20
The confrontation with Lankford left me agitated. On the ride down I shifted my weight from foot to foot like a boxer in his corner waiting to answer the bell. By the time I reached the ground floor I knew exactly where I had to go. Sly Fulgoni Jr. could wait. I needed to see Legal Siegel.
Forty minutes later I stepped off another elevator onto the fourth floor at Menorah Manor. As I passed the reception desk, the nurse stopped me and told me I had to open my briefcase before she would allow me to go down the hall to Legal’s room.
“What are you talking about?” I said. “I’m his lawyer. You can’t tell me to open my briefcase.”
She responded sternly and without any give.
“Someone has been bringing food from the outside to Mr. Siegel. Not only is it a violation of the health and religious policies of this facility, it is a risk to the patient because it interferes with a carefully considered and scheduled nutrition plan.”
I knew where this was headed and I refused to back down myself.
“You’re calling what you feed him and what he pays for here a nutrition plan?”
“Whether patients enjoy all aspects of the food here is beside the point. If you want to visit Mr. Siegel, you will be required to open your briefcase.”
“If you want to see what’s in my briefcase, you show me a warrant.”
“This is not a public institution, Mr. Haller, and it’s not a courtroom. It is a privately owned and operated medical facility. As head nurse on this ward I have the authority to inspect anyone and anything coming through those elevator doors. We have sick people here and we must safeguard them. Either open your briefcase or I’ll call security and have you removed from the premises.”
To underline the threat, she put her hand on the phone that was on the counter.
I shook my head in annoyance and brought my briefcase up onto the counter. I snapped open the twin locks and flipped up the top of the case. I watched her eyes scan its contents for a long moment.
“Satisfied? There might be a stray Tic Tac in there somewhere. I hope that won’t be a problem.”
She ignored the crack.
“You may close it and you may now visit Mr. Siegel. Thank you.”
“No, thank you.”
I closed the briefcase and walked down the hallway, pleased with myself but knowing I would now need a plan for the next time I actually did want to get food in to Legal. I had a briefcase in a closet at the house that I had taken in barter from a client once. It had a secret compartment that could hold a kilo of cocaine. I could easily hide a sandwich in there, maybe two.
Legal Siegel was propped up on his bed watching an Oprah rerun with the sound on too loud. His eyes were open but seemed unseeing. I closed the door and came over to the bed. I waved my hand up and down in front of his face, fearful for a moment that he was dead.
“Legal?”
He came out of the reverie, focused on me, and smiled.
“Mickey Mouse! Hey, what’d you bring me? Let me guess, tuna-avocado from Gus’s in Westlake.”
I shook my head.
“Sorry, Legal, I don’t have anything today. It’s too early for lunch anyway.”
“What? Come on, give. Pork dip from Coles, right?”
“No, I mean it. I didn’t bring anything. Besides, if I did, Nurse Ratched out there would have confiscated it. She’s onto us and made me open my briefcase.”
“Oh, that bag of wind—denying a man the simple pleasures in life!”
I put my hand on his arm in a calming gesture.
“Take it easy, Legal. She doesn’t scare me. I got a plan and I’ll hit Gus’s on the way in next time. Okay?”
“Yeah, sure.”
I pulled a chair away from the wall and sat down next to the bed. I found the remote in the folds of the bedding and muted the television.
“Thank God,” Legal said. “That was driving me nuts.”
“Then why didn’t you turn it off?”
“Because I couldn’t find the damn remote. Anyway, why did you come see me without bringing me any sustenance? You were just here yesterday, right? Pastrami from Art’s in the Valley.”
“You’re right, Legal, and I’m glad you remember it.”
“Then why’d you come back so soon?”
“Because today I need sustenance. Legal sustenance.”
“How do you mean?”
“The La Cosse case. Things are happening and it’s getting hard to see the forest for the trees.”
I ticked off the cast of characters on my fingers.
“I’ve got a shady DEA agent out there, a crooked DA investigator, a cartel thug, and a disbarred lawyer. Then I’ve got my own client in the clink, and the victim in all of this is the only one I really like—or liked—in the first place. To top it all off, I’m being watched—but I’m not exactly sure by who.”
“Tell me all about it.”
I spent the next thirty minutes summarizing the story and answering his questions. I backed up beyond the last update I had given him and then brought the story forward, going into much finer detail than I had previously given. He asked many questions as I told the story but never offered anything back. He was simply gathering data and holding his response. I took him right up to the confrontation I’d just had with Lankford in the DA’s Office waiting room, and the uneasy feeling I had that I was missing something—something right in front of me.
When I was finished, I waited for a response but he said nothing. He made a gesture with his frail hands, as if to throw the whole thing up into the air and let the wind take it. I noticed that both of his arms were purple from all the needles and the prodding and poking they did to him in this place. Getting old was not for the weak.
“That’s it?” I said. “Just throw it to the wind like a bunch of flower petals? You’ve got nothing to say?”
“Oh, I got plenty to say and you’re not going to like hearing it.”
I motioned with my hand inviting him to hit me with it all.
“You’re missing the big picture, Mouse.”
“Really?” I said sarcastically. “What is the big picture?”
“Now you see, that’s the wrong question,” he lectured. “Your first question should not be what but why. Why am I missing the big picture?”
I nodded, going along only grudgingly.
“Then why am I missing the big picture?”
“Let’s start with the report you just gave on the state of your case. You said it took that rookie shortstop you hired out of the five-and-dime to make you see things the right way at the staff meeting this morning.”
He was talking about Jennifer Aronson. It was true that I’d hired her out of Southwestern, which was housed in the old Bullocks Department Store building on Wilshire. It engendered her nickname, but referring to the law school as a five-and-dime was a new low.
“I was only trying to give credit where credit was due,” I said. “Jennifer may still be a rookie but she’s sharper than any three lawyers I could’ve hired out of SC.”
“Yeah, yeah, that’s all well and good. She’s a good lawyer, I grant you that. The thing is, you always expect yourself to be the better lawyer and deep down you hold yourself to that. So when all of a sudden this morning it’s the team rookie who sees things with clarity, then that gets under your skin. You’re supposed to be the smartest guy in the room.”
I didn’t know how to respond to that. Legal pressed on.
“I’m not your shrink. I’m a lawyer. But I think you gotta stop hitting the booze at night and you gotta get your house in order.”
I stood up and started pacing in front of the bed.
“Legal, what are you talking about? My house is—”