The Whole Truth

by James Scott Bell

  “Yeah. Like school.”

  “Three years law school.”

  “You think I could go? I wanna be a lawyer.”

  “That right?”

  He took a step closer to Steve. “That’s right. You think I can do it? You think I got the brain?”

  “Sure, a bright young man like you, ambitious.”

  The guy smiled. “I think you talking smack to me, baby.”

  “Me? Talk smack? I thought you wanted some career counseling.”

  “See, if a scumbag like you can be a lawyer, anybody can, right?”

  Steve swallowed. “Is this a great country or what?”

  The guy nodded, then held up the knife again. Steve was sure this time he’d use it.

  He wondered if he could get a kick in. But a guy with a knife looking you in the eye pretty much has the drop. He decided to do nothing.

  The guy thrust the knife into the desk, leaving it sticking out.

  Steve looked at the knife. The guy stood there, almost daring him to take it. Steve said, “That’s going to leave a mark.”

  “Okay, lawyer baby, I came to check out what you doing for Carlos.”

  “What I’m doing for him?”

  “Getting him out of prison. What’s wrong with you? You forget about Carlos? Eh? You blow the trial and then you just forget him? That it?”

  “I did the trial, yeah. And I didn’t get paid for it. But I did it anyway. I did what I could. You know, if Carlos hadn’t been carrying he — ”

  “It don’t matter about that.” The guy took hold of the knife handle, wiggled back and forth to remove it, then stuck it in the desk again.

  “Come on.” Steve sounded feeble, even to himself.

  “So you still got some work to do.”

  “I wasn’t paid, okay? My part is over. They have legal aid, you can get an appellate lawyer.”

  “We want you, man. We want you to help.”

  “Who’s we?”

  “Carlos. And me. Ain’t you listening?” He did the knife thing again. Removed it. New hole in the desk. “He’s my cousin, dude. He’s family. We are not happy.”

  “If I did such a lousy job,” Steve said, “how come he wants me to be his lawyer?”

  “No, you don’t got to be his lawyer. Carlos, he’s gonna represent himself.”

  “Okay then.”

  “But you got all sorts of things you can help him with, right? You got a computer. You got books. And you got time. You got time to help Carlos.”

  “I can’t help Carlos.”

  “You going to.” The guy took the knife out. “See, Carlos says, you help him. That’s the way you pay him off.”

  Steve started to get up. The guy pointed the blade. Steve settled back down. Next thing the guy sprang forward, put his left hand on Steve’s neck. Put the point of the knife on Steve’s bone, just below the left eye.

  “You going to listen now, or you going to get this in your brain, huh? Tell me you listening.”

  “You’ve got my attention.”

  “That’s good. Carlos’ll tell you what he needs. You don’t go to no cops, yeah? ’Cause I know where you live, man. I know where you work. Got that good?”

  “Sure.”

  He pressed the knife into Steve’s skin, enough for a puncture. Enough to draw blood. Maybe death was preferable to all this. What good was he as a lawyer or person? It had all caught up with him. Robert coming back was a curse, not a blessing. The other side held nothing. Sienna and Gincy were saps to believe it did.

  “Okay, man. I think you got it. I really do. I think you got a lot of problems on your hands, you know? But you help out Carlos and you can stay walking around, yeah? And maybe you get your act together, man.”

  Finally, the guy withdrew the knife. Folded it back in the handle. “You got a card?”

  Steve put his hand on his cheek, wiped, saw the blood on his fingers. “You cut me and you want my card?”

  “Got to know how to get in touch.”

  Steve heard some words forming in his head, words that might get him killed.

  But the guy said, “Wait.” He bent to the floor and picked up a card, which was one of several scattered on the floor. “Got it.” He slipped it in the back pocket of his jeans. “Later, man.”

  For a long time after he left Steve sat, staring. He felt an actual paralysis. Something stank, even more than the usual stink of his life. Smell over smell covered this one.

  He wouldn’t put it past the mad Serb to do this. But he was all paid up on the rent. Slobo should be happy with his money.

  Somebody had to have picked the lock in this low-security building. A squirrel could get in without a problem. But how and when? It was true this office didn’t have the highest traffic in the hallways. The tenants kept to themselves. There were a number of unoccupied offices too. It wouldn’t have been too hard for somebody with intent to get in here.

  Or somebody with authority. The feds? Not exactly the rule of law if that was the case.

  What if it was random? His office was picked by a pro looking for a score.

  His head was pounding now and rational thought was not to be had.

  He got up and walked around, surveying the damage.

  His interior office was trashed. All the bookshelves down.

  And his computer gone.

  Gone. Stolen, taken, everything in it.

  Black’s Law Dictionary was open at his feet. He reached down, picked up the cinder block – sized volume, and threw it against the wall. Grunted as he did.

  Then it was book after book. Against the wall. Let them be damaged. Books and walls, who cared? It was all a farce, this office, this facade of respectability.

  He kicked more books, started kicking them into a pile in the middle of the office.

  Burn it down, he thought. Let’s have a fire. Why not? A nice going-away present for the landlord.

  Burn everything including —

  The trunk. Had the guy messed up the trunk?

  Steve went to it, opened it. The papers and photos were stirred around, but nothing seemed to be missing.

  On top of it all was the photo of Robert in his train pajamas. Eating cereal.

  Steve closed his eyes and let his breathing return to normal. His brother needed him. In some way he wasn’t quite sure of, but there it was.

  At that moment, Steve made his decision.

  FORTY-ONE

  Gincy came an hour later, in answer to Steve’s call.

  “You want to tell me why this happened?” Gincy asked as he perused the devastation that was Steve’s office.

  “No,” Steve said. “I want you to help me pack it all so I can get out.”

  “Out where?”

  “I have no idea. I’m tired of this building, I’m tired of paying for space here. Maybe I’ll move out to Verner and be closer to my meal ticket.”

  “You’re just a little upset.”

  “You figured that out, did you?”

  “Sarcasm won’t help.”

  “As if it won’t.”

  “Funny.”

  “Just help me get this stuff packed, will you?”

  “What’s the rush?”

  “I just had a guy in here with a very sharp knife threatening to do an unlicensed lobotomy.”

  “What?”

  “Yeah, and he looked serious.”

  Gincy frowned. “You sure he wasn’t just a repo man?”

  “Will you help me clean up or not?”

  “Did you report this to the police?”

  “You go ahead if you want to.”

  “Anything missing?”

  “Only my computer.”

  “What?”

  “And my Dodger bobble-head doll.”

  “Did you have it backed up?”

  “How do you back up a Dodger bobble-head doll?”

  Gincy’s mouth hung open. “Steve, this is serious.”

  “I’m seriously getting out of here. I have a backup somewhere. I�
��ll be fine. But I’ve had it with this place.”

  “What about your books?”

  “Let’s burn ’em.”

  “How about you don’t make any major decisions right now, huh?” Gincy started picking up some of the papers on the floor.

  “We’ll deal with the big picture later.”

  “The big picture is no better than the little picture. It’s all out of focus.”

  Four bags and three boxes later, the floor was clean. Gincy wouldn’t leave until Steve promised not to make a move without thinking about it overnight.

  Back at the apartment, Steve fed Nick Nolte in the courtyard, then called Johnny LaSalle.

  “You want me?” Steve said. “You got me.”

  “What’s up?”

  “How would you like it if I opened an office in Verner?”

  “Yeah? Great. Why not?”

  “I’m thinking about it.”

  “What got you thinking?”

  “City life.”

  “That’s all?”

  “When the cousin of your recently imprisoned client comes around with a knife and a threat, you get motivated.” That, and a trashed office. An ex-wife who is really ex now. And a woman you’re crazy about who isn’t returning the feeling.

  “Come on up then,” Johnny said. “It’s win-win!”

  FORTY-TWO

  Move fast. Make the cut sharp and quick. Don’t look back. Something may be gaining on you.

  Steve gave his notice to Jong Choi and said he could have the measly sticks of furniture that were in the apartment — unless he wanted them moved. Choi said he’d be happy to try to sell them and keep the proceeds, if Steve would move them to the parking garage.

  Deal.

  Then Steve called Ashley.

  “Hey, it’s your favorite lawyer.”

  “Steve, why — ”

  “Sorry to call, really — ”

  “What is it?”

  “I need a favor.”

  “Steve — ”

  “Please.”

  “What is it?”

  “You know that garage of ours — yours?”

  “Yes?”

  “Can I impose for a bit longer? Before I completely clean out my stuff?”

  “Steve — ”

  “I feel terrible asking, but I’m leaving LA.”

  “You’re what?”

  “Getting out. Packing my bags.”

  “But why?”

  “You really want to know?”

  “I don’t know. Do I?”

  “It doesn’t have to do with anything bad. I mean, that I’ve done. I just don’t see any future here anymore. I’ve got my brother as a client. I figured I’d move out there. To Verner.”

  “Verner? What kind of practice can you set up out there?”

  “They commit crimes in Verner. They also have church issues.”

  “Church?”

  “My brother. He’s wanting to be a minister.”

  “I still can’t believe you found your brother.”

  “He found me.”

  “And he’s religious now?”

  “Let’s just say I’m giving him the benefit of the doubt. He has some issues to work out, and I’m going to help him.”

  “Do you know anybody else out there?”

  “No.”

  “What about support?”

  “I’ll find a group.”

  “Please do.”

  “So I need to leave some stuff behind. Just temporarily. Until I get settled.”

  “What is it exactly that you want to put in the garage?”

  “My office,” he said.

  “Your office?”

  “Somebody came in and sacked the place. A client’s cousin threatened me with a knife. In general, not a good week. I have some bags and boxes and I promise as soon as I get the space in Verner, I’ll be back and clean it all out. I’ll even pay you.”

  “You don’t have to pay me a thing, Steve. As long as it’s not long-term.”

  “Yeah,” Steve said, “sort of like our marriage.”

  “Steve — ”

  “Sorry. Thank you, Ashley. I’ll be right over. I promise I won’t let you down again.”

  Steve punched in the next speed dial.

  “Hi, Sienna.”

  “Oh, hi, Mr. Conroy.”

  “You studying?”

  “Con Law. First Amendment. Separation of church and state.”

  “What have you found out?”

  “It’s not in the Constitution.”

  “The First Amendment?” Steve asked.

  “No, separation of church and state. The whole area has been a mess since 1947.”

  “Everson v. Board of Education.”

  “Hey, you remembered.” She sounded impressed. Steve liked that sound.

  “Some of it stuck,” he said. “I used to think the law was pretty cool.”

  “And you don’t now?”

  “Let’s just say I have a much more realistic view of things. But don’t let that keep you from being high-minded. That’s one of the things I love about you, your — ”

  “Mr. Conroy — ”

  “So you still want to work for me?”

  Pause. “Well, yes,” she said.

  “Even if I’m not an LA lawyer?”

  “What are you?”

  “A man without a city. I’m moving out. Taking my show on the road. To Verner.”

  “You’re going to live there?”

  “You don’t sound too thrilled.”

  “No, I — ”

  “I’m flattered, don’t get me wrong.”

  Silence.

  “I didn’t hear a hearty amen,” Steve said. “Could it be you’ll miss me or something?”

  “I wish you well,” she said.

  “Hey, I didn’t say we’d stop working together. They have phones now, and computers, and cars, the latest thing. They take you wherever — ”

  “Why would you want me to keep working with you?”

  “I’m still going to need help. We don’t have to be in proximity to do it, although being in close proximity might not be such a bad idea.”

  “Mr. Conroy — ”

  “Call me Steve now, please, and didn’t you have a good time the other night?”

  “Yes, but — ”

  “No buts. Let’s just leave it at that. Okay?”

  “Okay. Mr. — Steve, can I ask you something?”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s about your brother.”

  “What about him?”

  “Considering his background, and considering the Eldon LaSalle connection, I wonder how much you can trust what’s going on out there.”

  “I’ve thought about that. I know I may not be getting an angel here. But like you said, I can’t — wait a second. Did you just show some concern for my well-being?”

  “Don’t you think being so close will make the situation more, what’s the word, precarious?”

  “Maybe I’ll get a cat.”

  “Do you have any idea what living in a small town is like?”

  “Do you?”

  “I’ve lived in some small towns. There aren’t a whole lot of secrets. Your life is going to be an open book.”

  “Well,” Steve said, “it’s been a pretty lousy book so far. A new chapter would be nice.”

  “Take care,” she said. “I mean it.”

  “I’m glad somebody does,” he said.

  PART 2

  FORTY-THREE

  The new landlady, Mrs. Opal Little, had owned the building on Glade Street in Verner for forty-seven years. Originally it was the house her husband, Warner, built with his own hands and kept adding to, until it became a sprawling, eclectic residence that used to attract tourists. When Warner died in ’92, Mrs. Little moved to a smaller house with her daughter and turned the house into commercial rental. This was about the same time Verner was discovered by the baby boomers and experienced an influx of professionals.

  The
Little building had six main units, three on the bottom and three upstairs. The corner upstairs was recently vacated by a chiropractor named Wilson who had decided to give up his practice, buy a sailboat, and circumnavigate the globe.

  “Seems silly to me,” Mrs. Little said, showing Steve the office. “What’s he going to do when he gets back?”

  “Maybe he won’t ever come back,” Steve said. “Maybe he’ll end up cracking bones in Madagascar.”

  “You’re a lawyer, you say?”

  “That’s right.”

  “We have too many of ’em right now, but I don’t go around telling people what to do. All I want to know is if you have enough work to pay your rent.”

  “I’ve got a big client here in town already.”

  “And who might that be?”

  “Well, that’s sort of confidential.”

  “Oh my, of course. Where do you live?”

  “Well, I haven’t quite got a place yet. I thought I’d move to the office first, get the lay of the land so to speak, and take it one step at a time.”

  “You mean you’re going to sleep here, in this office?”

  “I might. Any rules against that?”

  “And what might you do for a shower and shave?”

  “Good question. Is there a health club in town?”

  She thought a moment. “You’re not married then?”

  “Divorced.”

  “Shame. Divorce is such a shame.”

  “Maybe sometimes it’s the best thing.”

  “Not according to the Good Book,” Mrs. Little said. “I’m not one to meddle, but do you go to church?”

  “Not as a rule,” Steve said.

  “Not even on Easter?”

  Steve shook his head.

  “That’d be a good thing for you to remedy,” she said.

  “Maybe it would be.”

  “All right. I’ve got a little add-on bathroom, shower, and kitchenette just off the garage. Warner put it there in case of emergencies.”

  “What emergencies?”

  “He never explained that. Anyway, I’ll let you use it until you find a place of your own.”

  “That’s very nice of you, Mrs. Little. Oh, one more thing. Any rules against cats?”

  “Cats? Here?”

  “One cat. A very decent, well-groomed . . . decent cat. I had one back home named Nick Nolte. I thought — ”

  “Like the movie actor?”

  “That’s right.”

  “I don’t care for him. I like that Bruce Willis.”