“Yeah, sure,” Valenzuela said.
“I’ll be right back,” I said.
A few minutes later relief was flooding through me as I stood at the urinal. I even had my eyes closed as I replayed some of the opening statement in my mind. I didn’t hear the restroom door open and didn’t realize someone had come up behind me. Just as I was zipping up, I was pushed face-first into the tiled wall over the urinal. My arms were pinned and I couldn’t move.
“Where’s your cartel protection now?”
I recognized the voice as well as the breath of coffee and cigarettes.
“Lankford, get the fuck off me.”
“You want to fuck with me, Haller? You want to do the dance?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. But if you ruin this suit, I’m going to see the judge about it. My investigator’s sitting out there. He saw you come in.”
He yanked me off the wall and twirled me into the swinging door on a toilet stall. I recovered quickly and looked down at my suit to check for damage and buckle my belt. I did it nonchalantly like I wasn’t concerned in the least about Lankford’s menacing me.
“Go back to court, Lankford.”
“Why am I on the list? Why do you want me on the stand?”
I walked over to the row of sinks and calmly washed my hands.
“Why do you think?” I asked.
“That day in the office,” he said. “You said you saw me wearing a hat. Why the fuck would you say that?”
I looked up from my hands to the mirror and looked at him.
“I mentioned a hat?”
I reached over and pulled down a handful of paper towels to dry my hands.
“Yeah, you mentioned a hat. Why?”
I threw the wet towels in the trash can, turned, and then hesitated as though I was recalling something from the distant past. Then I looked at him and shook my head as though confused.
“I don’t know about the hat. But I know if you touch me again like that, you’re going to have more trouble than you can handle.”
I opened the door and stepped out into the hallway, leaving Lankford behind. I could barely contain a smile as I approached Cisco, who was still on the bench with Valenzuela. The first rule of Marco Polo was to keep them guessing. Lankford would soon have more than his hat to worry about.
“Everything okay?” Cisco asked.
“Lankford try to grab your dick in there?” Valenzuela added.
“Yeah, something like that,” I said. “Let’s go in.”
I opened the door to the courtroom and held it for them. As they passed by me, I checked the hallway for Lankford and didn’t see him. But I did see my half brother walking down the hall, a thick blue binder under his arm.
“Harry.”
He turned without breaking stride and saw me. He smiled when he recognized me and stopped.
“Mick, how are you, man? How’s the arm?”
“It’s good. You in a trial?”
“Yeah, in one eleven.”
“Hey, that’s the one stealing all the media from my trial.”
I said it mock protest and smiled.
“It’s a cold case from ’ninety-four. A guy named Patrick Sewell—one sick puppy. They brought him down from San Quentin where he was already doing life for another murder. They’re going for the death penalty this time.”
I nodded but couldn’t bring myself to say good luck. He was, after all, working for the other side.
“So anything new on your driver?” he asked. “They hook anybody up yet?”
I looked at him for a moment, wondering if he might have heard something about the investigation on the law enforcement circuit.
“Not yet,” I said.
“That’s too bad,” he said.
I nodded in agreement.
“Well, I gotta get back in. Good to see you, Harry.”
“You, too. We should try to get the girls together again.”
“Sure.”
We had daughters the same age. But his apparently still talked to him on a regular basis. After all, he put bad people in jail. I got them out.
I entered the court, privately chiding myself for the negative thoughts. I tried to remember Legal Siegel’s admonishment to let the guilt go so I could be at my best in defending La Cosse.
After the jury was reseated I called the first witness for the defense. Valenzuela walked to the witness stand, bouncing his palm along the top of the front rail of the jury box as he went. He acted as though testifying at a murder trial was as routine as buying smokes at the 7-Eleven.
He took the oath and spelled his name for the clerk. I took it from there, asking him first to tell the jury what he did for a living.
“Well,” he responded. “You might say I’m a man of many talents. I’m the oil that keeps the justice system moving smoothly.”