To say I was stunned was an understatement. In the course of the past several months I had already accepted the fact that I’d been used by Gloria in some way. But if Trina Rafferty’s story was true, the level of deception and manipulation was as masterful as it was perfect, and I had played my part to a T, thinking I was carrying out good lawyering by pulling all the right strings for my client, when all along it was my client and her DEA handler who held the strings—my strings.
I still had many questions about the scenario Trina was outlining—mainly the question of why I was even needed in the scheme. But for the moment I was thinking of other things. The only way this knowledge could be more humiliating would be for it to become public, and everything the prostitute sitting in front of me was saying indicated that this was exactly the direction it was going.
I tried not to show any of the internal meltdown I was feeling. I kept my voice steady and asked the next question.
“When you say Glory, I take it you mean Gloria Dayton, also known at that time as Glory Days?”
Before she could answer, the iPhone on the coffee table started vibrating. Trina eagerly snatched it up, probably hoping she could get in one last booking before crashing for the night. She checked the ID but it was blocked. She answered anyway.
“Hello, this is Trina Trixxx . . .”
While she listened to the caller I glanced at Cisco to see what I could read in his face. I wondered if he understood from what had been said that I had been an unwitting participant in a rogue DEA agent’s scheme.
“And another man,” Trina told her caller. “He said you’re not my lawyer.”
I looked at Trina. She wasn’t talking to a potential customer.
“Is that Fulgoni?” I said. “Let me talk to him.”
She hesitated but then told the caller to hold on and handed me the phone.
“Fulgoni,” I said. “I thought you were going to call me back.”
There was a pause and then a voice I didn’t recognize as Sly Fulgoni Jr. spoke.
“I didn’t know I was supposed to.”
And then I realized I was talking to Sly Sr., person to person from FCI Victorville. He was probably on a cell phone smuggled into the lockup by a visitor or a guard. Many of my incarcerated clients were able to communicate with me on burners—throwaway phones with limited minutes and life spans.
“Your son was supposed to get back to me. How are things up there, Sly?”
“Not too bad. I’m out of here in another eleven months.”
“How did you know I was here?”
“I didn’t. I was checking on Trina.”
I didn’t believe that for a moment. It sounded like he had specifically asked Trina about me before she passed the phone over. I decided not to push it—yet.
“What can I do for you, Mr. Haller?”
“Well . . . I’m sitting here talking to Trina and I’m wondering what I’m going to be doing for you. I got the subpoena and I’m just beginning to put together the angle you’re playing for Moya. And I gotta tell you, I have a problem being made to look like a fool—especially in open court.”
“That is understandable. But sometimes when one has indeed played the fool, it is difficult to skirt the issue. You have to be prepared for the truth to come out. A man’s freedom is at stake.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
I disconnected and handed the phone back across the table to Trina.
“What did he say?” she asked.
“Nothing much at all. How much have they promised you?”
“What?”
“Come on, Trina. You’re a businesswoman. You charged me just to answer a few questions here. You must be charging something to tell that story in a depo for a judge. How much? Did they already take your statement?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I haven’t been paid anything.”
“What about this place? They get you this to keep you close?”
“No! This is my place and I want you to leave. Both of you, get out. Now!”
I glanced at Cisco. I could push it, but it was pretty clear that my eight hundred bucks were spent and she was finished talking. Whatever Fulgoni had said before the phone was handed to me had frozen her. It was time to go.
I stood up and nodded Cisco toward the door.
“Thanks for your time,” I said to Trina. “I’m sure we’ll be talking again.”
“Don’t count on it.”
We left the apartment and had to wait for the elevator. I stepped back to Trina’s door and bent forward to listen. I thought she’d make a call to someone, maybe Sly Jr. But I heard nothing.
The elevator came and we rode down. Cisco was quiet.
“What’s up, Big Man?” I asked.
“Nothing, just thinking. How did he know to call her then?”
I nodded. It was a good question. I hadn’t thought it through yet.
We left the building and walked out onto Spring Street, which was deserted except for a couple of empty patrol cars parked along the side of the PAB. It was after two a.m. and there was no sign of another human being anywhere.
“You think I was followed?” I asked.
Cisco thought about it for a moment before nodding.
“Somehow he knew we’d found her. That we were with her.”
“That’s not good.”
“I’ll get your car checked tomorrow and then put a couple Indians on you. If you have a physical tail we’ll know it soon enough.”
The associates Cisco used in countersurveillance were so adept at disappearing into the crevices that he called them Indians after the old westerns in which the Indians used to trail the wagon trains without the white settlers even knowing they were there.
“That will be good,” I said. “Thanks.”
“Where’d you park?” Cisco asked.
“Up in front of the PAB. Figured it was safe. You?”
“I’m around back here. You okay or you want an escort?”
“I’m good. See you at the staff meeting.”
“I’ll be there.”
We headed off in different directions. I looked over my shoulder three times before I made it to my car, parked in the safest spot in downtown. From there I kept an eye on the rearview mirror all the way home.