The next morning, William Tucker shuffled in shackles into a private interview room to find his lawyer and agent awaiting him. He sat down across the table from them.
"Why do you get a private room?" William asked.
"I've got pull around here," Scotty said.
"Not enough to get me out of here."
His lawyer shrugged like a receiver who had dropped a touchdown pass.
"Some judges just won't stay bought. What can I say?"
"I'm gonna die in here."
"No, you're not, William. I can guarantee that."
William felt his spirits perk up. "How?"
"I made a deal."
"A deal? What kind of deal?"
"A plea deal."
"Plea?"
"You plead guilty to negligent manslaughter, you get two to five years. With good time, you're out in two years max."
"You want me to plead guilty?"
"You'll only be twenty-five, plenty of years to play ball."
"I'll be an ex-con."
Warren the agent shrugged. "So is Michael Vick. And he's making thirteen million. There's life after prison, William, if you're a star athlete."
"Vick abused dogs. I'll be a convicted killer."
"Not premeditated or intentional. See, what we'll do is, put you out there doing community service with kids in schools, telling them not to drink, that if this could happen to you, it can happen to them. The public loves redemption. I can market that."
"Market a killer?" William turned to Scotty. "I thought you were going to defend me?"
"That's what I'm doing."
"By telling the world I killed her?"
"Not intentionally. You were both drunk, you had sex with her, it turned rough, got out of hand."
"But I wasn't drunk, I didn't have sex with her, and I didn't kill her."
"Look, William, your blood was on her body. Her photo and phone number were in your cell phone. The surveillance video from your dorm shows you got back in at one-thirty-eight, which is after the time of death. You were seen together that night at the Dizzy Rooster acting like two horny teenagers. Her roommate saw you and her heading to the back of the bar. Her body was discovered in the alley out back. You go to trial with that evidence against you, you're on death row. I guarantee it."
"You told the D.A. I'd take a plea—now he thinks I did it."
"He thought that before I said anything, William. Like when your DNA matched the blood found on the girl."
"If he's got a slam dunk, why would the D.A. agree to this plea deal?"
Scotty smiled. "We dug up dirt on the girl. She was basically screwing her way through the Texas Tech athletic department. Her folks are begging the D.A. to take the deal so their daughter isn't smeared at trial."
"By who?"
"Me."
"You would do that?"
"That's what lawyers do, William. You put the victim on trial, show her death wasn't such a loss to society—unless you're a college kid who likes to fuck cheerleaders."
"My dad never did that."
"Fuck cheerleaders?"
"Smear victims."
"Well, he's a drunk, remember?"
"What about the judge? Why's he agreeing to this deal?"
"He hasn't yet. But he will. Because he owes me. Campaign contributions. Judges get reelected on contributions from lawyers, same as politicians get reelected on contributions from special interests. The judge wants to stay on the bench, and the D.A. wants to be governor. I'm connected, William, that's why I got this great deal for you."
"Great? Confessing to a crime I didn't commit? I'm innocent."
His lawyer and agent exchanged a glance.
"You don't believe me, do you?"
"Doesn't matter what I believe, William."
"It matters to me. Tell me."
"Honestly? No. I don't believe you."
"You think I'm guilty, but you're still representing me?"
His lawyer laughed as if William had told a joke.
"If I didn't represent guilty clients, I'd have no clients."
"My dad only represented innocent clients."
"Not all of his clients were innocent, were they?"
"He believes me."
"The jury won't. They won't buy your amnesia-by-concussion defense. They will sentence you to death, William. I can also guarantee you that."
William Tucker wanted to be twelve years old again and throwing the ball in the backyard with his dad. He wanted his dad to protect him. To defend him. To save him. But his dad couldn't save himself. How could he save William?
"My own lawyer doesn't believe me."
"They like that. They lie, so they figure everyone lies."
"Did you lie to your lawyer?"
"Hell, yeah. But I'm black. They never believe us anyways. My mama only person in the whole world believe I'm innocent."
"But you're not."
"Still, I want my mama think I am. So you copping a plea?"
"I don't know. Scotty Raines said I won't get the death penalty if I plead."
"Uh-huh, I see how it is. White boy got hisself a big-name lawyer, think he gonna plead out and escape that needle, is that it? Don't bet on it, boy."
William Tucker lay crying on his cot in his cell in the solitary cellblock. His only friend in the world was the gangbanger next door.
"What do you mean?"
"What I mean is, the judge, he don't have to take the deal. See, William, your lawyer, he made a deal with the D.A., not with the judge. The D.A. can't change his mind, but the judge, he can do whatever he wanna do. 'Cause you can't make no deal with a judge. The judge, he decide what the deal gonna be. He might okay the deal, he might make his own deal. 'Cause once you plead guilty, he own you. He might say, 'You done confessed to killing that home girl. Now the Bible say an eye for an eye, so you gotta die. You gotta take the needle. You gotta face the Lord's wrath.' Them crazy-ass judges in Texas, they say shit like that. They Bible-beaters. We takin' bets on you, homeboy. Five to two, you goin' to death row. It's your destiny, boy. Your name's on that needle, too, William Tucker."