My gangbanger Ricardo’s father. I wasn’t looking forward to it.
I nodded. “Got it.”
I headed to court with a little over a quarter of a tank of gas. I’d make it there, but I probably wouldn’t make it back. Michelle had forbidden me from using credit cards. But I had no choice. It was either use my gas card or leave Beulah on the street and take the bus home. That potential new computer-fraud client was looking like a better idea by the minute.
When I got to court, I told the bailiff I needed to see my client.
“Scott Henderson’s yours?” I nodded. “He’s pretty freaked out.”
“He giving you guys problems?”
The bailiff rolled his eyes. “He won’t shut up. He’s bitching and whining like a little tweeny whose mommy won’t let him go to the One Direction concert.”
I smiled. “I’ll see what I can do.” When Scott saw me, he ran to the front of the cell and gripped the bars. “You’ve got to get me out of here!”
“Is that right?”
“Look, I know I fucked up! I meant to get you that phone. But I had to lay low for a while. I’ve got some people-”
“Who’re after you. You owe them money.”
“How’d you know?”
“Because thanks to you, my investigator is in the hospital.”
His eyes got big. “Oh shit. He was staking my place?” I nodded. Scott hung his head. “That’s fucked up.”
“You’re about to be just that. And I assume whomever you owe has connects in Men’s Central.”
He swallowed and nodded. “Are you going to dump me?”
“No.” A surprised smile trembled on his lips. “I’ll be your lawyer until death do us part.” I gave him a cold stare. “Which also happens to be when I’ll announce ‘ready’ for trial. And I think your bail’s going to have to stay at one million. As an officer of the court, I had to tell the truth about how you dodged my calls and never showed up at the address you gave me. So I’d advise you to make some friends. You’re going to be there awhile.”
The tremulous smile faded as comprehension sank in. “No! Please! You can’t do this to me! I’ll give you the phone, I promise! I can get it to you in one hour-no, less!”
I raised an eyebrow. “Oh, you promise? Well, that’s a different story. I mean, why wouldn’t I trust you? It worked out so well before.” I glared at him but kept my voice low. “Tough shit. You jerked me around and put my investigator in the hospital. See you in court.”
I called for the bailiff to let me out and left him clutching the bars. Scott could make a motion to have me relieved as counsel. But I was betting he wouldn’t. If he got rid of me, he’d have to roll the dice with a public defender or a court-appointed lawyer-and that’s exactly what he didn’t want. Sure enough, when the judge called the case, Scott never said a word. Other than, “I apologize to the court.”
I said I thought the June twentieth date we’d set for trial was turning out to be way too optimistic. We reset it for August nineteenth. Scott looked pale and shaky as the bailiff escorted him back into lockup.
It was one forty-five by the time I got out of court. I headed for my car at a fast trot. I didn’t want to keep Orozco Senior waiting. Especially since Michelle was alone in the office.
FIFTY-ONE
On my way back, I thought about what he might want from me. Or want to do to me. I told myself not to be paranoid, that I’d gotten that gangbanging asshole Ricardo a hell of a deal, and that he’d be stupid to shoot me in the office in broad daylight. But his son was a psychopath. There was a distinct possibility the apple hadn’t fallen all that far from the tree. And after the fun time I’d had with Lane Ockman, I decided there was no reason to take any chances.
When I got to the office, I put my.38 Smith & Wesson in the pocket of my blazer. Michelle raised an eyebrow. “I think if you don’t want to take his case, a simple ‘no’ will do.”
At that moment, the outer door buzzer sounded. Michelle cast a critical look at my waist. “It totally shows. Just put it in your desk drawer like you always do.”
Michelle went to get the door. I supposed she was right. I dropped the gun into my drawer. But I left it open.
A few seconds later, Michelle escorted in an older man whom I assumed was Ernesto, and a younger man who looked a lot like Ricardo-tats and all-but he was thicker in the chest and arms. They were taller than Ricardo; I figured they were both about five foot nine or ten. The older man, who had the head of a buffalo and slightly stooped shoulders, extended a leathery brown hand. “I am Ernesto Orozco, and this is my son, Arturo.”
I reached out and shook his hand. It felt like a chunk of asphalt-rough, solid, and heavy. “Pleased to meet you, Ernesto.”
Arturo, who had the same slicked-back hairdo as Ricardo, stretched out a hand that was inked from pinkie to thumb. “Thank you for seeing us.”
As we shook, I noticed the muscles move under his black T-shirt. He’d taken a bath in cologne for the occasion, and the sweet scent mixed with the smell of hair grease made me queasy. It brought back memories of Ricardo. I gestured for them to take the seats in front of my desk. I was glad to have the advantage of my big lawyer’s chair so I could look down on them. The old man’s eyes were black and flat, like a shark’s-just like Ricardo’s. But Arturo’s eyes were hot, and they glittered with malice. The air felt heavy, like the moments before a thunderstorm, and I could feel the weight of it in my chest. Out of the corner of my eye, I clocked the position of the gun in my open drawer. If I had to grab it, I didn’t want to wind up with a handful of paper clips. I made my face relax and did my best to sound confident. “What can I do for you?”
Ernesto’s eyes grew watery. He spoke slowly in a deep, rumbling voice. “We have had a terrible tragedy. My son Ricardo. Someone killed him in prison.”
My heart gave a dull thud. I pulled on a look of concern and surprise. “Oh my God. I’m so sorry. How did it happen? Was it a guard?” I kept my gaze steady.
Arturo shook his head with a venomous look and bit off his words as though he were tearing through flesh. “A pinchi Southside motherfucker shivved him.”
Ernesto dabbed at a tear that leaked out of the corner of his eye. “They put Ricardo in with the Southside Creepers.”
His rival gang. My palms were sweating. I wiped my left hand on my thigh and let it dangle off the arm of my chair, within closer reach of the gun. Barely breathing now, I looked from Ernesto to Arturo. “How did that happen?”
Ernesto shook his head, his hooded eyes narrowed. “They tell me it was an accident. Someone made a mistake, put his name on the wrong list.”
Arturo leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and cracked his knuckles. “We don’t believe it. That was no mistake. I think some Southside pendejo got friends in high places.”
I wanted to swallow, but I couldn’t let them see they were getting to me. I moved my left hand a little closer to the open drawer and kept my expression neutral. “So you think a guard who was on Southside’s payroll did it?” They both nodded. “I assume you want to file a lawsuit. But I’m sorry, I don’t do civil cases.”
Ernesto stared at me for a moment, then nodded. “We can find another lawyer to sue. But we want to find out how this happened. Who did this. Who killed my son.”
Arturo’s hands curled into fists. “And who put him with those Southside putas.”
I must have looked alarmed, because Ernesto patted Arturo’s arm heavily. “Don’t worry about him. He gets a little hotheaded sometimes. We just need to know for our own peace of mind. We don’t mean no harm.”
The hell they didn’t. They wanted revenge, and they wouldn’t be picky about how they got it. They weren’t going to buy that it was just a computer glitch or a typo. They wanted names. And if they didn’t like my answers, they’d take me out, too. Having anything to do with these two animals was a bad-possibly fatally bad-idea. But I had no choice. I had to take the case. “I understand. But you know I’m not an investigator.”