now, it's going to happen."
"Tom, you know something I don't?" Hardy said.
Now with a direction, Tom let it go. "Yeah, I know something. I know people like us don't get a fair trial, that's what I know. Not against them."
"Not against who? What people like you?"
"Poor people, working people, goddamn it. Against the people who have money."
"Jennifer's got some money, Tom," Phil said.
"It's not her money, Pop, and you know it. It's Larry's money. That's what this is all about, and the rest is all just bullshit! They want their money back."
"Who does?" Hardy asked.
"They're not letting her in. She just doesn't fit, does she? Just like we don't, like Larry cut us out. Except Jen tried to crash her way in, didn't she? Married her fancy doctor. Drove her fancy car. Tried to be one of them. And they don't forgive you for that, do they? They go get you for that…"
"Nobody's trying to get her, Tom—"
"Mom, you don't see . You buy their crap. That's what's kept us down—"
"Tom, stop it!" Phil stepped between his son and his wife but Tom now turned it on him. "Oh yeah, sure. And you'll take anything, Pop, won't you?"
It happened in an instant. Phil's hand flashed and rocked his son, hard, open-palmed, high on the cheek. The noise resounded in the hallway. "Don't dare use that tone with me!"
The men were squared off, Nancy now between them. She had started crying. Tom backed up, glaring at his parents. "Aw, screw it," he said finally, turning, running off down the hallway.
His mother turned to the two attorneys. "I'm sorry for my son. He thinks the world…" She let it hang, tears in her eyes.
This was the moment. Defenses were down. Freeman figured he could use it. He went after Phil. "Did you see Jennifer often, Mr. DiStephano? I mean, do you visit each other?"
"Well, sure. She's my daughter, isn't she? We're all close, even Tom… he's just got a hot head. Like you said in there, it's why we're here today."
Freeman turned to Mrs. DiStephano.
She shook her head. "We haven't seen them in years."
Phil tried to put a face on it. "Hey, Larry was a busy man. It wasn't that he didn't—"
Nancy cut him off. "Larry wouldn't let her. We never saw any of them. Never."
* * * * *
Hardy, Freeman and Lightner watched Jennifer's mother walk off stiffly, a step behind her husband. A young couple emerged from one of the doors behind them, hugging and laughing — maybe Thomasino had just given one of them a break.
Freeman, Mr. Small Talk, turned to the psychiatrist Lightner: "So what's her defense, Doctor?"
Relaxed, hands in his pockets, Lightner
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