Bill Harvey Collection

by Peter O'Mahoney

  A mix of 1960s American and classic Mexican styling, the large two-story house sat on top of a hill, at the end of a dead-end street; the perfect place to watch for any approaching cars. The garden was once a flowering maze of shrubs and bushes, but without the diligent care of the previous owners, the greenery had struggled to survive under the blaze of the Californian sun.

  The current owners had been much too busy growing other plants.

  “Are you a cop?”

  “No. Like I said, I’m a lawyer, and I’m Carlos’ lawyer. I’m on his side. I’m trying to get him off the drug possession charges, but to do that, I need your help. I need to talk to you about his case.”

  “You’re on his side?” he confirmed.

  “Yes.”

  Slowly, the thoughts continued to thump through his head, and eventually, he smiled. “Why didn’t you say so? Any brother of Carlos’ is a brother of mine!”

  Roberto placed his arm around Harvey’s shoulders, leading him into the dark house. Despite the sun just setting on the horizon, the blinds were drawn closed, and from the damp smell, it seemed like the inside of this house hadn’t seen a touch of daylight in months.

  Harvey was guided into the living room, where two men were fixated on the flickering television in front of them, computer game controls being punched in their hands.

  “No!” screamed one man. He stood up from the sofa, throwing the controller down in disgust. “I was duped, man. That should’ve been a foul! I should’ve been going to the free throw line. You cheated, man!”

  The other man on the couch giggled like a little schoolboy, dazed under the effects of smoking too much greenery.

  “What’s he doing here?” a shrouded man in the corner of the room, sitting by himself in an old armchair, called out.

  “This is Bill Harvey, a friend of Carlos’.” Miles patted his hand solidly on Harvey’s back. “You know him?”

  “Yeah, I know him, and I don’t trust him.”

  Miles’ hand reached for his right hip, where he was carrying a weapon under his shirt.

  Harvey held up his hands in surrender. “Juan Lewis, it’s good to see you again. I’m just here trying to get information to help Carlos get off these charges. Nothing sinister. I’m here trying to help Carlos. That’s all.”

  Two of Miles’ well-built friends stepped in from the next room as soon as they heard raised voices.

  “Are we good?” Miles asked Lewis, his hand still on his right hip.

  “Whatever.” Lewis shrugged. “Let him in. The guy’s harmless.”

  “He doesn’t look harmless,” Miles commented, looking Harvey up and down. “He looks like he can handle himself. So, are we good?”

  “Yeah, we’re good.” Lewis stood up and walked confidently across the room. He was still well-dressed, flashy, and moved with a grace that wasn’t usually associated with a drug house. He headed to the table on the opposite side of the room where he picked up a joint and took one, long, deep puff.

  Miles waved to the two heavies, and they exited the room slowly, keeping their eyes locked on Harvey.

  This wasn’t a friendly house.

  The two younger men who were playing the computer basketball videogame turned off the television and scampered out of the room. They knew their place, and it wasn’t in the middle of a discussion between the two heavyweights of the East L.A. drug trade. With his head held high and his shoulders drawn back, Lewis strolled back across the room to sink into the armchair, his long legs crossing over each other. Miles sat near him in another armchair, gesturing for Harvey to take a seat on the couch.

  The couch had seen more drugs than a police evidence department, and he wondered if he’d get high just from sitting on it. Carefully, he sat on the couch as the two powerful men stared at him, intently.

  They didn’t trust him. Even though he was trying to help their friend, they didn’t have confidence in him.

  Miles opened, staring directly at Harvey. “What do you want?”

  “I want Carlos to get off these drug charges.”

  “It’s all a setup,” Miles added quickly. “All of it. Carlos hasn’t touched drugs for years. He even tells us to get out of the game. Doesn’t he, Juan?” Lewis didn’t respond. “I know it wasn’t him. It couldn’t have been. He’s a good man.”

  “If he has been out of the game, why are they after him?” Harvey directed the question at Miles.

  “You know why,” Lewis snapped.

  “You’re due to appear tomorrow for the prosecution, right?” Harvey calmly asked an agitated Lewis. If it weren’t for the puff of marijuana, he would hate to see how tense he would be right now.

  “I’ll be there in court. I don’t have a choice. They said they would lock me up if I’m not in court tomorrow. So, yeah, I’ll be there, but I won’t like it.”

  “Once the prosecution has finished questioning you, I’ll be asked if I wish to cross-examine you. This will be my opportunity to ask some questions that may help establish that Carlos is innocent. After we met last time, I sent you a list of questions. You never responded with your answers.”

  “I know the questions.” Lewis uncrossed his legs, leaning forward on his knees. “And I know what I’m going to say. I don’t need your help.”

  “Tell me what you want from me.” Miles leaned forward as well. “Why are you here?”

  The tension in the room was palpable.

  Harvey took a moment to respond, looking at Lewis, and then back to Miles.

  He had planned to question Miles alone, but with Lewis present, he couldn’t ask the questions he wanted.

  He had to change his plan.

  And he had to change it quickly.

  “I was hoping that Lewis would be here. Not you, Roberto.”

  Miles’ eyebrows rose to ask a question, looking across at Lewis.

  “How did you know I was here?” Lewis grilled him.

  “I’m a lawyer. I investigate. That’s what I do. That’s what I do really well. And that’s why I’m here.”

  “Are you saying that you were following me?” As a man who had lived his life as a criminal, Lewis never trusted a tail.

  The last time he had a tail, the person went missing for five years. And the police only found his bones because developers began building on the site of an old empty car yard. ‘Mauled to death by dogs,’ the Los Angeles Coroner reported.

  They weren’t wrong.

  “I wasn’t following you, Lewis. I only assumed that you would be here.”

  Lewis didn’t believe him.

  His cold stare was only matched by Harvey’s unflinching focus. To break a sweat here, to show one hint of nerves, would be suicide in this house.

  He would go missing as well, and this time, Lewis would make sure that nobody would ever find the body.

  “For Carlos’ sake, I need to go over the questions that I sent you, so there are no surprises in the courtroom. This is for the freedom of your cousin. This isn’t about you, and this isn’t about me. This is about Carlos. This is about your family.”

  Lewis maintained the stare, waiting for a moment of unease from the attorney.

  When it didn’t come, he exhaled slowly, leaning back in his chair, and he looked across at Miles. Miles offered a small nod.

  “Ask your questions.” It was not a request; it was a demand.

  “The prosecution is going to ask very direct questions about your relationship with Carlos, and whether you have anything to do with supplying drugs. They’re not going to sugarcoat any of the questions, so I need you to appear calm and honest in the face of their accusations.”

  “Of course.”

  Thinking on his feet was a skill that Harvey had always possessed. He had to. His choice of words had saved his life many times over.

  “These questions will act as a warning shot for them. They’re warning you that they’re onto you and your operations. They want you to know that they’re looking at your drug dealings and they’re not far away f
rom catching you. They’ll use this opportunity to pressure you on the stand to try and get you to slip up. Don’t be surprised if they ask you very straight forward questions, one after the other. They’re trying to catch you in a lie.”

  Lewis laughed. “They’re a very long way from catching me. I know what questions they’re going to ask and my answers are already prepared. I’m ready for what they’ll throw at me tomorrow. I have a lot of very powerful friends, and they’ll always make sure that I’m one step ahead of the law.”

  The statement caught Harvey off guard. He was too confident. Too poised.

  Something wasn’t right.

  “And if these powerful friends don’t help you out?”

  “Then they’ll find out just how nasty I can be.” Lewis gritted his teeth. “It’s like I told my friend Carlos that morning when I was meeting with him in his apartment—if he just does what I ask, then nothing bad will come of it.”

  “Tell me why you needed Carlos to be an alibi before the raid had even happened?”

  “I’m not telling you anything about that.”

  Lewis glanced at Miles, and Miles dropped his head.

  “You just said that you were in the apartment that morning telling Carlos that you two were together all day, but that was before the raid. Either you knew about the raid, or you needed an alibi for something else. If you weren’t at the diner meeting with Carlos, where were you?”

  Lewis stared at Harvey intently. “I was taking care of business.”

  “Such as?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “It may tomorrow when you’re on the stand in court under oath.”

  “I don’t care about being under oath. I’ll be on that stand, and I’ll say whatever I want.”

  “I hope you stick to the same story. If your story changes at any point during the testimony, the prosecution will destroy you. If they even get a hint that something is wrong or misplaced, then they’ll attack you. If you give them the chance, then it’ll be very dangerous for you and Carlos in the courtroom. I’ll give you one word of advice for free, Lewis—make sure your house is clean tomorrow because if you slip up in the slightest, they’ll raid it. If you give them the slightest opportunity, they’ll exploit it. They want you behind bars.”

  Miles squinted as he stared at Harvey. “I hope you aren’t thinking of doing anything stupid.”

  “I’m not a stupid man. My life has been spent dealing with criminals. I know what you can do.”

  A heavy silence drifted over the room.

  “I have a lot of friends. A lot of powerful friends. They wouldn’t like it if anything happened to me. They wouldn’t like it if I ended up behind bars.” Lewis leaned forward again.

  The pressure was building.

  And Harvey didn’t want to be there when it detonated.

  Miles leaned his body slightly forward as well, defending his friend. “I think you’re about to find out how friendly we can be.”

  It was time to leave.

  Cautiously, Harvey stood and slowly walked to the exit. No sudden movements, but no hesitation.

  “Tomorrow is going to be an interesting day, gentlemen. Be prepared.”

  Chapter 21

  The walk from Harvey’s car to the bar was a short one.

  And that was just the way Harvey liked it.

  He felt the strong need for a glass of whiskey after his chat with Lewis and Miles. Despite his flair, Lewis had an air of psychotic danger surrounding him. He had reportedly ordered the hit on as many as twenty people around his neighborhood, and he didn’t regret it for one moment. He was as ruthless as he was stylish.

  That made Harvey uneasy.

  The more a criminal evaded the police, the more invincible they became.

  The more crimes they committed and didn’t get charged for, the closer they came to losing control.

  Harvey was afraid that Lewis had already walked to the edge and lost restraint. The power had gone to Lewis’ head, and he felt invincible. He felt he could get away with anything. He might be the king in his world, but he was stepping into a different territory. He held no power in court, and if he wasn’t careful, the prosecution was going to tear him apart.

  One wrong word from Lewis could destroy any chance Harvey had of getting Carlos off the charges.

  Despite his past, Carlos López was a good man. Harvey knew that. He wanted to help him. He wanted Carlos back on the street so he could help drug addicts recover.

  The chill of the cool night air hit Harvey as he stepped out of the car.

  After he stepped onto the sidewalk, he tossed a couple of dollars into the hat of a homeless man sitting nearby because he always felt that if things fell apart, that could easily be him. A few dollars didn’t mean much to Harvey, but it meant the world to the homeless man.

  When you live life so close to the edge, you have to be prepared to fall over it.

  Harvey turned up his collar to the cold and damp, and moved to lock his car door.

  The moment he turned, he felt a large hand rest on his shoulder. Instinctively, he swung around.

  He only had time to see a fist come towards his face.

  The fist connected heavily with Harvey’s cheekbone, throwing him back against his car.

  His arms flew out sideways, trying to keep him upright, but he quickly landed on his behind, dazed by the surprise impact.

  That wasn’t a lucky punch.

  This person knew exactly what they were doing.

  As Harvey’s head lifted off the pavement, two men grabbed him under his arms and dragged his body into the closest alley.

  The fog cleared.

  The adrenalin kicked in.

  Harvey attempted to spring to his feet.

  He wrestled free with his strength.

  But there was another punch.

  His world was dark.

  Another fist connected with the back of his head. He didn’t see that one.

  Another fist.

  He sprawled onto the pavement.

  A boot.

  The force connected with his ribs, and he curled up in pain. When another boot came towards him, his arm instinctively grabbed it.

  Gripping the ankle tightly, he threw the man to the ground, and leapt to his feet at the same time.

  Having spent most of his childhood at a boxing gym, he knew how to throw a decent punch. When the second thug got close to him, he swung, and he swung hard.

  They say in boxing that if you hit a man clean on the chin, he won’t feel it until tomorrow.

  As Harvey’s heavy fist connected with the jaw of one of the thugs, he felt the satisfaction of it breaking under his force.

  But that satisfaction didn’t last long.

  Another fist hit him in the ribs.

  And another fist hit him in the back of the head.

  Two more quick jabs into his body and Harvey had landed heavily on the pavement.

  A quick succession of boots.

  He didn’t stand a chance.

  He tried to catch a glimpse of the attackers, but he was blinded by the barrage.

  The taste of blood began to fill his mouth.

  His vision began to blur.

  Another hit.

  Another one.

  His head was spinning.

  His arms flailed in a feeble attempt at defense. A heavy kick to his ribs robbed his lungs of any existing breath.

  His resistance didn’t last long.

  Boot after boot landed on his body.

  His efforts turned to protecting himself.

  When his resistance had finished, the boots stopped flying.

  Instinctively, Harvey grasped his wallet and held it against his chest.

  “Don’t go digging into the wrong business,” the voice snarled at him, inches from his ear. “You’ll find that people don’t like you sniffing around in the wrong places. We’ll be back if you don’t stop digging.”

  Of course.

  These men didn’t want his wal
let.

  Chapter 22

  The quiet darkness of the parking lot caused Kate Spencer to shudder.

  She didn’t trust the night. She never had.

  When she was a small six-year-old girl, she watched as her mother and father were mugged and beaten under the darkness of a still night. She was overcome with fear as her father tried to fight back, struggling desperately to protect his family, but there were too many of them. She watched in terror as her father was kicked on the ground over and over again.

  After months in the hospital, he was able to walk again, but his gait was never the same.

  Nor was his personality.

  Tonight, she could feel those same chills in the air. The small hairs on her arms stood on end.

  She could sense the danger.

  She knew it was there.

  Despite her boss’ desperate plea for her not to work late, she ignored his request. She loved her work—wanting to complete it before she went home to her empty house. Her son was with his deadbeat father for the next two days, and she couldn’t bear the thought of sitting home alone.

  Empty nesters claim they’re the only ones that know the grief of losing their children to adulthood, but for divorcees, that pain was just as real. Their family, their hopes and dreams, the people they had invested so much in, were suddenly gone, spending time somewhere else; laughing, crying, and growing.

  It took Kate a long time to deal with that pain.

  Every time her eight-year-old son left to go to her deadbeat ex-husband’s apartment, she cried a pool of tears. Her son was growing up without her. Without her love. He was experiencing a life that she had no part of.

  She didn’t miss her ex-husband for one minute, not for one second, but she missed her son every waking minute that he wasn’t with her. There was an emptiness in her heart; an ache that she couldn’t cure. Over time, she had learned to ignore that pain, distracting herself with work.

  Despite the years that had passed since her divorce, going home to an empty house still filled the single mother with dread.