The Whole Truth (5 page)

“I don't see how that has anything to do with anything,” Steve said.

“Maybe it does. Maybe it is everything.”

“LaSalle, why don't you drop the games? You're starting to hack me off. I can get up and leave, right now.”

A corner of LaSalle's mouth went up. “Wait, Steve. Wait. You have to believe in God. Life has no meaning without that. Because if you don't believe in God, you're not gonna believe the rest of it.”

Steve looked at his watch. “Suppose I give you five minutes to get to the point?”

“Steve, the heart is deceitful above all things.”

“Jessica Simpson again?”

“Jeremiah.”

“Jeremiah?”

“In the Bible.”

“Look — ”

“Do you believe people can change?” LaSalle said. “I need to know that.”

“Sometimes,” Steve said quietly. He was not exactly Exhibit A in the character-formation department.

“It's harder than you think,” LaSalle said. “But it happens. It's a miracle when it does. Do you know about me?”

“Some.”

“You know that I used to walk in the darkness?”

“Sounds like a reasonably good summary.”

“It's biblical. Listen, the Word of God says if you hate your brother, you walk in the darkness. That's what I used to be like, Steve. I hated. People who weren't my color, I hated. People who were against me, I hated. That's what gave my life meaning. Hate.”

“What gives it meaning now?”

“Jesus.”

“Okay.”

“You don't believe that?”

Steve knew only too well that hard-core prisoners often jump to Jesus as a way to show the parole board what nice little citizens they have become. As soon as they get out, many go back to their merry ways. What Would Jesus Steal?

“Listen,” LaSalle said: “ ‘And this is the condemnation, that light is come into the world, and men loved darkness rather than light, because their deeds were evil.' I was in love with my evil, you see? It took a shank to the ribs to get my attention, but God got it. Boy, he dialed me direct.”

Steve said nothing.

“It was right here, in the infirmary, where I saw an angel of the Lord. I don't know if I was out when it happened or wide awake. All I know is there was an angel in the room with me and he looked like, I don't know, he looked big and perfect. Scared the living — I was scared, boy, but then he spoke to me. He said, ‘Don't be afraid.' Did you know angels say that right out of the box?”

“Never talked to one myself.”

“Yeah, they say, ‘Don't be afraid,' because man, you will be. But his voice calmed me down and he called me Johnny.”

“Had your file, did he?”

LaSalle narrowed his eyes. “This is not something to mock, my man. I'm telling you about a visit from a heavenly being, coming to me to tell me my life had been given back to me, but I had to follow the living Christ from now on. I was given a choice, don't you see? And I knew even if I stayed in prison the rest of my life, I was going to follow Jesus. Right there in that bed I confessed the name of Jesus to the angel.”

“Is that all you confessed?”

“Don't you believe me?”

“Sure.” The word didn't sound the least bit convincing, not even to Steve.

“Then spake Jesus again unto them, saying, I am the light of the world: he that followeth me shall not walk in darkness, but shall have the light of life.”

Steve placed his palms on the desk for emphasis. “Mr. LaSalle, let me give you one more shot at this. Why did you call me up here?”

“To save you.”

“To save
me
?”

Johnny LaSalle nodded.

“I don't need saving,” Steve said.

“You know you do.” LaSalle's eyes burned with an inner fire, like a prophet or madman or murderer. Maybe he was all three.

Steve put his legal pad back in his briefcase, snapped it shut.

“You do need to be saved,” LaSalle said. “I know it.”

Steve turned to the desk guard. “I'm through here.”

“And now, behold, the hand of the Lord is upon thee, and thou shalt be blind, not seeing the sun for a season.”

The guard picked up the phone and said something.

Steve started to get up.

“Don't go!” LaSalle said.

“Good luck.”

The interior door opened and the same deputy returned, looking like he'd just been disturbed from a nap.

Steve was on his feet when LaSalle said, “You won't stay and talk to your own brother?”

The deputy approached LaSalle.

“Wait a second,” Steve said. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Your brother. He was lost. And now is found.”

Steve's chest tightened. The fact that this man would say that, that he knew Steve had a brother at all, needed explanation.

“I'm here for the prisoner,” the deputy said.

“I'm not through,” Steve said.

“You called it,” the desk deputy said. “That's it.” He started unlocking Johnny LaSalle's desk cuffs.

LaSalle said nothing, but his face was almost glowing.

“You're one sick puppy,” Steve said.

“You just finding that out?” the escort deputy said with a laugh. He pulled LaSalle to his feet. The shackles jangled like loose change.

“Don't believe them, Steve,” LaSalle said. “I bless the entire world. I need you.” Just before he turned his back he added, “My true name is Robert Conroy.
I am your brother
!”

SIX

The next few moments passed like a slow-motion death scene. The deputy got LaSalle out the door, closed it, and all the while Steve stood mute. Like a statue named
Stupid.

What had just happened? A prisoner calls him for an interview and knows about his dead brother? Not just that, invokes the name for himself?

That meant this guy had done research, actual research on him. Or had the information fed to him by another. But what sense did that make?

“Have a nice day,” the desk deputy said.

Steve was a cocktail of rage and sorrow and dark memories. The butt of a sick joke.

But why would this guy do it? Why go to all that trouble to put the needle in like that?

As Steve stumbled out, all the old memories flooding back, he knew it would be a long drive back to the Valley. He would be thinking of relief all the way, how he used to handle situations like this in the past.

He hit the speed dial as he drove. For his sponsor. Needed him right now.

Gincy answered. “Hey, what's up?”

“You are not going to believe this one,” Steve said.

“Try me.”

His open invitation to talk, and his promise to listen. That's what he was good at.

Gincy Farguson, his Cocaine Anonymous sponsor, was a former Las Vegas dancer turned body builder and gardening enthusiast. During daylight hours, Gincy installed and ser viced home fitness equipment, then volunteered his time helping at-risk youth at a big church in Tarzana.

At forty, Gincy had lines etched in his face that read like a relief map of an improbably hard life. He'd come from a little town in Georgia, where his father had become the first African American in the county fire department. A father who died in a blaze when Gincy was ten. That was the main reason, Steve decided, that they hit it off. Both were from the brotherhood of the fatherless.

Gincy's big mistake was going for the glamour instead of the gold. “I could have had a job with the fire department myself,” he told Steve once. “But I wanted a different kind of light and heat.”

Landing in Vegas, Gincy discovered he had been granted two things “by the hand of God.” An almost perfect body and the ability to move it. With his movie-star looks — his nickname among the dancers was Denzel — it wasn't long before he landed in the chorus of a Las Vegas revue that went on for seven years.

Which was more than enough time for Gincy to fall into the gaping maw of the high life. As one of the few straight male dancers on the Strip, he had his pick of the female contingent. And because of his natural gregariousness, Gincy got to be a favorite on the party circuit. Cocaine became his drug of choice.

It got so bad he was burning through his salary every month, then having to borrow, and finally having to borrow from the wrong people. Of which there are plenty in Las Vegas.

The debt got too high. One night Gincy was picked up by a couple of thugs and ended up with two broken legs.

No more dancing for Gincy Farguson.

It was while he was in the county hospital that he had what he called a
vision.
When pressed he said it could have been just a very vivid dream, but it didn't matter. It was still as real to him as a live performance of
Chicago.

In the vision he saw his father walking through flames. But the man wasn't burning. He was actually calm and calling out, “Get out of the fire, Gincy! Get out of the fire!”

When Gincy woke up, he was on the other side of belief. Still in leg casts, he checked himself into the addiction unit of the hospital and began the hard road to sobriety. And faith.

It was fine with Steve, the faith part, as long as Gincy was there when he needed him. Like now.

“I've just been out to the prison at Fenton,” Steve said, holding the phone to his left ear and steering with his other hand. “A guy pulled a weird one on me. Claimed to be my brother.”

Pause, then Gincy said, “That is weird. Why would he do that?”

“No idea. It threw me. I'm buzzing like a wire.”

“All right, all right. Let's get to a meeting.”

“I can't right now. I have a closing on Monday. I have to focus.”

“You can't if you're feeling this way. Meet me at my place.”

“Later. Work first. I just needed to hear your voice. I need you to tell me you'll slap me around if I even think about getting high.”

“Are you thinking about it now?”

“Yeah, I am.”

“Okay. Listen to me. I am going to slap you. I am going to slap you hard. Right now.
Smack!
Did you feel it?”

“Ouch.”

“Good. Now come to my place and — ”

“I'll call you later. Maybe you can do that thing you do.”

“What thing?”

“Pray.”

“Always. But you don't believe it.”

“No, but the vibes. Maybe the vibes do something. I'll take it. At this point, I'll take anything.”

SEVEN

He got back to his office around one. Blasting a little R.E.M. on the way helped push out thoughts of what had happened at Fenton. Also got his juices flowing, so maybe he could really get ready for the fight on Monday morning. Spin some closing argument gold out of the lousy legal straw he had to work with.

He walked into his office and found it immaculate.

Sienna Ciccone was at the metal filing cabinet, putting some folders away.

“Hi,” she said.

Like it was the most understandable thing in the world. “How'd you even get in here?”

“New locks, remember? New keys? I took one.”

“Why?”

“You hired me. I wanted to — ”

“No,” Steve said. “I told you I couldn't hire you, remember? No funds.”

“What happened to that ten-thousand-dollar client?”

She wore tan slacks and a casual white blouse. It was more than a little strange to be sharing a small space with a woman again, even if she was just a law student. Suddenly Steve felt shy.

He put his briefcase on the front desk. “Sienna, I appreciate what you've done. But it's Saturday. You shouldn't be — ”

“I don't mind.”

“Listen. I'm not going to be getting any ten thousand.”

“What's up with that?”

“The guy, LaSalle, he just wanted to mess with me.”

“Why?”

“I don't know.”

“I mean, what'd he say?”

“It was just a big joke.”

“Tell me.”

“Why should I tell you anything?” Steve's shyness turned to heat. It came on like a flash and he didn't care to cool down. “I didn't ask you to do this, to be here.”

“Hey, I thought I helped get you the gig. I thought maybe I'd like to hear about it.”

“Well, think again.”

She nodded at him, tight lipped, then grabbed her purse and started out.

“Wait a second,” Steve said.

“Why?”

“Just hold on.” He sighed to gather his thoughts. “I'm sorry. Look, sit down a minute. I guess I owe you an explanation. In addition to the money.”

She hesitated, then sat in the chair behind the front desk. Steve took a deep breath. He hadn't told anyone the story in years. He didn't know why he should tell her. Other than that he didn't want her to go.

“When I was a kid my brother got kidnapped. I was five. Two men came in our room and took him.”

Her stunned expression didn't need words.

“A couple weeks later they tracked one of the guys. He was some sort of a religious wacko, had a small following. He was living in a shack in the mountains, had Robert with him. That was my brother's name, Robert. When they closed in he set fire to the place rather than get taken. They found two bodies in there, had to ID them by dental records. It was Robert and this guy, a guy named Cole.”

“How awful for you.”

“The night he was taken, one of the kidnappers told me if I said anything or made a noise, they'd kill Robert. And me. I believed him. But because I didn't say anything, they had plenty of time to get away. My dad never forgave me. He ended up shooting himself.”

Sienna looked down.

“So this guy at the prison, LaSalle, finds out about me, has me come all the way out there, and get this, tells me he's my brother.”

“Why would he do that?”

“You tell me. Maybe it's a way for some ex-client of mine to get back at me. You know about me?”