The Juror Read Free Page A

about your friends.”
    “No doubt.”
    They come to the lake and take a left on Old Willow Avenue. They pass the town library, which used to be a chapel. Autumn’s
     starting to take hold. Jolts of rust and ruby in the sycamores along the lake.
    Oliver pulls from his pocket a piece of Booger Bubblegum. He stares at the wrapper. Unwraps it. Studies the wad. Pops it in
     his mouth.
    “Anyway,” she tells him, “you
were
the star today. Star of the county court. They asked me if I’d ever heard of Louie Boffano and I told them my son had called
     him the big Spaghetti-O and that got a big laugh.”
    “Wow. You’re really on that case?”
    “If they take me.”
    They pass Cardi’s Funeral Home.
    “And you’re going to do it? You’re gonna be a juror on
that
case? Are you nuts, Mom?”
    Good question.
    There was that moment, on the stand, when she was on the verge of asking the judge if she might be excused, considering she’s
     got a son to raise and a boss who’s threatening to lynch her if she doesn’t get out of jury duty. Plus a show going on at
     Inez’s gallery for her sculpture.
    Then, when she said she’d do it, everyone must have figured her for a lunatic. That’s how she figures it herself. What other
     conclusion can she draw?
    “I don’t know,” she says. “Well, you know it wasn’t just the old godfather who got killed. They got his grandson too. Fourteen
     years old. I guess I was thinking about you. I guess I thought it was my duty. I’m always telling
you
about being responsible and all. Right?”
    “Sure.”
    “You see what I’m saying?”
    “Sure.”
    “Well OK, you want the truth? Maybe I thought it’d be exciting. I think I’m getting a little worn out with the grind. I mean…
     it really wasn’t such a bright idea, was it?”
    “Mom, is this for real? You’re on the
Louie Boffano
trial? Wait’ll Jesse hears this.”
    “No. Jesse’s not hearing nothing. Neither is anyone else. I mean I shouldn’t have told
you.
Listen, Oliver, it’s a
secret
that I’m a juror on this case. Nobody knows my name. Not even the judge. They call me by a number. I’m completely anonymous—you
     know what that means?”
    “Sure, it means they won’t put your picture in the
Weekly World News.
That won’t stop Louie Boffano. If he wants to find you—”
    “Oh quit it. He wouldn’t dare. They’ve got a word for that, you know, it’s called tampering. You know what would happen to
     him if he were caught tampering with a juror?”
    “What?”
    “He’d go to jail.”
    “But he’s already
in
jail. Probably for the rest of his life. So what’s he got to lose?”
    “Oliver. This is serious. This isn’t a game. The reason I’m a lunatic to do this isn’t because it’s dangerous—it’s not. It’s
     just that it’s such a nuisance. Mr. Slivey’s going to kill me for taking the time from work. And when the TV’s on I’ll have
     to be careful that I don’t see anything about the trial. And anything in the
Reporter Dispatch?
You’ll have to cut it out so I don’t see it.”
    “But you never read the paper anyway, Mom.”
    “I know, but still.”
    “You just wrap things in it.”
    “I just want to be sure. You know? And when the trial’s over and we start to deliberate, I’ll be sequestered. Means I’ll have
     to stay in a motel for a while. You’ll have to stay with Mrs. Kolodny.”
    Oliver nearly chokes on his gum. “Mrs. Kolodny? You mean
overnight?
Mom, tell me you’re kidding.”
    “I tell you I’m
not
kidding. Yes, overnight. More than one night.”
    “How long?”
    “Don’t know. However long it takes to reach a verdict. Maybe a week. Or, I don’t know.”
    “A week? Why? You go out, you come back in, you say ‘Guilty.’ You say, ‘Fry the sucker.’ How long can that take?”
    “I don’t know.”
    “Six seconds?”
    “Maybe. Or maybe a week.”
    “A
week
with Mrs. Kolodny? Momba, why are you doing this to me?”
    Annie shrugs.
    The road forks