Kept Boy to Made Man - 3. All In

Man and teen sat in silence as Melissa efficiently displayed the contents of the pizza box and large canvas bag. Thomas’ armed escort confirmed that she had brought only items appropriate for lunch, including paper plates and plastic silverware with which to eat it. Roger’s administrative assistant escorted the officer out of the small conference room, his hands full with a plate containing several large slices of Chicago’s famous deep-dish.

As soon as the door closed, Roger slid the remaining pizza as far away from his client as he could. Thomas’ bloodless face took on the look of confusion.

“You are welcome to some solid food if you think you can keep it down. Melissa didn’t bring it for us, however.” Roger laughed softly as the teen’s confusion grew. “It’s a trick I learned early on. Bribe the guards, and they often become allies and friends. Carbohydrates and grease are a legal gray area.”

Roger reached into Melissa’s bag and pulled out two plastic bottles.

“Chocolate or vanilla?” The man asked.

“Ah, vanilla?” Thomas was having difficulty making sense of events, and Roger could see that he needed to provide context quickly as he set the bottle of vanilla flavored Ensure in front of his client.

“We don’t have a lot of time. I am sorry, but I am going to push you harder than I want to. I need information, and you need to make some major life decisions. We have less than an hour.” Roger silently cursed Alexander Williams again; this conversation should have happened months ago.

He opened the chocolate nutrition shake he still held and quickly drank half of it.

“I want you to finish that before we’re done. I get that you probably don’t want it, but you need the calories. This is the best way to get something into your system when you have an unsettled stomach and no appetite.” Thomas took a tiny sip before setting the bottle to the side.

“Right. You have a choice to make, Thomas.” There was compassion in the older man’s voice.

“What do you mean?” The teen whispered as he looked up.

“Your uncle is back on the stand in forty-nine minutes. Do you want to spend that time telling me about it or dreading it?” Roger saw the panic return as his words registered. “I am pretty sure we’ve already beat the murder charge, but I can tell your father isn’t your only demon.” Roger’s own past crawled into his consciousness.

“I’ve got a few demons of my own, Thomas. I’ve kept them locked up and hidden away my entire life. I thought I was protecting myself, but now that I see you facing the same choice, I realize my silence hasn’t kept me safe. It’s only kept me isolated from the people who might actually give a shit.” It took him several seconds to lock his memories away again; now was not the time and Thomas wasn’t the person with whom to share his past.

“I care, son. I will hang the bastard if you let me.” Roger’s words were quiet but intense.

Son. The word was a key that unlocked years of pain and fear. Thomas’ fragile walls crumbled, and he began to sob into his hands. Roger was at his side in an instant. The man had no idea what to say, but his presence was worth more to the teen than the words Roger didn’t know.

. . .

“My mom died when I was really little. I don’t even remember her. My dad hated her for leaving him alone with me. He told me that a lot, especially when he was drunk. I hated being alone with my dad, and I think he hated being with me too. Sometimes he’d disappear for days. When he did, he’d leave me with my Uncle Charlie.” Thomas’ words trailed off as his haunted eyes stared into his past.

“What did he do to you, Thomas? I need to know so we can figure out what to do about it. I hate that we don’t have time to take this slow.” The reaction he had just seen in the courtroom was enough to make Roger dread the story he was about to hear, but he needed to know what power the man held over his nephew.

“My uncle has a lot of house rules. One rule is no wearing clothes when it’s just us. My dad hated seeing me naked, so it was pretty fun to run around in the nude at first.” The sense of dread Roger had been feeling grew; He wanted to tell the teenager to stop but knew he couldn’t.

“Charlie always let me watch as much TV as I wanted too, but only when I was sitting on his lap.” Thomas’ mind was no longer in the small conference room. “I was a hyper kid, and I wasn’t very good at sitting still. I was in third grade before I realized how much Uncle Charlie liked it when I squirmed.” The teen’s venom-laced words stirred up Roger’s emotions, disturbing long-settled poison from his own past.

“Once, he got really mad at me because I was acting crazy. I was excited to spend the night at Brendon’s house for his ninth birthday. My uncle threatened to give me a spanking. I didn’t want Uncle Charlie to start hitting me too, and I begged him not to.” Thomas wasn’t crying, but tears once again rolled down his cheeks. “That was the day he taught me how to relax.”

Roger waited, not wanting to interrupt Thomas’ train of thought.

“He told me he was going to show me a secret trick that he used to do to my dad when he was little. It tickled at first when he touched me… down there. It was fun, and it did feel good, but I think I knew we were doing something we weren’t supposed to be doing.

“I remember telling him I was going to pee myself, but Uncle Charlie didn’t stop touching and rubbing me. When I stopped shaking, I was really relaxed. He rolled me over and was rubbing my back and butt. He told me over and over that he loved me. My dad never told me that.

“But then Uncle Charlie started to get totally weird. I remember he called me by my dad’s name and started to rub really hard. I got scared and tried to get up. I told him he was hurting me.” Thomas stopped talking as he turned towards his attorney; The boy’s clouded vision cleared, and Roger fell into the teen’s moist, bottomless eyes.

Roger jumped as Thomas slammed his open hand onto the tabletop with a resounding smack.

“That was the only time Charlie ever hit me, but it hurt so bad. He said if I ever told anyone about his secret trick, he would have to punish me. You and Brendon are the only people I’ve ever told.” They were both silent for what felt like minutes, but eventually Roger realized time was running short.

“Did he stop at touching?” The man was afraid to hear the answer, but he needed to know.

“No.” That one word, said with no emotion, said everything.

Roger’s own experiences with Eddie had been different. He had been old enough to understand what was happening and had in a way relished the forbidden attention he had received from the older man. Uncle Charlie was a monster. The lawyer had known plenty of monsters, but this one had hurt the boy Roger had sworn to protect.

“I am so sorry, Thomas. I want to kill that son of a bitch.” Roger let the rage he was feeling boil.

“Please don’t.” Thomas’ voice was soft, but the life had returned. “If you do, who’s gonna save your ass.”

The unexpected levity broke through the rage, but Roger recognized the joke for what it was: a defense and a distraction.

“You’re something else, young man. You are so strong and brave. I’m proud of you.” Roger took several deep breaths; The lawyer was in charge once more. “So, what do you want to do? We can stick to the original plan, or we can go all in.”

“What do you mean?” Thomas asked again as wiped his face with his sleeve.

“I think I understand your uncle’s game. You are a risk to him, and with you in jail his problem goes away. He molested you, Thomas. That’s illegal, and he knows it. You have power over him, and I’m sure he doesn’t like that. I’m guessing he will say just about anything to regain control.

“He will lie on the stand. We can try to discredit any lies or half-truths he tells the jury, or we can go after him and free you from his control once and for all.” Roger watched the rapidly shifting emotions move across the teen’s face.

“Is it weird that I have felt freer as a prisoner than I ever have at home?” The older man thought about the younger man’s question.

“No. That’s not strange. You’ve been a prisoner all your life, but at least in jail you’ve been safe. It’s messed up, but I get it.” And he did.

Roger had been trapped as well; first by his father and then by a mobster. With Eddie’s arrest, conviction, and imprisonment he thought he had been freed. Roger realized now that he was still living in a cage. The door had been open for six years, but he had never been courageous enough to step out into the world on his own. Captivity was all he knew, despite dedicating his life to the freedom of others.

He met Thomas’ eyes, each staring deeply into the wounded soul before them. It was the teen who finally gave voice to the deep and seemingly unattainable longing each felt.

“I want to be free.” As soon as they were spoken aloud, those words took root in each of their fertile hearts.

“It will get ugly, Thomas. Your secrets will likely come out in court.” Roger wondered if he should even consider letting Thomas choose that path.

“Whatever it takes.” The attorney weighed the young man before him; in that moment he didn’t look anything like a child.

Roger slowly nodded, pointing at the vanilla shake as he stood and moved toward the door. Thomas listened to his attorney as he tried to swallow at least some of the too-thick, almost viscous drink.

“Melissa, would you please run downstairs and see if you can find a detective milling around with fifteen minutes to spare. I need to file a police report, and we don’t have much time before we need to be back in the courtroom.” Thomas saw Melissa hurrying away before Roger closed the door again.

Once back in his chair, Roger Cicero took a deep breath as he lifted the handset of the phone sitting in the middle of the table. He raised it to his ear and pressed zero.

“This is Roger Cicero in the third-floor conference room. Would you please connect me with Mike Schultz’s office?” While the call was connecting, Roger activated the speaker phone feature so Thomas could hear the conversation; the phone rang four times before being answered.

“Cook County District Attorney’s office, how may I direct your call?” The woman’s voice had a disinterested but efficient professionalism to it.

“Roger Cicero for Mike Schultz, please.” He closed his eyes, praying that he wouldn’t have to rely on one of Mike’s assistants to pull off the crazy plan that was still forming in his mind.

“He’s just stepping out for lunch, let me see if I can catch him,” the receptionist said.

There was a click as the call was put on hold. Roger barely breathed as Thomas looked at him nervously. The man put out a hand and the teen took it. They both needed to know they weren’t alone. It was several minutes before the phone was picked up.

“Mr. Cicero, this is a surprise. What can I do for you today.” It was clear by his tone that Mike wasn’t thrilled to hear from him at the office.

“Mike, I know we’re not friends, but I’m hoping you can do me a favor.” Roger recycled the line Mike himself had used only three days earlier. “I have a client being accused by your office of second-degree murder. I am due back in court in a few minutes. My client is listening to this call.”

“I’m not sure what I can do regarding an active trial,” the prosecutor said carefully.

“I’m sorry, I’m a little frazzled. I’m not calling about the trial, exactly. I just learned that my client was sexually abused by his uncle. That man is about to take the stand as a witness against my client. I have every desire for him to testify as planned, but I would like to make sure he doesn’t have the chance to flee if I manage to back him into a corner.” There was a knock on the door, and Roger motioned for Thomas to open it. “Mike, we’ve just been joined by, ah”

“Detective Juan Ramos, sir. District 12,” the short, muscular Hispanic man standing awkwardly by the door looked to be in his early thirties.

“Thanks for coming Detective, please come in. My name is Roger Cicero, and this is my client, Thomas Miller. We’re on with the DA. I’d like to file a police report for criminal sexual assault of a minor by a family member. I’m hoping you will take my client’s statement and that the district attorney will find enough cause to issue an arrest warrant.”

“This is pretty far outside normal channels, Roger,” the DA said over the line.

“I know, and I’m sorry, but my client is going to be facing his abuser in… thirteen minutes. We don’t have the time for normal channels.” Roger prayed he had earned enough good will with Mike to call in a favor.

Detective Ramos pulled a small pad out of his jacket pocket.

“Mr. Cicero, Detective Ramos, I’m now recording this call. Please proceed.”

. . .

It was rare for Roger Cicero to feel nervous in the courtroom. He was usually calm, composed, and controlled. Certainly, he had practiced skill and natural charisma, but much of his success had been the result of preparation. He didn’t feel prepared now. In fact, the attorney was scared to face a witness for the first time in his career.

There were so many unknowns, and the stakes felt incredibly high. Calculated risks were often a part of a good legal strategy, but he was beginning to doubt his plan. Thomas was putting his faith and future in Roger’s hands, and the man didn’t feel worthy of his incredible trust. The attorney glanced at the calm but drained teen next to him. Thomas turned to meet his gaze.

“Thank you,” the small blond said softly but sincerely.

“For what?” Roger asked,

“For caring.” The attorney had to look away as he wiped away fresh tears.

“All rise for the Honorable Judge O’Malley,” the bailiff called.

Roger took a moment to scan the courtroom as he stood. There were fewer people in the gallery now. He found a small amount of satisfaction in the idea that some of the spectators hadn’t been given the type of drama they had hoped to witness.

“Be seated,” the judge said. “Court is now in session. Mr. Radcliffe?”

“Thank you, your honor. The prosecution calls Charlie Miller.” Roger was glad to see Thomas playing his part as the teen sunk low in his chair again.

Roger Cicero ran through the things he knew about Charles Miller as the man was sworn in. He expanded his overview to include things that seemed likely as well. It occurred to him, in a moment of startling clarity that he inherently knew more about Thomas’ Uncle Charlie than he thought.

He had known many men like him in his life and career. Charles was a control hungry, egotistical, narcissist who thought he could take whatever he wanted without consequence. He had done exactly that to his nephew Thomas and likely his younger brother Elijah as well.

“Mr. Miller, may I call you Charles to avoid confusion?” Timothy asked his witness.

“Yeah, Charles or Charlie are both fine,” the man said in a gruff voice that matched his appearance.

“Thank you, Charles. Would you please explain your relation to the defendant?” The ADA asked.

“Yeah, the kid is my nephew. He killed my little brother, Elijah.” His eyes bore into Thomas as he spoke, but the teen refused to make eye contact as Roger had suggested.

“I’m sorry for your loss, Charles,” Timothy said kindly.

“It’s the kid who should be sorry,” the witness replied.

“Objection. Speculation.” Roger watched Charles Miller closely.

“Sustained. Please answer only the questions asked and refrain from adding additional commentary or opinions Mr. Miller,” the judge instructed; the rebuke elicited a sour expression that Roger Cicero found encouraging.

“It must have come as quite a shock to learn that your nephew had killed his father,” the prosecutor prompted.

“No, not really. Thomas is a disturbed and angry kid.” Charles looked at Thomas for a reaction but frowned when the teen once more refused to react.

“What makes you say that, Charles?” The prosecutor hadn’t expected to use the testimony of the deceased’s brother; he didn’t like the man, but he needed something on record to make his case.

“He’s always been a handful, high energy, and rebellious. His mom, Jessica was the same way. She died when Thomas was two or three, and he started acting out. Elijah did his best but couldn’t control the kid. He tried to make rules and set boundaries, but Thomas just grew to hate him more and more over the years.” The man’s eyes never left his nephew, but Thomas dutifully kept his eyes on the tabletop in front of him.

Unlike Thomas, Roger was watching the man on the stand. As a result of Mr. Williams’ deplorable work, the only witness Roger had to combat the man’s lies was his client. The defense attorney was happy to let the man talk as much as he wanted as it would make it easier to weave a net to snare him on cross; especially if he was angry and unbalanced. Anything admitted as testimony now was fair game later.

“You used the words disturbed and angry. Would you elaborate, please?” The ADA asked.

“Thomas can get worked up until he becomes impossible to reason with, and he can get violent. Elijah often had to physically restrain him for his own safety. He only has one friend and that relationship isn’t normal. He’s a-”

“Objection. Speculative.” Roger kept his voice calm and reasonable.

“Sustained. Please stick to facts, not opinions, Mr. Miller,” Judge O’Malley stated again.

Roger allowed himself to smirk in response to the glare Charles Miller sent his way. The man rewarded him with widening eyes and slightly flared nostrils. The attorney needed the man to keep talking, but he couldn’t afford to let him get too comfortable. He wanted to create animosity and frustration for future use.

“What kinds of things trigger Thomas’ anger and violence?” Timothy felt as if he were making progress for the first time in the trial.

“It could be anything, but his friend Brendon is the biggest trigger. They’ve been friends since they were little. Elijah was always concerned with how close the boys were. Their relationship is wrong.” Charles was once more interrupted by the defense.

“Objection. Speculative.” Roger knew Thomas’ orientation and the intimate relationship with Brendon would come up, but he wanted to make sure it was raised without the slanderous innuendo Uncle Charlie seemed intent to provide.

“Your honor, the witness is simply trying to share his first-hand knowledge of the defendant’s behavior and mental state.” The ADA didn’t want the case to become about homosexuality, but he did need the jury to see that the defendant was capable of and prone to uncontrolled rage.

“Sustained. Observations are allowed, but personal opinions are not,” the judge reaffirmed.

“Charles, can you describe the relationship Thomas has with Brendon?” Timothy asked more pointedly.

“Objection. Relevance?” Roger hated that Thomas’ private life was going to be displayed publicly; he decided the jury should hear that he, at least found Thomas’ orientation of little importance to the case.

“I’ll allow it, but tread carefully Mr. Radcliffe. Overruled.” Judge O’Malley also realized the nature of the relationship was bound to come out.

“Those two are disgusting fag-”

“Objection, your honor.”

“Sustained. This is your only warning, Mr. Miller. Any more derogatory terms or profanity will put you in contempt of court. I will fine you or even jail you. Do you understand?” Roger was grateful that the case had fallen to Christopher O’Malley.

“Ah, yes, your honor.” It was clear that Charles Miller was not used to being reprimanded.

“Thomas and Brendon are homosexuals.” The chastised witnessed answered with only a little extra emphasis on the last word.

Whispers swept through the gallery and Roger watched as several jury members registered expressions of shock or disgust. He also saw one older man in the back of the jury box look directly at Thomas with a look of deep compassion.

“Order in the courtroom!” The judge’s words were punctuated by the sound of the gavel.

. . .

Sam’s head pivoted around the room as she took in the gallery’s response to the defendant’s sexuality. Her mind automatically took note of and catalogued several characters and scenes she might exploit if she actually discovered a story to tell.

“Roger Fucking Cicero,” she thought again. “What the hell are you up to?”

Everyone who followed the news knew his name, but she had been shocked when he had materialized out of nowhere to take over the kid’s case. As soon as he had opened his mouth, hers had dropped open as well. The infamous Roger Cicero was the mystery man who had tipped her off about the trial.

Like many women, Samantha James had found few opportunities and little respect in the male-dominated newspaper business. The Windy City Pages had been focused on LGBT news, stories, politics, and opinions for over five years. It was the first paper of its kind in Illinois and had become a central voice and resource for the queer community of Chicago. She had thought she would find more acceptance working for the alternative publication, but she had been wrong. Apparently, gay men still had more power than lesbian women.

As a starving writer who now felt fortunate just to have a steady opinion column, she had jumped at the promise of a lead scoop. Sam had gotten lucky with a few small, special interest stories in the past, but the front-page had always been well out of reach. She had been taking copious notes all day, but apart from some interesting courtroom theatrics, she had so far been disappointed. Many of the other news jackals hadn’t bothered to return after lunch.

The defendant had barely moved since his uncle had taken the stand. It was strange to her; the kid looked to have lost his will to fight. Sam had a hard time imagining anyone could be as unstable as the current witness was claiming his nephew to be, but Roger Cicero seemed content to allow the prosecution to destroy his client’s character. Apart from a couple of objections, the immaculately dressed defense lawyer seemed to be just another spectator.

Sam found the trial depressing. Maybe Thomas Miller was just one more gay kid with a tragic story. Sam absently fingered the unicorn tattoo on her wrist as she considered slipping out of the courtroom. Roger Cicero had asked for her by name and had promised her the front-page. Either he was crazy, or there was something more that had yet to play out.

“What the fuck,” she thought. “It’s not like I have anything better to do.”

. . .

For fifteen more minutes, ADA Timothy Radcliffe pulled incriminating information from Charles Miller. His testimony was clear to everyone present; The defendant, his nephew was pure evil and guilty of brutally murdering his father in cold blood. Through it all, Thomas maintained his submissive and defeated posture while refusing to allow his uncle to draw out any reaction beyond the white knuckles safely hidden from view.

Roger listened attentively, registering every odd word and phrase as he absorbed both what was said and what was not. Expressions and body language, who Charles Miller looked at and when, every detail was added to Roger’s understanding of the man. By the time the ADA announced he was finished with his questions, the defense attorney was more than ready to cross examine. He was no longer afraid of the man on the stand or the heavy responsibility of Thomas’ trust.