Christ, Rita made it sound like I was out going to the potty. “Give me that damn thing,” I told her. “Hey, L. A. Center, this is the pilot talking. Over.”
“Look, guy. We’re going to start over, now listen to me-”
I dropped the mike and looked up. We were heading straight for the runway, zooming over the threshold.
At the last second, I let go of everything. The little plane straightened, plopped down, stayed down, and rolled effortlessly along the runway. The guy was right: these things did land themselves. I’d keep that in mind for the next time. Well, I’d just keep it in mind.
When we finally stopped with a few inches of runway to spare, Rita leaned over and kissed my cheek. “Hey, Flyboy, not too bad. Sky King couldn’t have done any better.” I managed not to roll my eyes.
Several patrol cars rushed up on the runway and surrounded us. I glanced out at the cops moving toward the plane and whispered to Rita that we’d talk about that partner thing later, just as soon as the cops let me leave. Sooner than twenty-five to life, I hoped.
CHAPTER 43
On Sunday, a week or so later, Rita and I were having brunch at Rocco’s, celebrating our victory over Moran and the demise of his organization. Jeanine brought my coffee and Rita’s iced tea. After the waitress left, Rita sat quietly for a moment. Then she raised her glass. “You saved my life. Thank you again.”
I smiled and clicked her glass with my cup. “Here’s to the future of our little firm. Oh, and that’s the three hundredth time you’ve thanked me.”
“You look a little down, Jimmy.”
“Nah, I’m fine. Hey, shall we discuss that partner thing now?”
“I don’t think so. Why don’t we let it lie for a while?”
“Why, Rita? I though you wanted to be my partner.”
“Jimmy, I need time, that’s all.”
“Time for what?”
“Time to think. I don’t know if I’m cut out for this,” she said. “You weren’t exactly honest with me. Letting Mabel hide your gun, then not informing your lawyer-me.”
“Yeah, I should’ve trusted you. I’m sorry. But it all worked out okay.”
“Well, I may have been your lawyer, but I didn’t really help you. Without Moran’s guards spilling their guts to the D.A. and the kids talking, you’d still be a suspect.”
“Rita, you did a great job. You fought the D.A., came up with a plan, and if it had gone to trial, I’m sure we would’ve won. And now you’re going to represent me at the inquest.”
Although there would be an official inquest into Moran’s death, I was assured by the San Bernardino D.A. that the ruling would be self-defense.
“Jimmy, you know that’s a done deal. The authorities want us out of their sight as fast as possible. The shooting will be ruled justifiable, but don’t expect any accolades.”
She was right. Sol and I wouldn’t get medals for our involvement in the affair; medals are rarely given to those who expose corruption existing under the watchful eyes of the bureaucracy. I knew the system, and I knew what to expect. When the public had learned about Moran’s enterprise a firestorm had ensued, the populace demanding heads. Government agencies from the FBI on down were scrambling, running for cover, pointing this way and that, and promising intense investigations. The hoi polloi, always curious about the efficiency of their government at work, demanded to know how all of this could’ve been going on under the agencies’ collective noses. When the smoke cleared, heads would roll-at least, one head. As usual, it’d probably be some guy way down the political food chain with little to do with the business who’d take the fall-probably a lowly clerk in the fishing license bureau or something. After all, he should’ve known. He should’ve stopped Moran early on. Wasn’t it common knowledge that he was using illegal bait, longjaw mudsuckers, in waters where such bait was not allowed? An early retirement for the clerk, the rabble would have their bloodlust satisfied, and that will be that.
Cathy and Tom Rogers of The Barstow Sun broke the story about Burt Krause, Barstow’s chief of police, who had been involved with Moran. Because of their inside knowledge, Krause had been arrested and held without bail on a laundry list of charges, starting with section 187, then conspiracy, and working its way down to… well, just pick a random page in the California Criminal Code and you’d find one or two of his crimes listed there.
J. Billy Bickerton was shocked. How could he have been duped by those ungodly apostates? He gave a rousing, fist-pounding sermon on his TV show damning the sin of greed. I liked the proverb he quoted: “Greedy eaters dig their graves with their teeth,” although I wasn’t sure how the quote related to Moran and his bunch. To me, the proverb seemed more suitable to a group of heavyweights meeting at their annual dieting convention.
To great fanfare, his network aired Professor Carmichael’s expose. It drew a rating of 23.6 on the Nielsen overnights, topping two highly acclaimed network shows, and because of the rating, Bickerton’s Holy Spirit Network was able to raise its advertising rates by 15 percent.
The big winner-if there was a winner-had to be Sol’s attorney friend, Morty Zuckerman. Sensing a buck to be made, he’d jumped in on behalf of the teens and filed a lawsuit against the Moran estate, requesting a motion for a summary judgment. Zuckerman’s complaint demanded that title to all the assets held by the late Mr. Moran and/or his corporations be immediately transferred to the kids in lieu of payment of back wages.
The judgment was instantly granted. What judge in his right mind would deny that? Zuckerman took his customary 40 percent, and with the balance helped the kids set up a Subchapter S corporation. An initial public stock offering was in the works.
One of my concerns had been put to rest when Sol invited Rita and me to join him the following week at the grand opening of a new restaurant. He said he was part-owner, and when he told me what he had done, I was flabbergasted. He’d bought the Bright Spot Cafe and turned it over to his partners in the venture: Maggie, the waitress who’d passed us the tip about Jane Simon, and Jane herself. I’d been worried sick that something had happened to her, but Sol was the kind of guy who took care of those who helped him. I was always proud to be his friend, but when I heard what he had done… well, let’s just say I was very proud. I laughed when he told me that Jane had suggested they change the name of the cafe to Steinbeck’s.
“So, what do you think, Rita? Want to be the firm’s first new partner?”
“I just don’t think I’m ready.”
“Don’t think you can cut it in criminal law, is that it? Want to be like Zuckerman, with his IPOs and GMOs, BSOs, and a belly that looks like it’s stuffed with Spaghetti Os? Is that what you want?”
Rita shrugged. “I guess not. I’m staying with the firm.” She paused and then said, “But, Jimmy, let’s just let it go. We’ll both know when the time is right.”
From across the crowded room Mabel’s voice rose above the clamor: “Rita, Jimmy. Look what I’ve got.”
Mabel, wearing a faux leopard coat and carrying a huge matching handbag, waved a piece of paper above her head as she rushed to our booth.
“Hey, Mabel, what’s up?” Rita slid closer to me. She patted the spot next to her. “Sit and have brunch with us.”
“Look at this,” Mabel said as she slipped into the booth. “A check from Zuckerman! Sol called, told me to come and pick it up. He forced Zuckerman to cut our firm in on the proceeds from the Moran lawsuit. Wow, look at the number with all those beautiful zeros!”
She passed the check around. I shook my head, said a silent prayer of thanks, and handed it back. Mabel tucked it in her purse.
Rita glanced at me and smiled. “Does this mean I can get some of my back pay?”
“Hey, we’ll all get our back pay and maybe a bonus. Mabel, the brunch is on the firm, and we’re going to order a gallon of the best champagne.”