NEW LEAF, SAME TREE

A RICHIE ROBERTS STORY

By Layne Richards

PART ONE:

The pile of work on his desk was never-ending.  Richie Roberts sighed and rubbed at his eyes with the tips of his fingers, as he looked at the overflowing mess of files, loose papers, and phone messages.  In some ways, the prosecutor’s office was worse than any squad room.  The pay wasn’t much better either.

He picked up the coffee mug on the edge of the desk, started to take a sip.  Realizing it was ice-cold, he went to the pot in the corner of his office for a fresh cup.

It was 8:37 pm and he still had one more witness to prep before he could call it a day.  The case was a possession-with-intent-to-sell.  Cocaine.  Johnny Ross was twenty-five years old, but looked younger.  He’d been caught hanging around a local high school, attempting to sell to students.  After his years in the narcotics division of the Newark, New Jersey police department as a detective, nothing shocked or surprised Richie Roberts any more, but he could still be disgusted by it.

Richie stood with his fresh coffee, looking out the window of his office.  Given that it was already dark outside, he could see only the lights of Newark and his own reflection.  He studied himself.  Not bad for a guy approaching forty.  He was examining the lines he could see beginning to show in his face when he heard a soft voice say, “Excuse me-”

Turning, he saw a young woman standing in the doorway to his office.

Jessica spoke hesitantly, not sure she’d found the right office.  The door was wide open, rendering the nameplate on it unreadable from outside.  Peeking in, she saw a man looking out the window behind the worn and scarred oak desk.  He wore a gray suit (minus the jacket) and a white shirt with the sleeves rolled almost to his elbows.  His hair was a rich layered brown.

With his back to her, all she could see of his face was the reflection in the glass.  He looked thoughtful.  She cleared her throat slightly and said, “Excuse me.”

When he turned, she could see the rest of the package--and it was very nice.  The eyes were a piercing blue-green that seemed to look straight into her.  The face had just a few lines around the eyes and mouth.  It looked experienced, but not worn.  The thick brown hair was parted in the middle and swept back on either side.  It was slightly tousled, as though he’d been running his hands through it.

Tall, but not overly so.  Broad shoulders and a wide chest.  Looked like just the beginnings of muscle converting to fat.  He was a man reaching middle age and doing it gracefully.  Handsome, she thought to herself.  Then, she realized he had spoken to her.

Richie eyed the woman in the door of his office appreciatively.  Nice one to end the day on, he thought to himself.  She was dressed more casually than most who came into his office.  Her jeans and light yellow t-shirt both clung in all the right places without being overly tight.  Her long brown hair was in a ponytail, but he could tell that it was rich and thick, and the thought ran through his  mind that he would love to see it down around her shoulders.  Her eyes were a soft blue, and her skin was soft and smooth, and looked as though it didn’t have a trace of make-up.

I didn’t know they still came this young and fresh-looking.  He’d looked over the paperwork before she came in.  Jessica Lane.  Twenty-three years old.  Where had teachers like this been when he was in high school?   She was too young for him, but he could still look and appreciate.  He had to mentally shake himself to get back to the task at hand.

“Miss Lane?”  He set down his coffee cup and went toward the door.  When she nodded, he said, “Please, come in.  Have a seat.”  He indicated the chairs in front of his desk.  “Can I get you a cup of coffee?”

Jessica pulled herself out of her appraisal of the man in front of her and concentrated on his words.  Coffee?

“Oh, no thank you, Mr. Roberts.  You are Mr. Roberts?”  She still hadn’t been able to read the plate on the door.  When he nodded, she came in and offered her hand to him.  He took it in his, holding onto it a little longer than was necessary after he shook it.  She didn’t mind.  It felt warm and strong.  Nice.  In fact, she missed it when he took it away.

She sat in one of the chairs in front of his desk.  Expecting him to sit behind the desk, she was a little surprised when he came around it and perched on the front edge.  He seemed easy and casual.  Not exactly her vision of a prosecuting attorney, but then he was the first one she’d met.

When he began questioning her, she hung on every word, liking the sound of his voice.  He had much the same accent as almost everyone she’d heard since she came to Newark, but his voice was deeper, more resonant.  Something about it made her feel more relaxed.

This whole situation messed with her nerves.  Whatever she’d expected of her first year teaching high school, it had not included witnessing a drug deal on campus and being called to testify against the dealer in court.

The call from his office had been unexpected.  She’d been visiting her grandparents today, it being summer and school being out.  She’d arrived home and was settling in for the evening with a book around 7:30, when her phone rang. 

It had been his secretary, telling her that Mr. Roberts wanted to know if she could possibly visit his office that evening to talk with him about her testimony.  The trial was less than a week away now, and he needed to make sure that she was prepared.  He was sorry for the timing and the lack of notice, but he just happened to have some time this evening.  Jessica had sighed, tired from her trip.  But she wasn’t that far away, and it really wasn’t that much trouble just to go and get it over with.

She was uneasy about this trial.  It wasn’t that she was afraid of the man she was testifying against.  He was sitting in the Essex County Jail, having been denied bail.  It was more the idea that this had opened a whole can of worms that she would really rather not be involved in.  Of course, she supposed anybody would rather not be involved in something like this.  Right now, she was just anxious to put it behind her and go on with her teaching.

Richie could tell she was nervous.  Most people were when they had to testify in court.  Unlike the dealers, most of the witnesses weren’t used to this kind of thing.  He tried to put her at ease.

“Most of this is just basic stuff.  It’s just you telling  the jury what you saw.  Nuthin’ to worry about.  It’ll be a piece ‘a cake.”  He proceeded to lead her through her testimony.

She’d been in the parking lot, about to get into her car at at around 4:30 pm on October 16.  She’d seen what she’d presumed to be two students standing beside another car across the lot--

As he led her slowly and carefully through what had happened that day, Jessica relaxed somewhat.  It really did seem simple, when she realized that he’d be asking her each question and all she needed to do was respond with the truth.  She liked the way he talked with his hands as much as with his voice.  It gave her something to concentrate on besides her nerves.

“See?” Richie said, when he had finished.  “Nuthin’ to it.  I ask.  You answer.  I bet teachin’ all those kids isn’t this easy!”  Still sitting on the edge of his desk, facing her, he grinned.  He wasn’t sure what made him do it, but he reached out one hand and rested it briefly on her knee.

Man, he thought to himself, as he got up and went behind his desk.  What the hell made me do that?  Not professional, Roberts.  Not professional at all.

Sitting down behind his desk, he ran his hand through his hair, one of his own nervous habits.  Grabbing a yellow legal pad, he began to make some notes, suddenly glad to have something to do with his hands.  Briefly, he went over the defense attorney’s cross-examination of her.

“He’ll try to throw you off--make you unsure of your id, of what you saw exchanging hands between the two guys.  Don’t let him rattle you. You just stick with the truth.  Tell him the same things you told me.  You’ll do great.”  He smiled at her.  “Anything else you wanna ask me?”

“No.  Nothing I can think of right now, anyway.”  Jessica ran her hands nervously down the legs of her jeans.  She was surprised to see by the clock on his desk that two hours had gone by.  It was 10:45.

“Do you mind if I use your phone to call a cab?  I walked over here, but it’s getting kind of late now.”  She really didn’t want to walk home at this hour.

Richie instantly felt guilty.  “Sorry to bring you in at night like this.  Things have just been so busy lately, and I wanted to talk to you as soon as I could.  Give you a week or so before the trial to feel like you were prepared.”

He started to push the phone toward her.  “Sure.  Go ahead and use the phone.  Or-”  He paused for a second.  “I could drive you home.  I’m on my way out the door too, and it ain’t outta my way.”

“How do you know it’s not?”  She was surprised by that statement.

Richie grinned and tapped one of the folders on his desk.  “You’re a witness.  Remember?  I’ve got all that information right here.”

When he saw her looking doubtful, he said, “Hey, I’m one of the good guys, ya know?  Seriously, it’s okay.  No problem at all.”

“Okay.  Sure.”  Jessica was a little embarrassed.  After all, he was one of the good guys.  What was she being nervous about?

Gathering up his jacket and briefcase and closing his office door, Richie led the way down to the parking garage.  At this hour, there were only a few cars there.  He unlocked the passenger door on his blue 1973 Mustang Fastback. 

“Nice car,” she told him, as she got in.

“Thanks.”  He put his briefcase in the back seat and settled behind the wheel.  “Got it as a present for myself, when I joined the DA’s office.  That old Volkswagen I had just didn’t seem to cut it any more.”

As he pulled out of the garage and drove down the street, Jessica watched his concentration.  He seemed a little preoccupied.  Probably with all his cases, she thought.

From the amount of work on his desk, it looked as though he had enough to keep him busy for the next ten years or so.

Aloud, she asked, “So, where were you before you came to the DA’s office?”

“I was a cop.”  Richie glanced over at her, noticing the way the light from the streetlamps glinted off her hair.  “A detective in the narcotics squad.  Worked my way through law school at night.”

He found it easy to talk to her.  She seemed to genuinely listen to the answers.  In the fifteen minutes it took to drive to her apartment building, he told her briefly about his arrest and prosecution of Frank Lucas.

“That was a few years ago,” he said, as he pulled up in front of her building.  “I’ve been prosecutin’ drug dealers ever since.”

“It must be something you really believe in.”  Jessica told him quietly.

“You know, I honestly haven’t thought about it.”  Richie was equally quiet, realizing that he was telling her the truth and he hadn’t really thought about it.  “I’ve just been doin’ it so long, it’s part of my life.”

He didn’t tell her that it just about was his life.  Didn’t want to get into the mess with Laurie and Michael, and how he’d lost his family because, between his job, his night school, and his other--activities, he’d been too damned busy to even see them.  Too complicated for right now.  Maybe another time.  Then, he realized there’d be no other time.  She was a witness, not a date.

Richie insisted on walking her into the lobby.  At the elevator, he apologized again for keeping her so late. 

“I’ll see you in court next Wednesday,” he told her.  “And don’t be nervous.  It’s gonna be a piece ’a cake.  Remember?”  He smiled at her again.

“I’ll remember.”  She smiled back at him.  He had to resist the urge to kiss her cheek, or squeeze her hand or something.  Once again, Roberts, this ain’t a date, he reminded himself.  If it was, she’d be back at your place and you’d be screwin’ her brains out.  That was usually how what he called dates ended.

He drove home, listening to the radio, his thoughts going back and forth between his regular call to Michael tomorrow night, and how nice Jessica Lane’s ass had looked in those jeans she was wearing.

TO BE CONTINUED...

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