Chapter 132
“THAT WENT BETTER than expected,” Justine said when we’d gotten back to her car and were heading to the office.
“It did, didn’t it?” I said, feeling like we’d actually righted wrongs.
“Karma will still find them, you know,” Justine said. “The Harlows. What goes around comes around.”
“Let’s hope they avoid it for a little while longer,” I replied, then glanced over at her. “You look happy.”
“Do I?” Justine said. “Well, I suppose I am.”
“For a while there, I thought you were sick or something.”
I caught a hesitation before Justine said, “Maybe I was. I’m getting over it.”
She didn’t say another word, and I figured that was the way she wanted it. I looked out the window the rest of the drive back, past Disney and Universal and up over Barham Boulevard to Mulholland Drive and down into Hollywood, thinking that there was no real truth in L.A., only the clever stories people choose to tell themselves and to believe.
“Want to go somewhere, get another drink?” I asked Justine when we pulled up in front of Private’s offices.
“Doctor’s appointment,” Justine said.
I peered at her. “You okay?”
“Getting close,” she replied.
“You ever want to talk—”
“I know,” she said.
I got out, watched Justine drive away, and suddenly felt exhausted and in need of a vacation.
“Jack Morgan?”
“Yes,” I said, turning to see a stocky bald guy walking toward me, hand reaching inside his jacket.
My mind screamed, Gun! Carmine’s hired someone else to—
“Consider yourself served and subpoenaed,” the bald guy said, slapping a sheaf of court papers against my chest.
I took them, opened them as he walked away, found that the subpoena had been filed by Shank, Rossi, and Petard—one of the premier criminal-defense firms in the country—in the case of California v. Thomas Morgan, Jr.