“Yeah, what about the other class we took Don’t Frame an Innocent Man 101? You sleep through that class, Johnson?”
Johnson shook his head slowly. “You always were pigheaded, even when we worked together on the P.D.”
“I’m not being pig-headed. I just want-”
Johnson interrupted. “Shut up and listen to me.”
“I’m listening, but it better be good. Why am I being followed? I don’t like getting threats.”
He stood and walked around the room. He glanced at the photos on the wall, pictures of him shaking hands with politicians. He focused on the one with Governor Reagan for a couple of seconds before turning to me. “You’re in deep shit, Jimmy, but you wouldn’t listen. You had to be a big hero, didn’t you? You’re in over your head.”
“I know I am. I’ve never defended a murder case, but I’m going to give it all I got.”
“That’s not what I mean.”
“Oh?”
“Big players are involved. They mean business. They don’t want you messing where you don’t belong. You could get hurt.”
“What are you telling me? You’re going to throw this case because some bigwigs are leaning on you? My God, Johnson!”
“No! No, you got it all wrong. Rodriguez will get a fair trial. I’ll see to it. But, I’m just telling you what I overhead. Certain people don’t want you snooping in their private affairs. Stick to the facts. Don’t go on a fishing expedition.”
“Who are these guys?”
“They’re not Boy Scouts.”
“I don’t give a shit who they are. I’m going to defend Rodriguez to the best of my ability. And if it takes me places where these big players don’t want me to go…well, so be it.”
“Brave talk, Jimmy.” He shook his head again. “I’m sorry I got you into this mess.”
It was ten-thirty when I arrived back at my office. The Buick sedan followed me at a discreet distance. I entered through the front, went straight to the back door, exited the office and walked to the rear parking lot. Moving back around the corner of the building, I spotted the sedan parked curbside about ten feet down the street pointed in my direction, but the guy in the Buick hadn’t spotted me. I doubled around the block and crept up behind the car.
On the back of my business card, I scribbled the license number. I rushed back to the office and hurried to my desk. Rita had left a note: “Went to the stationery store to get some legal forms!!!” She put three exclamation points and one of those smiley faces at the end of it. I wondered why the forms were important enough to rate three exclamation points. One exclamation point was nothing. She put exclamation points on the shopping list: Coffee! Paper towels! stuff like that. Two would be more of a big deal, something like my car insurance was overdue, but now three? Why were forms so important?
Rita would let me know when she returned. But first, I had to get a hold of Sol. I grabbed the receiver and punched in his office number.
“Is he around, Joyce?”
“He’s still at Del Mar, but I can get him a message.”
“I’ve got a plate number, need an ID.”
“No need to bother the boss, I can handle it. Won’t have the information until this afternoon. It’s almost eleven now. Our DMV contact would be out to lunch. He’ll run the plate when he gets back, around three.”
“Thanks. Call me when you get the name, okay?”
I leaned back in my chair, laced my hands behind my head, and put my feet on the desk. All I had to do now was wait until Joyce called back, then I’d find out who was following me. With a name and Sol’s help, I’d find out why.
The front door opened. “Jimmy, I’m back. I’ve got the forms.”
“What forms?”
“Discovery forms. I’m sure you want me to fill them out and file them with the D.A. as soon as possible.”
“For the Rodriguez case?”
“Well, duh.”
“Oh, yeah. I was just going to ask you to do that.”
Rita smiled and walked back to her desk. In a few minutes, the phone rang. She shouted from the other room, “Miss Allen’s on the line.”
“Hi, this is O’Brien.”
“Jimmy, I just received a call. Thought you might want to talk about it, but you probably already know what I’m referring to.”
Why would she call me? Is there something I should know? “Yeah, sure. I know what it’s about.”
“Do you want to discuss it? That is, if you know what I’m talking about.”
“Of course, I know.”
“He called me too, and I thought maybe we could figure out a plan, how we’re going to handle the press. I don’t want this case tried in the newspapers.”
I pulled the pink message slip Rita had given me from my pocket. The one about the reporter from the Times wanting information. “Conway called you, too?”
“Yeah, that’s what I want to talk about. When will you be available?”
“Let’s talk about it over a bite. I owe you lunch,” I said.
“I don’t know about that. Two lunches in a row…”
“It’s the only time I have available.” I enjoyed having lunch with beautiful women, even if it was only business, but she hesitated. “Unless you want to see my picture in the paper, I suggest we meet and agree on the ground rules. The media is going to be all over this. I don’t want us arguing in public, either.”
“Okay.” She sighed. “Shall we meet at the Regency again?”
“It’s my turn to pick the place. How about Chris ’n Pitt’s?” I said.
“Oh my God, Chris ’n Pitt’s. Sawdust on the floor and all that?” She didn’t sound too thrilled. Her voice had a cringe to it, but I thought I heard a small laugh behind the cringe.
“Yeah, I see you know the place. I’ll see you there in a half hour.” I hung up before she could bail on me.
C H A P T E R 11
Chris Pelonis had painted the exterior of his Chris ’n Pitt’s restaurants to look like log cabins. He said the paint job reminded people of honest-to-God country barbecue. It reminded me of painted stucco. The dining room floors, as Bobbi had said, were covered with sawdust, and you ate your huge slabs of baby-back ribs with all the trimmings while seated at wooden picnic tables. The waitresses’ costumes-gingham blouses, Levi mini-skirts with white piping, and cowgirl boots-went with the country western music that heehawed in the background.
I did a little two-step up to the hostess’s station and put my name in for a table. Bobbi came through the front doors and gawked in disbelief. She ventured a little farther into the waiting area. As soon as she spotted me, she shook her head slowly, giving me a mock scornful look. Then she started laughing.
I went to her side. “Howdy, ma’am.”
“I hope you’re not going to do that cowboy shtick all through lunch.”
“A little cowboy shtick, but mostly lawyer shtick.”
The hostess called my name and showed us to our table.
Bobbi ordered a small salad with blue-cheese dressing, no Roquefort. I had the barbecued beef sandwich that came with about a pound and a half of French fries.
While we waited for our food to arrive, we talked about the implications of granting interviews to the press. “It’d be a circus,” I agreed. I figured if the D.A.’s office wouldn’t release information favorable to their case, then I wouldn’t counter. Handling the media took special skills I knew I didn’t possess, at least not yet. Famed lawyers, such as Melvin Belli, were masters at manipulating reporters. But even for them, it could backfire, and when the media turned on you it could be brutal. Belli, late in his career, after ranting continuously about several of his ex-wives, became known as Melvin Bellicose. Yeah, it would be best if Bobbi and I agreed to avoid the spotlight as much as possible. One less thing to worry about.
“So it’s a deal? We both offer no comment to the media hounds,” I said, shooting my hand across the table.
“Deal,” Bobbi said with a smile, taking my hand in hers. Our eyes locked for a moment. “Jimmy, you seem like a nice guy. I want you to understand something.”