After a shower and a change of clothes I headed to my office, on the fifth floor of a building between the Civic Center and the Hall of Justice. Working for Bo hadn’t changed my routine of spending Sunday afternoons at my desk.
My clientele was standard for any solo criminal defense practitioner—DUIs, gun charges, car thefts, assaults, child porn and molestation. My clients mostly paid with credit. Charging a retainer onto a client’s already overloaded card was far more palatable to me than playing bill collector. I wanted my clients to answer my calls. Let MasterCard worry about its pound of flesh.
Sundays, I’d learned, were good for reaching clients by phone. Five had court dates next week, a small fraction of the number I’d have had if I still worked for the Public Defender’s Office. I went down my list, covering with each one I talked to what would happen in court, with reminders to dress professionally, preparing one for the possibility that he’d be taken away in handcuffs for no-showing at a drug test. Through all of it, not surprisingly, Bo Wilder and what had happened with Carly were never far from my mind.
After I’d finished with these, I tried to focus on the files in front of me, but my thoughts swirled around the brief kidnapping. Finally I went to the window, took out my cell phone, and called my father. Not wanting to speak on the phone about the Wilder business, I arranged to meet him for a beer at a nearby watering hole.
Lawrence had returned from his self-imposed European exile last year after I’d informed him that Bo had begun placing late-night recruitment calls to Teddy from prison. At the time, Lawrence had come in the guise of our would-be rescuer. He and Dot lived in San Rafael, but he was often in the city on Wilder’s business.
“Teddy told me what happened,” he said when we were seated. “I intend to take it up with Bo personally the next time we talk.”
Of the three of us, Lawrence was the only one in direct contact with Wilder. Because he was a former prisoner, Lawrence was prohibited from visiting anyone at San Quentin—and he’d never have set foot back in that hated place even if he’d been allowed. However, the two of them spoke regularly, with Bo utilizing an ever-changing series of contraband cell phones and SIM cards.
“You shouldn’t be having contact with him,” I said. But we’d been through this so many times before that I knew my advice was falling on deaf ears.
“Teddy couldn’t give me a very good description. What’d the guy at the game look like?”
I told him that I could do better than a description, that I had a picture. I took out my phone and showed it to him.
He studied the picture. His face tightened. “Jack Sims.”
“Evidently he’s one of Bo’s main guys now, or so he says.”
“This asshole? No way. He’s on the periphery, a hanger-on. I’m sure he’d like to be in on the main action.” He stopped and thought a few moments. “But Bo’ll never trust him.”
“Why not?”
“No skills. Only muscle, and second-rate muscle at that. Punks like him, they lack the ability to thrive in today’s more complex environment. You’ve seen it. They’re hammers, and to them, the world’s full of nails. The trouble is, these days the business side of the enterprise requires a bit more finesse.”
Briefly, I explained to Lawrence the message Sims had delivered. And I offered my theory that he’d been acting on his own initiative. “Or maybe Bo was behind it,” I told him, acknowledging the alternative possibility. “They’ve threatened Carly before.”
My father reacted with shock and anger. “You never told me that.”
“I’m telling you now.”
I explained about the incident that had precipitated my sudden departure from the Public Defender’s Office, when Bo’s stooge had turned up instead of my client during a meeting at the county jail, forced me to listen to private details about Carly’s life, and urged me to return to private practice.
“You didn’t flinch when they burned your office.”
“Yeah. But that wasn’t the same as threatening Carly,” I said. “I had no choice.”
Lawrence nodded. He seemed to expect me to say something more—maybe even ask him for help in extricating us from this increasingly dangerous situation. I understood I’d need his help eventually, since he’d done everything in his power to make himself indispensable to Bo.
“How’s Bo do it, anyway?” I asked.
My father looked uneasy. “Do what?”
“Run the shop while serving a life term.”
“You’re asking me about something that isn’t any of my business. Or yours. Our role is strictly on the legitimate side of whatever’s going on.”
“Right,” I said quickly, with more than a hint of sarcasm. “One hundred percent aboveboard. You’re pulling, what, five grand a week keeping the books on his rental business?”
“Now you’re asking questions about my business.”
“I know I’m not worth three hundred an hour, but that’s what he pays me to defend his crew of dealers, pimps, and whores. Don’t tell me that’s not going to come back on me someday.”
“What do you want me to say? I thought offering my services would be a way of protecting my family. I was wrong.”
“I didn’t need protecting. I still don’t.”
“Carly does,” he told me. “I’ll make sure that what happened this weekend won’t occur again. I plan to pay a visit to Sims. That way he and I can reach a little understanding.”
“The kind Wilder reached with Russell Bell?”
My father glanced around quickly as if to make sure nobody had heard, then leaned closer to me. He gripped my arm, tightly. His whispered voice was urgent. “You must have had a few drinks before you came over here, otherwise you wouldn’t say something so reckless in a public place like this.”
I wasn’t drunk but didn’t care if he thought so. “You’d prefer I say it in private?”
He let go of my arm.
I exhaled. “Look, I figure part of staying on top of an organization like this is being responsive. That means not only maintaining regular contact, but also being reachable when split-second calls need to be made. That side of the problem isn’t insurmountable. The prisons are filled with cell phones these days.”
My father just stared straight ahead, his face set in a look of endurance.
“Just as important, he needs to be able to control his people,” I went on. “Hand out punishments, deliver rewards. For this, he needs a lieutenant feared and respected by the rank and file. Someone ruthless, but under Bo’s control. This lieutenant’s in a dangerous spot. If anyone’s going to make a move on the organization, he’ll be the first one hit. At the same time, Bo can’t trust him too far, out of fear he’ll wake up one morning and realize he doesn’t need to answer to a boss who’s never getting out of prison. So there’s got to be another guy whose job it is to keep tabs on the lieutenant. You follow me?” But even I knew it wasn’t rocket science.
Lawrence couldn’t contain his discomfort. “Why’re you talking to me about this stuff?”
“I’m only trying to figure out what we’ve gotten ourselves into.”
“Well, don’t. You’re not paid to figure anything out. People find out you’re talking like this, even just to me, then we’ll have real problems. If he thinks any of us might run to the feds …”
His voice trailed off. His meaning was clear.
I nodded, sipping my beer. Beside me, my father shifted on his stool.
“It’s not going to be like this forever,” he finally said. “I’ve got an exit strategy for all of us. Just give me time.”
I nodded again. Yet his words meant very little to me. As far as I was concerned, they lacked even a semblance of conviction. If he’d wanted a way out, he’d never have gotten us in.
He watched me for a moment as if trying to read my thoughts, then drained his Manhattan’s watery dregs. Taking out his wallet, he slapped a twenty onto the bar. “This is the last time we talk about any of this in public. I’ll deal with Sims.”