Lion Plays Rough (5 page)

I shrugged. It was what I'd come here for, but Nikki had already done the unpleasant work of relieving me of responsibility for Jamil's case. The problem was I still had Lavinia's voice in my ears. And I still wanted to bring Campbell down. Then I remembered what Jeanie had said about my reputation.

I displayed the pictures without comment, one after the other in rapid succession, like a stop-frame movie showing the sequence of the two men meeting, the gun coming out, then going back into Damon's waistband, finally the two sitting together and talking on the bench.

Afterward no one said anything for nearly a minute. Cassidy glanced at Fowler, her eyes narrowed. Nikki stared down at her knuckles, her brow furrowed, her face intense but unreadable.

At last Nikki let out a long sigh, pushed back her chair and stood up. She gave a rueful laugh. “The way I see it, Kip, you have three choices, all of them equally bad. You can drop the charges and open an investigation of Campbell. You can pursue these charges against my client and watch it blow up in your face. Or you can go in the bathroom and put a bullet in your head.”

“You forgot one,” Fowler said. “Run our own investigation independent of the police department and bring down the whole pack of them.”

“Hm,” Nikki said with a tight-lipped smile. “I'll hear from you,” she told Fowler. Then apparently to me, though she didn't look in my direction, “You come with me. I'm not finished with you yet.”

I just wanted out of there. “You let me know if you want me to surrender,” I said to Cassidy as I gathered my stuff.

She didn't respond. From my suit pocket I took the CD I'd burned of the photos and slid it down the table toward Fowler. “There are other copies of that in existence. Fair warning.”

“Fair warning indeed,” Nikki said.

We went out through the secured entrance of the DA's suite of offices, then took the elevator together to the ground floor of the courthouse, Nikki's wheeled briefcase rumbling along behind her. As we were leaving the courthouse, Detective Campbell was just walking in. I froze for a second, no more. He ignored Nikki's saccharine greeting, but he looked straight at me, turning his head to follow as I passed.

“He's going to have a shock,” Nikki said, as if remarking on the weather. “If he doesn't already know it was you, he will soon. He doesn't have much to worry about, unless there's more of an evidence trail than I suppose. The union will take good care of him.” She glanced at her watch. “Lunchtime. As a rule I eat alone but today I'll make an exception. The DA may swallow that shit about a setup, but you'll have to come clean with me if you want to stay prosperous. Here's my car.”

It was an eighties-era Cadillac, white with red leather seats, parked in a handicapped spot out in front of the courthouse on Lakeside Drive. She wheeled her bag up to the rear passenger door and made a signal toward me. Obediently I opened the door and lifted the boxlike briefcase onto the floor of the back seat. It must have weighed fifty pounds.

The car rocked underneath her as she sat behind the wheel.

I got in on the other side. “Was that supposed to be a threat?”

She started the engine. “What do you think?”

“It's hard to tell, coming from someone who'd joke about Fowler blowing out his brains.”

“That was no joke. The man is high-strung, and you just handed him the crap sandwich of the week. No matter what he does, he loses, and his boss will be the one with egg on his face. If Fowler can't get this conviction, and I don't think he can, he'll never go higher in that office. That's too bad. I've always had him wrapped around my middle finger.”

“Little finger. Wrapped around my little finger.”

“I say what I mean to say.”

She drove us to a Lao restaurant just west of Lake Merritt. I went with her because I wanted to know who'd set me up and figured she must have a better idea than I did. What I was going to do with that information once I had it was another matter.

It was a little place with linoleum floors, folding tables of the kind you might find in church basements, and vinyl tablecloths. In the back corner a TV played Laotian music videos, a karaoke ball bouncing along the bottom of the screen. We were shown to a small table near the back. Nikki ordered for us both: rice-ball salad for two, green curry for her, red curry for me. She said something in what I assumed was his language, and the waiter grinned.

“You must be a regular here.”

“Oh, I'm a sponge for culture. Enough about me. Let's talk about you. Who hired you to take those pictures?”

While I was pondering my response, the waiter came with tall glasses of iced green tea sweetened with condensed milk. He was still grinning.

“My employer's identity has to remain confidential. Why do you want to know?”

“Because it concerns me. I need to know who's fucking me so that I can fuck them back. If you don't want it to be your ass, you better tell me who hired you.”

“Go ahead. File a bar complaint. You'll have to get in line, though. Right behind Fowler.”

She gave a sharp laugh. “Is that what you think this is about? Ethics?”

“Since you brought up the subject of ethics, who hired you is the question. Who pays your fee for defending Jamil? I'm guessing this guy Damon, judging by your reaction to the tape.” She had a reputation for defending gang members—taking money from the men at the top and copping pleas for foot soldiers—just the sort of thing that appeared to be happening to Jamil. She might even be in on the frame-up, if there were one.

“It's none of your business who my clients are. Jesus, that I have to sit here and take this shit from a kid still in diapers.”

The rice-ball salad came. With her fork she picked off individual grains of fried rice and speared rings of green onion. After every bite she patted her lips with her napkin.

“You know why you got burned on this one?” she said after she'd taken the edge off. “It's because you haven't had proper mentoring.” She took another bite. “You've got discretion, even though you've been made a fool. I'd love nothing more than to help you settle your score with whoever did it, but you don't want my help. Fine. You want to be a courthouse joke, I won't stand in your way.” She studied me over her fork, then pointed it at me and said, “Your brother and Jeanie must have warned you about me. They must have advised you never to have anything to do with me. That must be it.”

I began to smile, knowing her reputation for unscrupulous, unethical practices. Then I remembered that I was the one who'd blundered into her case, interfered with her client, and the smile fled, and I didn't feel like eating anything more. “I'm afraid Teddy never mentioned you. I could ask him. You never know who and what he'll remember. But I try to avoid reminding him about the past.”

“Yes, I suppose that's all over now. Poor bastard. I bet he wishes that gunman's aim had been just a little better.”

I pushed back my chair. “You watch your mouth.”

“Come on. Sit down. It's just my way of talking. Everyone knows I say what's on my mind. Don't let it bother you.” Her gaze grew inward, thoughtful. “I've been looking for a new associate. Maybe you were made a fool, but you went out and got those pictures. You got them. That tells me something about you, that you're not quite the helpless child you appear to be.”

“You can't seriously be offering me a job.”

“I could use someone who's not afraid of getting his hands dirty—someone who cares about results, and the truth above all else.” In her mouth the word sounded like a euphemism. “What are you making with Jeanie, fifty, fifty-five? I'll pay you ninety.”

I sat looking at her, the numbers ringing in my ears. “You and Campbell, you're two gears in the same machine, aren't you? His role was to make sure Jamil was arrested with that gun. Your job is to make sure Jamil doesn't turn on his boss. I'm the wrench in the works, and you figure you can buy me off, take me in hand until you find out what you want to know, use me to put some distance between yourself and the dirty work.” I stood. “Ninety isn't nearly enough.”

“It's not just the salary. I'm offering you guidance, protection. Take a few days and think about it.”

“I've thought plenty.”

“Fair warning, then. Watch your step. Oh, and I'll take my copy of the CD you made for Fowler.”

I dropped the extra CD I'd made on the table and walked out of the restaurant just as the waiter came with our curries. The food smelled good.

Chapter 9

I managed to avoid Jeanie and Teddy when I got back to the office. I closed my door behind me and looked longingly at my bike. I lifted the rear wheel and spun the pedals, checking the motion of the chain. I wondered how long it would be before I took another afternoon off to ride it.

The thing to do now was check on Scarsdale; make sure we were still on for our meeting. I called his hotel room, letting the phone ring and ring, but there was no answer. I tried the cell. No luck. He wasn't exactly staying in the kind of neighborhood that made you want to go for a stroll. I called the front desk of the hotel. “I'm trying to reach the guest in 205.”

“If your party isn't answering, you're welcome to leave a message,” the woman said.

“I'm a bit worried about him. He's been depressed. His wife kicked him out and he lost his job. Is there any way you could check on him?”

I heard her hitting keys on her computer. “The room hasn't been cleaned in two days. I can see on the hallway security camera that the
do not disturb
sign is hanging on the door. Is this an emergency?”

I hesitated, then told her no.

I was already out the door.

~ ~ ~

“Marty!” I called, banging on the door. “It's Leo. If you're in there, open up.”

The woman from the front desk hovered beside me. I wished she would go away. From the room I heard no sound of movement, but there were voices, a child's with an adult's voice interjecting. The volume was low, but I recognized the soundtrack of the police interviews with Erica, the child Scarsdale was accused of molesting.

I pounded the door again. “Marty, if you don't open now, I'm going to have them call 911. And then the paramedics will come here and break the door down. If you don't want that to happen, you'd better open up right now!”

I heard what sounded like a groan, the creak of the mattress, and then the door was unlatched. I stepped into a dank human smell, as if all the excretions of all the lonely people who had slept here hung like a vapor in the room.

The curtains were drawn. By the light of the little girl's scared face on the screen I saw Marty sink to the floor and take a drink from the glass he found there. I turned on the light, and he flinched, lifting an arm to his eyes. The AC was going full blast. He pulled the grimy bedspread down over his shoulders. He was wearing the shirt and slacks he'd been wearing Saturday at the office.

His voice was scratchy, as if he'd been crying. “I want to plead guilty. Everything she said, I did it, and more. I just want it all to stop.”

My anger surged. Now that he'd confessed to me I wouldn't be able to put him on the stand. “Get up off the floor and pull yourself together.” I stabbed the TV's power button and threw open the curtains. “You want to go to prison, Marty? You know what'll happen to you there?”

He sat blinking. “I want help. It's the only way I'm ever going to stop.”

“No one's going to help you. They're going to throw you in prison and leave you there for years. And eventually someone in there is going to kill you for what you did. I think if you wanted to die we'd have found you dead in here.”

The front desk clerk was still standing in the door. “He's fine,” I explained. “There isn't going to be any trouble.”

When I looked again the door was closed and she was gone. I took the glass from Scarsdale's hand. He was shivering under the blanket, squinting against the sun from the window. His eyes were bloodshot, red rimmed, his face pale and unshaven, with dried spittle around his mouth. I felt an urge to kick him, and saw no reason to resist.

He didn't respond except to grunt and stop shivering. I kicked him again, harder, squarely in the ribs. It felt good. I was bracing to give it to him again when he stood. “In the bathroom,” I told him. “Shower, toothbrush, shave.”

He lurched past me. Humiliation was all right. We could work with humiliation. I surveyed the wreck of the room, wondering when he'd last eaten. There was a box with three-quarters of a pizza.

In the mirrored wall I caught sight of my reflection: a smaller man than I thought of myself, too wiry, shoulders stooped with a bully's malice, eyes half-lidded as if I were the one with a guilty conscience, a flush of contempt on my freckled face.

While the shower ran I found him some clean clothes and put them on the bathroom counter. When he came out he was abashed, not sober by any means but with the fight gone out of him. He wasn't going to be pleading guilty. I would bring the topic up again when he was in better shape, but I saw at once that from now on he'd do what I said.

“You got somewhere else you can stay?”

He shrugged, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Another hotel.”

“I don't think you should stay here, do you? You look like you've had a rough couple of nights.”

“You told me to keep watching the video.”

“Yeah, well, maybe you've watched enough. Let's pack. What you need is a change of scene.”

I helped him check out and took him to the Ramada across the street. New room, clean sheets, band of paper around the toilet seat, everything fresh. It wasn't the second start he needed; it wasn't a new life. But for the present it was the closest we could get.

I went to In-N-Out and brought back burgers. As I walked back to his room from my car I heard the sound of kids splashing and yelling. Before I left again I told him to stay away from the pool.