“Bill Harvey.”
The man that approaches is flamboyant in his walk, his clothes perfectly tailored, and he’s immaculacy groomed. His suit is navy blue, his shirt checkered pink, his tie bright orange. The style of his love heart necklace perfectly matches the three rings on his fingers.
Full of color, flair, and style.
Not what Bill expected for a known drug dealer in East L.A.
They shake hands solidly; Bill’s large, strong hand dominating Lewis’. He’s sure that Lewis isn’t dominated very often, but Bill has to mark his territory. He has to show Lewis that he’s the alpha male in this pack, ready to fight for the rights of his client. A strong handshake, a solid stare, and the odd grunt usually position Bill as the head of the pack.
“How did you recognize me?” Bill questions.
“I’ve seen you in the papers.”
His last case received a respectable write-up in all the papers. And a good write-up usually means more business – but considering crime isn’t going out of fashion in L.A. any time soon, he isn’t too concerned about chasing media attention.
“That, and you’re the only non-Mexican male around these parts.”
Ten years ago, Bill wouldn’t have agreed to meet Lewis in Huntington Park for fear that he would be shot stepping out of his car, but the suburb has improved, and the community has worked hard to create a safer environment for their children.
With a sideways glance out the window, he sees a striking, restored 1960 red Chevy Impala. To drive that car around East L.A., his reputation must precede him.
“A 1960 Impala. It’s beautiful.”
“Thank you,” Lewis states proudly, looking out at the car that he has just spent the last hour polishing. He sits at the table with confidence, waving at the barista to make him a coffee. “The car was my father’s before he passed. Now, I take great pride in the beautiful machine.”
Bill takes a moment longer to stare at the work of art sitting on the side of the road.
“How is it that I can I help you, Mr. Harvey?” Lewis slowly and confidently leans back in his chair, legs spread wide and arms relaxed.
“As you’re aware, I’m defending Carlos López in the case of the drug—”
“They planted it.” Lewis shakes his hands at him. “Carlos has been out of the game for a while now, and I would know if he was back in it. They weren’t his drugs. I, of all people, would know if Carlos was dealing, but I can guarantee you that he wasn’t. That man has no place dealing anymore. He’s turned over a new leaf, a new life. He’s out of the game. Even if he asked me, I wouldn’t let him deal drugs again. He even spends most of his time at the drug rehab center, so there is no way that the drugs were his. The cops planted it.”
“Whether or not the drugs belonged to Carlos isn’t the problem. It’s whether or not we can prove in a court of law that the drugs weren’t his.”
Lewis laughs brashly, loud enough for the people at the counter to turn their heads. “That’s the way with all you law types. Not worried about the facts, just what happens in accordance with the law. Hardgrave was the same. Always concerned with the letter of the law.”
“Judge Hardgrave?” The surprise is spread across Bill’s face.
“We were good friends, Hardgrave and I. I hear that you knew him too, but I didn’t see you at his funeral. He was a nice fellow. Old; but nice. A bit arrogant, but he had good connections.”
“What was your relationship like with Hardgrave?”
“He helped me out when I needed it. And in turn, I made sure that he had contact with his long-lost daughter, Michelle. Everyone was a winner out of that relationship. It’s amazing what an old man will do to try and erase past sins. You see, he treated Michelle like dirt while they were growing up. He never saw her, he beat her and her mother, he was a drunk; at least that’s what Michelle has told me. But he wanted a second chance with her. He thought he deserved a second chance. And he was willing to do a lot to make sure that he got it.”
“He would have hated you.”
Lewis moves his hands to the table and grips the edge until his knuckles turn white. “He liked me. And he loved his daughter.”
It’s clear that this man has anger management issues.
If anybody pushes the right buttons, Lewis won’t be able to hold back. His combination of arrogance, success, and testosterone has made him a melting pot of anger.
Not what Bill needs right now.
“Hardgrave loved his daughter.” Bill lowers his tone of voice, trying to bring a sense of calm to the situation. “He would have done anything for her.”
“He did like me.” Lewis scoffs, defending his reputation. “He really liked my ties. I guess we could relate to each other on our color choice. He loved a well-fitted bright suit, as do I. I remember last time we met, he said that my tie, this orange one that I’m wearing now actually, almost blended in exactly with his new armchair. He asked me to stand against it to check if the color matched, and sure enough, it did. We bonded over our love of color.”
“It certainly is a bright colored tie.”
“It’s my favorite. I have six ties the exact same as this one. Once I find something I really like, I try really hard to hold onto it. I even let Hardgrave borrow one of my ties once.”
“Sounds like a charming little relationship.”
“It certainly was with his daughter,” Lewis quips.
Bill doesn’t answer; instead, he continues to stare at Lewis, watching how the man reacts under the silence. He sits comfortably, waiting for Bill to continue. He’s confident. Perhaps too confident. “Tell me about Detective Pitt.”
“I don’t have to tell you anything. If you want information, you can ask me nicely for it.”
This is his turf. His place. And he’s not going to easily spill the beans for a demanding lawyer.
Playing the game, Bill offers his open hands as a symbol of innocence. “My apologies. For the sake of Carlos’ freedom, can you please tell me what you know about Detective Pitt?”
“I know him.” Lewis adjusts his tie, so it points straight down the middle of his shirt. “Don’t like him though.”
“Is he on the take?”
Lewis squashes his face a little, looking to the right and thinking hard. “Not that I know of. He could be, but I haven’t heard it. Roberto knows him better than I do.”
“Roberto Miles?”
“That’s right. He and Pitt have had a few run-ins over the years. Pitt has arrested him a few times, but that was years ago. If someone arrested me, I would make sure that they paid the price for it, but not Roberto. Roberto seems to like talking to the Smurfs.”
The waitress’ hand shakes as she places a coffee in front of Lewis, but he doesn’t even acknowledge her existence.
“Where were you and Carlos on the day that his house was raided?”
“At the diner. El Mejor. We go there a lot, and we were having lunch, just the same as we have done many, many times before. Eating tacos and talking about the world. It was just another day for Carlos and I. We’re family. He’s my cousin. We were just family talking about old times.”
“No, you weren’t.”
The strong males lock eyes on each other, trying to assess who is the more dominant.
“Did Carlos say that we weren’t at the diner? I told him to stick by that no matter what. I’m helping out my friend by saying that we were together.” Lewis shakes his head. “I would be surprised if Carlos said that we weren’t at the diner. That would surprise me a lot.”
“No, Carlos is sticking by the story that the two of you were at the El Mejor diner. It’s the surveillance footage of the diner that proves that you weren’t there. There is no use bringing your lies to this table. I’m after the truth. That’s the only thing that’s going to help keep Carlos out of prison. The truth, Lewis.”
“Surveillance footage? The diner has video cameras now?”
“Yes. And neither of you were there on September 12
.”
“Look.” Lewis rolls his fingers around the top of his mug of coffee. “Maybe we said the wrong diner. Maybe we were at another diner. Yeah, that’s it. We were at another diner down the road. We felt like something different that day. It was another diner.”
“One without video surveillance, I hope.”
He nods.
“The prosecution will ask you to testify that you were with Carlos that day.”
“I won’t go to court. Places like that are dangerous for men like me.”
“They’ll subpoena you to appear before the court. They want you on the stand, no matter what. And even if you change the story about your whereabouts on that day, they’ll find another way to put you on the stand. You’re their target, Lewis. They want you up there to be questioned under oath. They’ll unload on the questions, and you better bring your best game to the stand, because they’ll pounce on even the slightest mistake.”
“I don’t make mistakes.”
“They’ll pressure you until you crack. These people are the best in the game, and you’re stepping into their ball court. They’ll play you. My job is to make sure that my client isn’t worse off because of your testimony.”
“If they put me on the stand, then you can be guaranteed that I’ll say anything that’s in my best interest. Man, I’ll even blame you for the drugs if it’s in my best interests. I’ll say anything. I’ll be happy to lie in court.”
“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that.”
“I don’t care about your rules. I don’t play your game. I make my living out here, in some of the most dangerous parts of the country. I’m not scared of an oath in court.”
“Then Carlos’ testimony and yours better align. If not, then you’re sending your cousin directly to prison. If you make a mistake up there, then it’ll be Carlos that pays the price. So where were you really on that day?”
“We were at a diner.”
“I want the truth.”
“You’re not getting the truth. Not today, not ever. You will get whatever I decide to give you. And right now, I say that Carlos and I were in a diner together. You can choose which one. I don’t care. You tell Carlos I said that, and I’m sure that he’ll agree with me.”
Bill leans forward on the table. “Let’s get this straight, Lewis. I’m trying to keep your cousin out of prison. Don’t let him go back there because of your pride. Help me out.”
Lewis draws a long breath. Nothing means more to him than family, his mother taught him that.
“I don’t like you.” He pauses and then exhales. “But Carlos is family. Tell me what you need, and I’ll make it happen.”
“I need you to come into my office and go through your testimony. If your testimony fails, then Carlos will go to prison. That’s why I need you.”
“I’m not going into your office,” Lewis states with disdain, but then he nods, feeling defeated that he has no other choice to help his cousin. “But send me a copy of your questions. I’ll send you my answers, and you can tell me what else I need to say.”
Lewis scribbles an email address on a napkin and tosses it in front of Bill. He’s not used to being defeated. Like a spoiled child, he always gets his way.
“Let’s work together to keep Carlos out of prison.” Bill throws a few banknotes on the table and stands to leave.
Without taking his eyes off his coffee mug, Lewis makes sure he has the last word. “If you sell me out, I’ll make sure that you pay the price. And it’ll be a big price to pay.”
Chapter 13
The phone vibrates in Bill’s pocket as climbs into his car.
He expected as much. The purpose of the meeting with Juan Lewis was two-fold. One; to test the waters with a star witness, and two; to smoke out if he was being followed.
It worked.
“Hello, Detective Pitt.”
“That’s quite formal for an old friend,” Pitt states. “Are you free for lunch?”
Bill grins to himself, making sure his smile isn’t big enough for his tail to see. “Yes, Pitt, I am.”
Twenty minutes later, Bill is sitting in a café just outside of USC. He sips at the burnt coffee, and orders a serve of bacon and eggs, both of which he’s sure will be burnt as well.
When Pitt arrives, he orders the same before taking a seat opposite Bill in the skinny booth. The vinyl seat sticks to his trousers as he struggles to squirm across. From Bill’s lack of a greeting, he can tell that something is wrong.
Preemptively, Pitt strikes first.
“Why did you need to meet with Lewis?”
“You tell me. You seem to know my movements quite well.”
“I’m a cop. A detective,” Pitt growls out. “And Juan Lewis is a criminal. That’s why I was tailing him. That’s my job to catch criminals. And as a cop, I need to know why you met with Lewis.”
“I’m a lawyer,” Bill retorts. “And it’s my job to know things before the cops do.”
His joke breaks the tension. Pitt exhales a small laugh, leaning back in his chair as the waitress brings both their plates of overcooked scrambled eggs and burnt bacon to the table.
As the waitress walks away, Pitt comments, “Looks like they didn’t burn it as much as last time.”
Bill shrugs. He much prefers his eggs overcooked, and his bacon extra crispy. He likes the extra crunch.
“What did Lewis say?” Pitt wafts down a fork full of scrambled eggs.
“Not a lot. I was touching base with a witness in my case.” Bill moves his bacon to the edge of the plate with his knife. “What did Roberto Miles say?”
Pitt stops as he goes to spoon another mouthful of eggs into his mouth. “Who?”
“Roberto Miles. It seems the two of you have a good relationship.”
“Is that what Lewis said? Of course, he did. He would say that. He’s just trying to cover his own butt, that’s all. Misdirection. He’s trying to make you think that Miles is the informer.”
“Or you are.”
Pitt puts his fork down. “Bill, you know me. You’ve known me for years. We’re more than just colleagues trying to get justice. We’re friends. You and me. You know I’m on the straight and narrow.”
Whoever killed Hardgrave has no problem with knocking people off for self-preservation. Bill needs to step carefully around Pitt or spend his days looking over his shoulder.
Taking out a criminal defense attorney would be child’s play compared to killing a sitting judge.
“Of course.” Bill smiles, breaking the tension once more. “But it’s always good to test the waters. Test your reaction.”
“Ha! Still playing hypnotherapist, eh? You can’t get that stuff out of your system. I’m sure that’s why you’re so good at what you do, Bill.”
In his previous employment, Bill spent his time convincing people to break this addiction or that addiction. In hindsight, he understands that he was drawn to the profession because of his drug-addicted brother, and found that helping others recover from their addiction felt like he was helping his brother.
And Pitt is right; sometimes old habits are hard to break.
Bill has spent his years as a lawyer not looking for mistakes in the words of the law but looking for answers in the way a person’s eyes move, the way a person’s head shakes when they answer a question, or the way a person’s body betrays what they’re saying.
And that has won him a lot of cases.
“How’s the Hardgrave case?”
“Not a lot of progress to report, I’m afraid. The killer was clean, left no evidence, and nobody is talking. Nobody saw anything, Bill. But that’s not uncommon in these parts. People don’t like to talk to us or be seen talking to us. We expected that.”
“Don’t spin me that media line, Pitt. Save that for the press conferences. You must have something on somebody somewhere.”
“I’m afraid not. I really wish I wasn’t telling you the truth, Bill, but we have nothing. We’ve got six detectives working on this, and we have n
othing.”
“You’re still the lead?”
“Of course. But these guys – they aren’t pulling up the right information. They’re missing something. A piece of the puzzle. But we’ll find a suitable suspect and charge them. If nothing else, just to get the media off our back.”
After only a few mouthfuls, Bill pushes his plate slightly away, not comfortable in the company anymore. He leaves a few banknotes on the table before choosing his next words very carefully.
“Something is wrong with this group,” he says. “Someone is protecting them.”
Pitt pauses and looks straight up at Bill. “If that’s the case, you have to be careful who you talk to.”
“I always am, Pitt.”
But this time, he isn’t so sure.
Chapter 14
“These are dangerous men, Bill.”
Jack Grayson climbs inside Bill’s sedan, providing a brief update after days of investigative work. His long limbs fill the front seat, squashing his knees against the dash, despite the leather seat being as far back as it can be.
Bill Harvey spent extra on the latest model Mercedes-Benz S-class sedan for comfort, knowing he conducts a lot of meetings here, and that Jack needs legroom. He’s the same. His knees often hurt after long car journeys.
Parked next to Santa Monica beach, they conduct their meeting in the comfort of the air-conditioning, but with the benefits of the iconic Californian view. Despite the half-hour drive from his office, there was no use living in L.A. if you weren’t going to take advantage of its many assets.
“How dangerous?”
“I followed Roberto Miles yesterday afternoon – tailed him from when he left the house and saw him drive to an old estate. Three men went into a warehouse, and only two come out. That’s how dangerous.”
“Who was the third?”
“A low-level drug dealer who wasn’t paying his debts. He won’t be missed.”
Bill draws a long breath, looking out to the beach in front of them. Once, he dreamed of coming to L.A. and surfing each morning, working by day, and partying by night.
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