Long lost, p.16
Long Lost, page 16
Traffic was heavy through the Cahuenga Pass and past Hollywood, but Steve managed to get to Sienna’s apartment a little before six.
She was waiting outside, talking on her cell phone. She saw him and gestured she’d be just a moment.
Giving Steve time to appreciate her all over again. He knew he was on major rebound. He knew he was doing this to cover the pain of the breakup with Ashley. And he knew he didn’t care.
39
“Anything to drink?” Steve said.
“Pepsi,” Sienna said.
“That’s a switch.”
“I live dangerously.”
They were seated in a booth at Bistro Michel, always Steve’s secret weapon. Whenever he needed some credits in Ashley’s ledger, he brought her here.
When the waiter, one of the old-world gentleman types, arrived, Steve closed the wine list. “Two of your finest colas, my good man. A ’98 Pepsi if you have it.”
The waiter cleared his throat and left.
“Tough room,” I said.
“Maybe comedy is not your line,” Sienna said.
Steve wanted to stab himself with the butter knife. Instead, he said, “So what kind of law do you want to practice?”
“I’m not really sure. What’s it like being a solo?”
“Not easy. You have scramble. You have to market yourself. And you have to stay off drugs. Think you can stay off drugs?”
She smiled. “I’ll try real hard.”
“Then why don’t you help me take on the feds?”
“How?”
“Maybe you can help me with a 1983 action.” Section 1983 of the United States Code was the statute authorizing civil rights cases against federal officials.
“On what basis?” Sienna said. “They have immunity.”
“Qualified immunity,” Steve corrected. “Your job would be to find a way around that.”
“You have any idea how?”
His cell vibrated. He checked the number. “I have to take this,” he said to Sienna, then flipped it open.
It was Norm Gaylord.
“Okay, I got it,” Norm said.
“Hang on.” Steve took a pen and scrap of paper from his coat pocket. “Give it to me.”
Norm read off an address in Tehachapi. “So is that it? I’m free of you, right?”
“As if you really want to be,” Steve said.
“I really want to be.”
“If it checks out, then yeah.”
“And what if it doesn’t?”
“I know what Starbucks you like. Thanks.”
Steve clicked off. “Sorry. Where were we?”
“Feds?”
“Right. I have an issue for you to research. Suppose I found out something about Eldon LaSalle that’s criminal? Do I have to cooperate with the authorities?”
She thought a moment. “What about lawyer-client confidentiality?”
“You tell me, law student. Pretend this is the bar exam.”
“Please, I don’t need that stress just yet.”
“What would you say?”
She paused. “Attorney-client privilege. What is told to you in your capacity as a lawyer is protected.”
“Unless it refers to a crime yet to be committed.”
Sienna nodded thoughtfully. “That would be correct, but I believe you would have to show knowledge of actual intent.”
“I can’t remember,” Steve said. “I’m a criminal defense lawyer. It’s been so long since I’ve thought about ethics.”
“I don’t believe that.”
“And that,” Steve said, “is about the nicest thing anybody’s said about me in a long time.”
Sienna had duck. She’d never had duck before, and the waiter insisted she try it. Steve had the old reliable New York steak. When in doubt, go for the cow.
“It’s very good,” Sienna said. “But I feel like I’m eating poor Daffy or something. He was my favorite cartoon character growing up.”
“And where was that?” Steve asked.
“I bounced around. My dad was an airline mechanic. Had jobs in Seattle, Detroit, Louisville. That’s where I finished high school.”
“How’d you end up out here?”
“I came out to go to UC Irvine. I was a theater major.”
“No joke? You wanted to be an actress?”
“For a while. I wanted to be the next Julia Roberts, but my lips weren’t full enough.”
“You never heard of collagen?”
“Of course, but then I wasn’t pretty enough, either.”
“I don’t think that’s your problem at all.”
She looked down and stuck her fork in some duck.
Steve said, “After you decided you weren’t going to be Julia Roberts, what did you do?”
“Decided I wanted to be Ashley Judd in High Crimes.”
“Never saw that one.”
“Your basic intelligent female lawyer solving everything.”
Steve nodded. “And then you got married?”
“Excuse me?”
“Sorry, I mean your fiancé. The guy you met at church but it didn’t work out.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Your love life.”
She shook her head. “I’m not ready to have this conversation.”
“Hey, I didn’t mean to offend. It’s just, I think in the interest of full disclosure—ah, I can’t help sounding like a lawyer.”
“I’d rather we talk about something else.”
Maybe she was right. He couldn’t be good for her. He’d make some stupid move too soon and it would be over. He’d lose not just a companion but a sharp legal assistant.
When he took her home she requested he drop her at the curb. She thanked him and said she’d see him at the office.
Well, at least he had the assistant.
40
It was almost nine-thirty when Steve got back to Canoga Park. He decided to stop at the office to grab his CEB handbook on criminal procedure. He could work at the apartment tomorrow and needed to bone up on a few matters.
He parked in back and saw a couple of lighted windows in the building. One of them belonged to a CPA who seemed to live here, or else lived to work. Steve wasn’t sure of the other one. But there were three cars in the lot, including his. He knew the CPA drove a blue Chevy. The other car was a sleek silver Porsche. Whoever it belonged to should know you don’t park a car like that here, at night.
Whoever it was would probably find that out soon enough.
Steve was almost to the back door when someone materialized out of the darkness, spiking Steve’s heart into overdrive.
The man was Latino, thick set. In the dim light Steve saw vida loca eyes. Steve had seen those more than enough defending gangbangers.
“Let’s go inside,” he said to Steve, jerking his head toward the building.
“What?”
“Inside. Now.”
“Look, I’ll give you a card and you can call and—”
Catlike, the guy whipped out a switchblade and clicked it open.
“Whoa.” Steve instinctively put his hands up in the universal gesture of no problem.
“Let’s go,” the man said.
“You got it,” Steve punched in the after-hours code and the door clicked open. “I usually prefer prospective clients offer a retainer.”
“Just go.”
Steve took the stairs to the second floor, wondering the whole way if he was going to get a blade in his back. But none came. Yet.
Steve unlocked his office door, reminding himself to talk to Slbodnik about installing security cameras. The guy actually put the point in Steve’s back.
“Easy, man,” the guy said.
Steve did not intend to do anything but easy. He flicked on the lights. And gasped.
The office was a disaster area. Papers and files and plants and phones all over the floor. The credenza under the window was turned over on its back, like a dead animal with four legs in the air and guts spilled out. The metal filing cabinet was a shell, all the drawers out of it.
His trunk was open. That’s what he cared most about.
“Man, you got to take better care of this place,” the guy said.
Steve turned around. The intruder put the knife point under Steve’s chin. “Sit.”
Steve threw his keys on the reception desk, which was now completely bare. All the contents, including the little plant that was dying anyway, were on the floor in front of it. Even the glass top was off. Steve saw one half of the broken glass on the floor.
Steve sat in the swivel chair.
The guy gave a quick look around. “You got security in here?”
“Of course.”
“Where?” He touched the knife point to Steve’s skin.
“My landlord,” Steve said. “He’s got guns. He waits for people with knives who mess up offices and then he starts shooting.”
“Funny, man. You stay in that chair.” He shook his head. “Somebody don’t like you.”
“And you know who it is,” Steve said.
“I don’t like you. But I didn’t do this.”
“So what? You going to rob me?” Steve said. “I haven’t got much to steal. As you can see.”
The guy nodded. “No, you just steal life.”
Steve fought to keep his voice from vibrating around in his throat. “What do you want then?”
“Carlos, man. You gave him up.”
“Carlos? Mendez?”
“You got another Carlos doing hard time?”
“Carlos is serving his sentence, yes.”
“You didn’t get him off like you said.”
“I never said that.”
“You said something like that.”
“Only an idiot lawyer would say that. You can’t guarantee what a judge or a jury is going to do. I never tell somebody I can get him off. I just do the best I can.”
“I don’t think you do.”
“All right, you want to get to the point?” Steve wished he hadn’t said point.
“Yeah, I got a point. How long it take you to be a lawyer?”
“What do you mean, like school?”
“Yeah. Like school.”
“Three years law school.”
“You think I could go? I wanna be a lawyer.”
“That right?”
He took a step closer to Steve. “That’s right. You think I can do it? You think I got the brain?”
“Sure, a bright young man like you, ambitious.”
The guy smiled. “I think you talking smack to me, baby.”
“Me? Talk smack? I thought you wanted some career counseling.”
“See, if a scumbag like you can be a lawyer, anybody can, right?”
Steve swallowed. “Is this a great country or what?”
The guy nodded, then held up the knife again. Steve was sure this time he’d use it. He wondered if he could get a kick in. But a guy with a knife looking you in the eye pretty much has the drop. He decided to do nothing.
The guy thrust the knife into the desk. It stuck.
Steve looked at the knife. The guy stood there, almost daring him to take it.
Steve said, “That’s going to leave a mark.”
“Okay, lawyer baby, I came to check out what you doing for Carlos.”
“What I’m doing for him?”
“Getting him out of prison. What’s wrong with you? You forget about Carlos? You blow the trial and then you just forget him? That it?”
“I did the trial, yeah. And I didn’t get paid for it. But I did it anyway. I did what I could. You know, if Carlos hadn’t been carrying he—”
“It don’t matter about that.” The guy took hold of the knife handle, wiggled back and forth to remove it, then stuck it in the desk again. “So you still got some work to do.”
Steve swallowed the little moisture left in his mouth. “My part is over. They have legal aid, you can get an appellate lawyer.”
“We want you, man. We want you to help.”
“Whose we?”
“Carlos. And me. Ain’t you listening?” He did the knife thing again. Removed it. New hole in the desk. “He’s my cousin. He’s family. We are not happy.”
“If I did such a lousy job,” Steve said, “how come he wants me to be his lawyer?”
“No, you don’t got to be his lawyer. Carlos, he’s gonna represent himself.”
“Okay then.”
“But you got all sorts of things you can help him with, right? You got a computer. You got books. And you got time. You got time to help Carlos.”
“I can’t help Carlos.”
“You going to.” The guy took the knife out. “See, Carlos says, you help him. That’s the way you pay him off.”
Steve started to get up. The guy pointed the blade. Steve settled back down. Next thing the guy sprang forward, put his left hand on Steve’s neck. Put the point of the knife on Steve’s cheek, just below the left eye.
“You going to listen now, or you going get this in your brain, huh? Tell me you listening.”
“You’ve got my attention.”
“That’s good. Carlos’ll tell you what he needs. You don’t go to no cops, yeah? Cause I know where you live, man. I know where you work. Got that good?”
“Sure.”
He pressed the knife into Steve’s skin, enough for a puncture, drawing blood.
“Okay, man,” the guy said. “I think you got it. I really do. I think you got a lot of problems on your hands, you know? But you help out Carlos and you can stay walking around, yeah? And maybe you get your act together, man.”
The guy withdrew the knife. Folded it back in the handle. “You got a card?”
Steve put his hand on his cheek, wiped, saw blood on his fingers. “You cut me and you want my card?”
“Got to know how to get in touch.”
Steve heard some words forming in his head, words that might get him killed.
But the guy said, “Wait.” He bent to the floor and picked up a card, which was one of several scattered on the floor. “Got it.” He slipped it in the back pocket of his pants. “Later, man.”
For a long time Steve sat, staring. He felt an actual paralysis. Something stank, even more than the usual stink of his life. Smell over smell covered this one.
He wouldn’t put it past the mad Serb to do this. But he was all paid up on the rent. Slobo should be happy with his money.
Somebody had to have picked the lock in this low-security building. A squirrel could get in without a problem. But how and when? It was true this office didn’t have the highest traffic in the hallways. The tenants kept to themselves. There were a number of unoccupied offices, too. It wouldn’t have been too hard for somebody with intent to get in here.
Or somebody with authority. The feds? Not exactly the rule of law if that was the case.
What if it was random? His office was picked by a pro looking for a score.
His head was pounding now and rational thought was not to be had.
He got up and walked around, surveying the damage.
His interior office was trashed. All the bookshelves down.
And his computer gone.
Gone. Stolen, taken, everything in it.
Black’s Law Dictionary was open at his feet. He reached down, picked up the cinder-block sized volume and threw it against the wall.
Then it was book after book. Against the wall. Let them be damaged. Books and walls, who cared? It was all a farce, this office, this facade of respectability.
He kicked more books, started kicking them into a pile in the middle of the office.
Burn it down, he thought. Let’s have a fire. Why not? A nice going-away present for the landlord.
Burn everything including—
The trunk. Had the guy messed up the trunk?
Steve bent over the open container. The papers and photos were stirred around, but nothing seemed to be missing.
On top of it all was the photo of Robert in his train pajamas. Eating cereal.
Steve closed his eyes and let his breathing return to normal. His brother needed him. In some way he wasn’t quite sure of, he knew he had to play this thing out. His conscience would have to wait.
41
Gincy came an hour later, in answer to Steve’s call.
“You want to tell me why this happened?” Gincy asked as he perused the devastation that was Steve’s office.
“No,” Steve said. “I want you to help me pack it all so I can get out.”
“Out where?”
“I have no idea. I’m tired of this building, I’m tired of paying for space here. Maybe I’ll move out to Verner and be closer to my meal ticket.”
“You’re just a little upset.”
“You figured that out, did you?”
“Sarcasm won’t help,” said Gincy.
“As if it won’t.”
“Funny.”
“Just help me get this stuff packed, will you?”
“What’s the rush?”
“I just had a guy in here with a very sharp knife threatening to do an unlicensed lobotomy.”
“What?”
“Yeah, and he looked serious.”
Gincy frowned. “You sure he wasn’t just a repo man?”
“Will you help me clean up or not?”
“Did you report this to the police?”
“You go ahead if you want to.”
“Anything missing?”
“Only my computer.”
“What?”
“And my Dodger bobble-head doll.”
“Did you have it backed up?”
“How do you back up a Dodger bobble-head doll?”
Gincy’s mouth hung open. “Steve, this is serious.”
“I’m seriously getting out of here. I have a backup somewhere. I’ll be fine. But I’ve had it with this place.”
“What about your books?”
“Let’s burn ’em.”
“How about you don’t make any major decisions right now, huh?” Gincy started picking up some of the papers on the floor. “We’ll deal with the big picture later.”
“The big picture is no better than the little picture. It’s all out of focus.”
