The Whole Truth

by James Scott Bell

  “You crazy?”

  “A little bit.”

  “Man, you are.” The guy seemed almost amused. “Let’s go.”

  “Go where?”

  “Your car, man.”

  “What?”

  “Now.”

  Steve decided he did not want to get shot. He did not want to go to his car, either. But if it was just a matter of money, the guy could have whatever he wanted. Even the Ark at this point.

  He walked to his car, the guy behind him.

  “Get in,” the guy said.

  “What?”

  “Get in your car. We’re goin’ driving.”

  “You don’t have to do this,” Steve said. “If you want money, I can get you some money.”

  “Just get in now.”

  Steve unlocked the door and got behind the wheel, leaving the door open. The guy reached around and unlocked the back door. He got in behind Steve. “Drive out to the highway,” he said.

  Steve started the Ark and backed out of the lot. Taking it slow. When they got outside the town line, the guy decided to talk again.

  “Now you listen,” he said. “You the lawyer gonna defend that guy?”

  “What guy?”

  “You know what I’m talkin’ ’bout.”

  “Then why don’t you tell me what you want.”

  “Damien didn’t go after that guy.”

  “Who says?”

  “I says.”

  “Were you there?”

  “I seen the whole thing go down.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “That’s right.”

  “You want to tell me what happened?” Steve kept the car going at a steady pace. One pothole and maybe he’d get a hole of his own, in his head.

  “All you need to know is I seen it and Damien didn’t do nothin’.”

  “Are you prepared to take the stand in court and swear to what happened?”

  “I ain’t takin’ no stand.”

  “Then what do you want from me?”

  “You make sure your guy goes down.”

  “Me? I’m his lawyer.”

  “You gonna lay down,” the guy said.

  “What, you mean throw the trial?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Sure, that’d look real good.”

  “You know how to work it. You do it all a-time.”

  “Why would I want to?”

  The guy said, “Pull over.”

  They were near a field, which in the night only looked like a huge sea of black. Not a bad place to leave a body. But if the guy had wanted to kill Steve, why bother convincing him to take a dive on a trial?

  He stopped the car on the shoulder of the road. The headlights shot out down the highway and died in the dark.

  “Do I have your attention now?” the guy said. His voice seemed to change. It was more . . . deliberate.

  “You definitely have my attention,” Steve said.

  “Good. You just keep your eyes forward and listen. You are into things you do not know anything about. You are being used.”

  Definitely a voice change. The manner too. Steve said, “Who are — ”

  “Shut up. I said listen. Do you know what’s been happening in LA, the big news on the street?”

  Steve tried to think of something. Couldn’t. He waited.

  “There’s been some gang killings. Not just killings. Executions. Not just executions. Messages. Bodies skinned. Skins hung out.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Steve said. “I read something on that. Some psycho.”

  “Not just any psycho. The happy psychos up at Beth-El.”

  Steve chilled. “Can you prove that?”

  “The investigation is ongoing.”

  “Whose investigation? Are you a fed?”

  “Listen, these guys want the gangs in LA to start blaming some Aryan for these things and then go for broke, start taking out a few white people at random. Then it’ll be open season. That’s the profile.”

  Hearing the sound of his own breathing, Steve said, “I want to know who you are and why you’re telling me this. I want you to tell me why I should believe you.”

  “I don’t have to tell you anything. This is just a warning. You need to get out of there. And you need to tell us what you know.”

  “You don’t give me ID. You come at me with a gun. What are you playing here?”

  “Not playing, Mr. Conroy.”

  “Then make it official. For all I know you could be some shill for the sheriff.”

  “Look straight ahead, Mr. Conroy.”

  Steve did. This whack job could still be a shooter. He heard the back door open.

  “What you’re asking of me is unethical,” Steve said. “I have not observed any criminal activity, and as the attorney for the LaSalles I’m telling you that unless and until you have probable cause you don’t have any standing with me. Whoever you’re working for, if you are working for somebody, this won’t be — ”

  He stopped, having the distinct impression he was now alone. He turned. Saw nothing but the night.

  This is one crazy town.

  FIFTY-SIX

  Monday morning, entering the courtroom for Neal Cullen’s felony arraignment, Steve felt like he was sleepwalking. He should have been alert and ready, prepped to do what he’d done so many times before.

  But this was not like before. Everything — his client, his case, his whole life now — was encased in a block of industrial-strength strangeness. Night visitors with guns and old men in chairs, preaching racial purity.

  And not just a lying client, but a lying chief witness too.

  He tried to look semicoherent as he walked through the swinging gate. A row of chairs just inside the bar held a couple of lawyers who gave Steve the eye. These were no doubt local defense counsel waiting to plead their clients. Steve nodded at them.

  One, a barrel-bellied bald man in a gray suit, looked away without acknowledging him. The other, a younger version of the bald man, had a little more hair and the gut wasn’t as pronounced. They had to be a father-son team. The younger said to Steve, “How you doing?”

  Just great! Life’s a plate of jelly donuts and this town is the filling, oh yes!

  “Fine, thanks,” Steve said and approached the clerk. He was around thirty-five, the serious type. Steve gave him his card. “I’m representing Cullen.”

  The clerk took the card and looked at his day sheet. Put a check mark next to a name, presumably Neal’s.

  “I assume he’s in the holding tank?” Steve said.

  “The bailiff’ll show you the way,” the clerk said.

  The bailiff, a female sheriff’s deputy with the attitude of a disgruntled Dairy Queen manager, led Steve past the jury box and through a door in the back of the courtroom. The hallway in back was painted pea green. A holding cell to the right held three men. One of them was Neal Cullen, who was sitting on the bench, whistling. When he saw Steve he came to the bars, a huge smile on his face.

  “You don’t look like a man with too many problems,” Steve said.

  “Don’t ya know it,” Neal said. “You are the guy who’s gonna get me out of this with no problem.”

  “To be honest with you, it doesn’t look quite that simple.”

  “Huh?”

  “All I am saying is that in this wonderful criminal justice system of ours, anything can happen. Now listen, this morning you have one job and one job only. That is to keep your mouth shut until I tell you to talk. I will tell you to talk when the judge asks how you plead. When the judge asks how you plead you will say, ‘Not guilty.’ Are you with me so far?”

  “All the way, man, down the line.”

  “The judge’ll set bail and I assume somebody will post it for you, or arrange a bond.”

  “Johnny’ll take care of all that.”

  “Of course he will. Now when you get out, I don’t want you wandering around town, capisce?”

  “Yeah, whatever. No problem!”

  So far, everything
Steve said was according to the playbook. He’d given the same advice, in different forms, many times over the years.

  Why, then, were the words sticking in his throat?

  Neal crooked his finger and motioned Steve forward. Then he whispered, “You need another witness?”

  “Oh. You have another witness for me?”

  “If you need one. If you’re feeling nervous.”

  “Uh-huh. Is there a store in town? Witnesses-R-Us?”

  Neal laughed. “You’re funny, man.”

  “Yeah, I am. I’ll be here all week. Tip your waiter on the way out.”

  When he got back to the courtroom, Steve noticed several LaSalleites sitting in the gallery. He recognized them from the Bible study.

  Most prominent was Rennie, in the middle of the group, looking at Steve. Like he was hoping Steve would accuse him of lying again. Like he would love to rearrange the LA lawyer’s facial bones.

  And this was his star witness. Wonderful. The jelly just kept getting sweeter.

  Johnny was conspicuously absent.

  Mal Meyer had come to the prosecutor’s table, studying a file. He looked up briefly, nodded at Steve, went back to his work.

  Steve took a chair near the bar and waited.

  A few minutes later, the back door opened and the judge walked in. The bailiff told everyone to stand, announced the judge, called the room to order, and everyone sat again. A normal start to another normal day in the great criminal justice system of California.

  Right. And Steve was the next American Idol.

  The nameplate in front of the judge read Hon. Robert Lozano. He was thin with wispy salt-and-pepper hair cut short. Steve guessed him to be in his midfifties. He looked tired. Not physically, just tired of sitting in a lousy arraignment court. He plopped in his chair like he was serving a sentence, not handing them out. Did not bode well. Just enter a plea and get out. That would be the ticket.

  The judge dealt with the rotund lawyers first. They had their client, an equally rotund truck driver, plead no contest to driving under the influence. The judge ordered the client into an alcohol program and suspended his license for six months. That seemed to please everybody except the client.

  Then it was time for Steve’s case. The judge called it. The bailiff brought Neal in from the lockup and had him stand in the jury box.

  Neal smiled at the gallery.

  The judge asked if the attorneys were ready. Mal Meyer announced ready for the DA. Steve stated his appearance for the record and said he would waive the reading of the complaint and the statement of rights and that his client was ready to plead.

  “Not so fast,” the judge said. “I want it made perfectly clear here that your client, knowing his background, is certain about what he’s doing.”

  “I’ve advised my client,” Steve said.

  “I’ll speak to the client directly,” Judge Lozano said. He turned to Neal. “Mr. Cullen, do you understand that you have the right to hear about your rights as a citizen and the details of the complaint against you?”

  “Sure,” Neal said.

  “Are you satisfied with your legal representation?”

  Steve said, “Wait a second, Your Honor, with all due respect — ”

  “Save it, Mr. Conrad.”

  “Conroy.”

  “This is my courtroom and we do things a little differently than you might be used to. Just relax.” To Neal he said, “Are you absolutely sure about your counsel?”

  Neal said, “Absolutely, sir. I got no issues or problems with that.”

  “Because I don’t want to hear you coming back later and claiming ineffective assistance.”

  Steve bristled. The judge was insulting him without knowing one thing about him. Or did he? Maybe the judge knew about Steve’s little problem with coke and wanted to make sure Neal knew about it too.

  “I’m happy,” Neal said.

  Too happy. Steve turned and looked at the gallery again. Homed in on Rennie’s face. Rennie was smiling too.

  Steve’s stomach turned on a spit. “Your Honor,” he said, “may I have just a moment to confer with my client?”

  “You want to talk to Mr. Cullen before he pleads?”

  “Oh yeah,” Steve said. “I really, really do.”

  Judge Lozano’s eyebrows went up, then down. “I’ll call another case. Make it short, Mr. Conrad.”

  Steve nodded and walked to the jury box. Neal sat in a chair. Steve took the one next to him.

  “I told the judge I was happy,” Neal said. “I mean it.”

  “You’re happy,” Steve said. “Rennie’s happy. Everybody’s happy around here. One big happy family, right?”

  “Right. There a problemo?”

  “For you, maybe. I just want you to know that I’m not going to put your buddy Rennie on the stand.”

  Neal’s cheeks twitched. “What’re you talking about?”

  “You heard me. I am not going to put you or your lying friend on the stand. I am not going to suborn perjury. So my advice is we work out a deal with the DA right now, so you can plead to — ”

  “Wait a second!”

  Judge Lozano said, “Mr. Conrad, keep quiet over there.”

  “Apologies, Your Honor,” Steve said.

  Neal leaned in with a loud whisper. “I ain’t pleading to nothin’.”

  “You want to go to trial, is that it?”

  “Yeah. With Rennie. He saw the whole thing.”

  “Rennie is not going to testify.”

  “Yeah, he is. You’re not calling this one. You’ll do what you’re told.”

  “I will? You telling me how I’m going to do a trial?”

  “That’s right. You work for us. You do what we tell you to do. And if you don’t . . .”

  “If I don’t what?”

  “You just do what you’re told.” Neal folded his arms across his chest and leaned back. Conversation over.

  Steve shook his head. He should have seen this coming. All the way from on high, from the eagle perch of Eldon LaSalle.

  He got up and walked back to his counsel table. As he did he felt another look from Rennie impale itself in his back. Then heard Judge Lozano call his name.

  “I’d like to approach the bench,” Steve said.

  “Is that really necessary, Mr. Conrad?” Judge Lozano said.

  “The name is Conroy, Your Honor, and yes, it is necessary.”

  Mal Meyer joined Steve at the judge’s bench.

  “I want to withdraw from the case,” Steve said.

  “You what?” the judge said.

  Mal Meyer blinked behind his thick glasses.

  “I have good cause to withdraw,” Steve said.

  “Let’s hear it.”

  “I can’t give that to you.”

  The judge said, “You’re going to have to.”

  “I’m sure Your Honor is aware of Aceves v. Superior Court.”

  “Go on,” Lozano said.

  “A lawyer is not required to reveal anything that would violate any ethical duty. That’s what I’m representing to this court.”

  The judge looked at Meyer as if for help.

  Meyer said, “That’s correct, Your Honor.”

  With a frustrated sigh, Lozano said, “Well, this is not exactly a good start for you here in Verner, Mr. Conroy . Not good at all. What can you tell me?”

  “Nothing, unfortunately.”

  “Does this have anything to do with a conflict of interest?”

  “I can’t say.”

  “Perjury?”

  “I can’t say.”

  “Both? Never mind.” The judge slapped a palm on the bench. “Let’s go back on the record.” He waited for Steve and Meyer to return to their respective places.

  Neal Cullen sat smugly in the jury box.

  “Mr. Cullen,” the judge said, “your attorney has decided to turn down the distinct honor of representing you.”

  The smugness melted from Neal’s face.

  “Do you un
derstand?” the judge said.

  “No,” Neal said.

  “Your attorney, Mr. Conroy, is withdrawing from defending you.”

  Neal shot a look at Steve, who started packing his briefcase. But not without hearing some murmurings in the courtroom.

  “So here’s what I’m going to do, Mr. Cullen — ”

  “He can’t do that!” Neal said.

  “He just did, sir.”

  “Hey! Steve! What the — ”

  “Mr. Cullen! Listen carefully. We are going to continue this arraignment so you can consult with an attorney. I’m also going to set a bail amount so you can get out and find one.”

  “But I got an attorney!”

  “Had, Mr. Cullen.”

  “Steve!”

  But Steve was already out of the gate and headed for the door.

  FIFTY-SEVEN

  A hand grabbed his shoulder as he started down the courthouse steps.

  Rennie spun him around and said, “What was that stunt?”

  “No stunt,” Steve said.

  “Explain it to me.”

  “No,” Steve said. He could feel incipient rage dripping off Rennie, like sweat from a bull.

  “Your ice is getting thin,” Rennie said.

  “Where’d you get that? Buford’s Book of Insults?”

  “You are in this up to your neck.”

  “What page is that on?”

  “Shut up.”

  Steve turned and took the steps two at a time.

  “Johnny’s gonna be in touch with you,” Rennie called after him. “Bet on that.”

  He didn’t have long to wait. He was back in his office when Johnny called, a little past ten. “You in your office?”

  “I’m right here,” Steve said.

  “Then you stay there.”

  Johnny arrived fifteen minutes after the call. Didn’t bother knocking before he came in.

  “You want to tell me what you’re doing?” Johnny said. He was not in a smiling, good-brother mood.

  Not that Steve expected it. He was sitting at his desk and offered Johnny a chair. Johnny didn’t move.

  “I’m not repping Cullen,” Steve said. “That’s all.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because he and that goof Rennie are the worst liars I’ve ever seen.”

  “Come on.”

  “And I’ve seen some pretty bad ones.”

  “Yeah?”

  Steve just stared at him. Until he got it.