The Whole Truth (21 page)

Norm Gaylord said, “Okay, I got it.”

“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?”

“Memos?”

“Right. I have another one for you. 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, thought. “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 it.”

“Okay, I'm tired of talking about myself. What do
you
think of me?”

She laughed and shook her head. “Incorrigible.”

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 big 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 stuck her fork in some duck and held it there, looking at him. “You're smooth, I will give you that.”

Steve said nothing.

“Did I say something?” she said.

Yeah, she had. But how could he tell her that Ashley had used the exact same words on
their
first time out? He'd been turning on the old charm and Ashley wasn't buying it and offered that he was
smooth.
Like she knew his every thought. It was a little strange having that same impression with Sienna Ciccone.

“Sorry, I zoned,” 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 solves 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.”

“You're fishing?”

“Yeah, I'm asking about your love life here.”

She shook her head, looked down at her food. Poked an asparagus spear, then poked it again. “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 — ack, I can't help sounding like a lawyer.”

“I'd rather we talk about something else.”

“You've been hurt.”

Putting her fork down, Sienna gave him the serious eye. “I don't want to discuss this. Maybe this was a bad idea.”

Door sliding closed. “No, a good one. We can talk business. Or movies. Or TV shows. Or law or court or law school. Whatever it takes to keep you on my side.”

“I work for you, don't I? I guess I owe you the same zeal you'd owe a client.”

“Have you tried the zeal here? It's great.”

“Bad puns, however, are a form of harassment.”

And Steve decided it was love. He didn't need it. It wouldn't end well that he could see. He couldn't be good for her. He'd make a 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. He told her the city was a jungle but he could tell she knew he wanted to kiss her. It was not going to be.

If only he could buy into some kind of faith. Take that ride Gincy talked about. Make the jump.

But when she closed the door of the car and started toward her apartment building, it felt, more than anything else, like the fadeout in a very sad movie. The kind where the guy doesn't get the girl after all.

FORTY

It was almost nine thirty when Steve got back to Canoga Park. He decided to stop at the office to get 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, thickset. In the dim light Steve saw
vida
loca
eyes. Steve had seen those more than enough defending juvi 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 be 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.

“Man, you got to take better care of this place,” the guy said.

Steve turned around. The knife caught his shirt. He heard it tear. “Did you do this?”

The guy held the knife up. “Don't make any moves, man. Sit down.”

“I want to know — ”

The intruder put the knife under Steve's chin. “Sit.”

“Sure.” 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.

Why the glass? That was just mean.

“Sit!”

Steve sat in the swivel chair.

The guy gave a quick look around. “You got security in here?”

“Of course.”

“Where?” He pointed the knife toward Steve.

“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.”

“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, leaving it sticking out.

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? Eh? 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.

“Come on.” Steve sounded feeble, even to himself.

“So you still got some work to do.”

“I wasn't paid, okay? My part is over. They have legal aid, you can get an appellate lawyer.”

“We want you, man. We want you to help.”

“Who's
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, dude. 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 bone, just below the left eye.

“You going to listen now, or you going to 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. Enough to draw blood. Maybe death was preferable to all this. What good was he as a lawyer or person? It had all caught up with him. Robert coming back was a curse, not a blessing. The other side held nothing. Sienna and Gincy were saps to believe it did.

“Okay, man. 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.”

Finally, the guy withdrew the knife. Folded it back in the handle. “You got a card?”

Steve put his hand on his cheek, wiped, saw the 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 jeans. “Later, man.”

For a long time after he left 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.