these papers.”
He looked at Telda for help, but she was clueless. “What are they?” he asked nervously.
“It’s a grand jury subpoena, and it means that you have to appear before a federal grand jury on Monday in New Orleans. Now, don’t worry, we’re gonna come get you tomorrow afternoon and drive you down.”
A nervous pain shot through his stomach and he was weak. His mouth was dry. “Why?” he asked.
“We can’t answer that, Mark. It’s none of our business, really. We’re just following orders.”
Mark stared at the papers Vern was waving. New Orleans! “Have you told my mother?”
“Well, you see, Mark, we’re required to give her a copy of these same papers. We’ll explain everything to her, and we’ll tell her you’ll be fine. In fact, she can go with you if she wants.”
“She can’t go with me. She can’t leave Ricky.”
The marshals looked at each other. “Well, anyway, we’ll explain everything to her.”
“I have a lawyer, you know. Have you told her?”
“No. We’re not required to notify the attorneys, but you’re welcome to call her if you like.”
“Does he have access to a telephone?” the second one asked Telda.
“Only if I bring him one,” she said.
“You can wait thirty minutes, can’t you?”
“If you say so,” Telda said.
“So, Mark, in about thirty minutes you can call your lawyer.” Duboski paused and looked at his sidekick. “Well, good luck to you, Mark. Sorry if we scared you.”
They left him standing near the toilet, leaning on the wall for support, more confused than ever, scared to death. And angry. The system was rotten. He was sick of laws and lawyers and courts, of cops and agents and marshals, of reporters and judges and jailers. Dammit!
He yanked a paper towel from the wall and wiped his eyes, then sat on the toilet.
He swore to the walls that he would not go to New Orleans.
TWO OTHER DEPUTY MARSHALS WOULD SERVE DIANNE, AND
two more would serve Ms. Reggie Love at home, and all this serving of subpoenas was carefully coordinated to happen at roughly the same time. In reality, one
deputy marshal, or one unemployed concrete worker for that matter, could have served all three subpoenas at a leisurely pace and completed the job in an hour. But it was more fun to use six men in three cars with radios and telephones and guns, and to strike quickly under cover of darkness like a Special Forces assault unit.
They knocked on Momma Love’s kitchen door, and waited until the porch light came on and she appeared behind the screen. She instantly knew they were trouble. During the nightmare of Reggie’s divorce and commitments and legal warfare with Joe Cardoni, there had been several deputies and men in dark suits standing at her doorway at odd hours. These guys always brought trouble.
“Can I help you?” she asked with a forced smile.
“Yes ma’am. We’re looking for one Reggie Love.”
They even talked like cops. “And who are you?” she asked.
“I’m Mike Hedley, and this is Terry Flagg. We’re U.S. marshals.”
“U.S. marshals, or deputy U.S. marshals? Let me see some ID.”
This shocked them, and in perfect synchronization they reached into their pockets for their badges. “We’re deputy U.S. marshals, ma’am.”
“That’s not what you said,” she said, examining the badges held up to the screen door.
Reggie was sipping coffee on the tiny balcony of her apartment when she heard the car doors slam. She was now peeking around the corner and looking down at the two men standing under the light. She could hear the voices, but could not understand what they were saying.
“Sorry, ma’am,” Hedley said.
“Why do you want one Reggie Love?” Momma Love asked with a suspicious frown.
“Does she live here,?” “
“Maybe, maybe not. What do you want?”
Hedley and Flagg looked at each other. “We’re supposed to serve her with a subpoena.”
“A subpoena for what?”
“May I ask who you are?” Flagg said.
“I’m her mother. Now, what’s the subpoena for?”
“It’s a grand jury subpoena. She’s supposed to appear before a grand jury in New Orleans on Monday. We can just leave it with you if you like,”
“I’m not accepting service of it,” she said as if she fought with process servers every week. “You have to actually serve her, if I’m not mistaken.”
“Where is she?”
“She doesn’t live here.”
This irritated them. “That’s her car,” Hedley said, nodding at Reggie’s Mazda.
“She doesn’t live here,” Momma Love repeated.
“Okay, but is she here now?”
“No.”
“Do you know where she is?”
“Have you tried her office? She works all the time.”
“But why is her car here?”
“Sometimes she