The Whole Truth (30 page)

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 understand?” 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.

“Oh,” Johnny said, “you're calling me a liar now. Is that it?”

“What else am I supposed to think?” Steve stood, walked around his desk. “When have you been up front with me?”

“I never lied to you.”

“Really? How about just holding back the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?”

“Back off, Steve.”

He realized he was almost literally in Johnny's face.

Johnny said, “Didn't I tell you to be patient? Didn't I tell you to trust me and wait? Why didn't you come to me before pulling this?”

“Wouldn't have made a difference.”

“How do you know? You don't even know how much you don't know, do you?”

“You want to run that by me again?”

“Haven't I been looking out for you?”

“Have you?”

Johnny slapped his sides. “See that? See how you're talking? I haven't even told you about that little problem you had with a former client.”

“What former client?”

“The former client who won't be sending around people to bother you anymore.”

Steve went cold. Mendez.

He sat on the edge of his desk. Light-headed. “How?”

“You don't think we know guys in the joint? Steve, look at me.”

Steve turned away.

“If you would've just waited, Steve. There's so much I want you to know, but at the right time.”

“The time is now, Johnny. Otherwise, I'm outta here.”

“Come on — ”

Now Steve faced him again. “I mean it. No more hiding. I want to know exactly why you tracked me down and pulled me in.”

“I told you. The feds are breathing down our necks.”

“Why?”

“Why do they do anything? Because they can.”

“Maybe they care about ritual murder.”

“What?”

“Do you know anything about gang murders in LA? Where certain gang members were treated like bananas?”

“What's that mean?”

“Skins removed.”

Johnny's face stayed impassive. “Steve, who have you been talking to?”

“Why don't you answer my question first?”

“What are you doing this for? Isn't the money good enough? Have I done you wrong in any way?”

“I don't know what you've done, that's the problem.”

“It doesn't have to be a problem.”

But it was. And the bigger problem was located at Beth-El, sitting in a wheelchair, working Johnny like a puppet master. This couldn't end well.

“Johnny, listen to me. You think about this. Come to LA. Walk out of this whole thing, come out and we'll get a place together and I'll help get you a job. We'll start all over again.”

“Are you nuts?”

“Why not?”

“I'll just be another ex-con in LA. What I've got here is what I've waited my whole life to get. There's a lot of money that's going to be made, Steve, and you'll have a big share.”

“Money made how? Not from church offerings. What enterprises have you got going that I don't know about?”

“This is where I have to ask you to trust me again, Steve.”

“That's not good enough anymore.”

“It has to be,” Johnny said.

Steve shook his head. “Come with me, Johnny. Please.”

“Are you leaving?”

“Yes.” At that moment, he decided. He had to get out. Even if it meant losing his brother again.

Johnny didn't speak for a long time. He walked to Steve's window, looked out.

“Do me one favor,” Johnny said. “Just one. Think about it for one night. Talk to me again in the morning. Will you do that much for me, Steve?”

“It won't make any difference.”

Johnny turned around. “It might. That's all I'm asking.”

Well, he wasn't going to be leaving in the next ten minutes anyway.

“All right,” Steve said. “One night. But I can't promise I'll change my mind.”

Johnny smiled. “That's my brother. You'll see. It'll be better tomorrow.” He paused, then nodded and went out the door.

Better tomorrow? Not likely. Not better, ever.

Steve loosened his tie, unbuttoned the top button of his shirt, and fell on the sofa. He closed his eyes and tried to imagine that everything was normal again. That he was a good lawyer at last and didn't have recurring hunger for drugs or liquor.

And had a brother he could trust.

At some point he dozed off.

When he awoke he wanted to see Sienna. Right away. And Gincy. And Nick Nolte. He missed his cat. Was anybody feeding it?

He could go find out right now. Why not? He had no pressing engagements. Not now. All he had was four walls closing in.

Sure. He'd drive to his old building and say hello to Mrs. Stanky and go to the drugstore for her. He'd buy some milk and feed Nick and unload his troubles.

He'd call Gincy and Sienna. Maybe have dinner with her. Maybe she'd be glad to this time.

Whatever happened, the drive itself would do him good. Get him out on the road and feeling that sense of motion.

And not let anything gain on him.

He grabbed his keys.

FIFTY-EIGHT

He was outside of town a half mile or so when he saw the lights — the colored, flashing bar of a law-enforcement vehicle.

What, had he been speeding?

No. The Ark was incapable of speeding, except in a hospital zone. Which this wasn't.

It was a sheriff's car, and it closed in. Steve pulled to the shoulder and came to a stop. In his side-view mirror he watched as the sheriff's car parked behind him, about twenty yards back. A uniform got out and, with a familiar swagger, approached.

Owen Mott.

Who must have followed him. Who must have been waiting for him to leave his office.

He saw another deputy get out of the car on the other side. Two? Approaching him like he was a freaking fugitive or something.

Steve put his window down and waited.

Mott stepped to his window, removed his sunglasses, and said, “Where you headed?”

“Hi, Sheriff,” Steve said.

“Asked you a question.”

“Was I speeding?”