Private L.A.

Chapter 62

 

 

“HOW THE HELL did you get access to these kinds of files?” FBI SAC Christine Townsend asked me. We were inside the lab at Private. Mo-bot was at her workbench, uploading the data onto our system.

 

“I copied them from Graves’s computer at Harlow-Quinn,” I said.

 

“Stole them, you mean?” Townsend cried. “Are you out of your mind? I won’t be part of this. Whatever you might find in there is tainted now. None of it can be used in any court in—”

 

“Does it really matter?” I demanded. “Look, with all due respect, I thought we were in the business of finding the Harlows. Shouldn’t we keep that the number one priority?”

 

“I have a sworn duty to uphold the Constitution,” she shot back.

 

“As Chief Fescoe and others have pointed out to me recently, I don’t operate under the same restraints,” I replied. “Besides, I don’t like being lied to or being manipulated, and Sanders and Graves are guilty of both.”

 

“What’s their motive?” Townsend said skeptically. “Why does this situation benefit them beyond what you said about publicity? You said the Harlows were almost bankrupt, that the film was on the verge of ruining them financially. You’d think they’d be more focused on that.”

 

“I never said the Harlows were almost bankrupt,” I corrected. “That’s what Sanders told me. As of last night, I doubt nearly everything he has said in this case, and Graves and Bronson too. Taking the files is my way of double-checking things.”

 

Townsend said, “I still can’t be part of this.” She headed toward the door.

 

“Don’t you want to know what we find?” I called after her.

 

“I didn’t say that,” the special agent replied, and went out the door.

 

Mo-bot called to me. “Where do you want me to start? This is a lot of ground to cover with a one-woman show.”

 

Before I could answer, my cell rang. A number I did not recognize, but given all that had been going on, I answered. “Jack Morgan.”

 

“It’s your favorite bail bondsman,” Carmine Noccia purred. “We should meet sooner rather than later.”

 

“Carmine, it is not a good time.”

 

“Wasn’t a good time for me last year when the DEA found that truck.”

 

So there it was. Carmine either knew or openly suspected me. “I suppose not,” I said. “But what’s that got to do with me?”

 

Carmine laughed. “Cool as ever, Jack. But again, we should meet sooner rather than later. The three of us.”

 

“Three?”

 

“Yeah. You. Me. Your brother. Tommy and I have a proposition for you.”

 

“An offer I can’t refuse?”

 

A pause, then a short laugh. “You’re a cool son of a bitch, Jack.”

 

“I try.”

 

“How about Tommy and I drop by your office?” Carmine said. “Haven’t seen the place in a while. Say, like, an hour?”

 

“Say, like, I’ll be waiting.”

 

 

 

 

 

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