China Lake Read Free Page B

just been mauled by ferrets!’’
    And that, in a nutshell, was Jesse’s problem— because California law restricted the possession of ferrets. Gaul’s attackers, the beloved pets of the eccentric woman who owned Beowulf’s, had been brought into the state illegally. They were contraband. And, worse for the defense, they were fugitives. To prevent their seizure the owner had spirited them into hiding. They were on the lam from the Department of Fish and Game, outlaw vigilantes of the genus Mustela .
    ‘‘I have nightmares about it.’’ Gaul said. ‘‘I see their little eyes and icky paws, scratching and flailing . . .’’ Her fingers made tiny, frenzied clawing motions.
    Jesse merely watched her. ‘‘Is that why you put Valium in the hamburger? To calm them down?’’
    ‘‘Objection!’’ Hinkel’s hands were in the air— outrage in action, a drama school pose. ‘‘He’s harassing the witness.’’
    Rodriguez gave him a gaze like lemon juice. ‘‘Asking relevant questions is not harassment. Sit down.’’
    Hinkel sat, but would be up again. He had two chances to win the case—vermin and hysterics. I knew, because I had done the legal research for him, and had told him so. He had taken my derision for strategic advice and run straight to the courthouse.
    Taking an irritated breath, Rodriguez said, ‘‘It’s near the end of the day. We’ll adjourn until tomorrow morning, when I want everyone calmed down.’’ She clacked her gavel and stood up, gathering her black robe in her hands.
    The bailiff said, ‘‘All rise,’’ and everyone in the courtroom rose to their feet, except Jesse. He sat in his wheelchair as Rodriguez left the courtroom.
    Conversation clattered and echoed as the room began emptying. While I waited near the door, Gaul and Hinkel walked past. Skip nodded but didn’t greet me, knowing I wasn’t in his rooting section. Jesse remained at the defense table while his cocounsel, Bill Brandt, critiqued his performance.
    It had been two years since a hit-and-run driver smashed into Jesse’s mountain bike, leaving him near death at the roadside, his spine shattered. He considered himself lucky. His best friend, riding next to him, had been killed. It took him a year of rehab and physical therapy to regain partial use of his legs. He could walk with crutches, but much of the time used a wheelchair, a lightweight model.
    Setting his briefcase on his lap, he spun the chair and with two strokes propelled himself down the aisle. Spotting me, he told Brandt to go ahead without him. The older attorney eyed me quickly, with that knife flick of curiosity— Are he and she . . . ? —and slapped Jesse on the shoulder before pushing through the door.
    Jesse said, ‘‘Another day defending truth, justice, and militant rodents. God, I love the law.’’
    ‘‘And a grateful nation salutes you for it,’’ I said. ‘‘What did Brandt think?’’
    ‘‘He wants me to rein in my mouth. No sassing the maimed. Other than that he’s thrilled. He’s got one crip ripping up the other, so the defense inflicts all the damage and he feels none of the liberal guilt.’’
    I didn’t comment. I was used to his bluntness. ‘‘And what did you think?’’
    ‘‘Me, I’m riddled with guilt.’’
    ‘‘You were born missing the guilt gene.’’
    ‘‘Yeah, you got it instead. What are you blaming yourself for today?’’
    Leaving the courtroom, I started to smile. ‘‘Third World debt.’’
    Eyeing my black suit, he asked how the funeral was. I said, ‘‘An incitement to riot.’’ I handed him the Remnant’s flyer. He looked at it with disgust. When I pointed out the artist’s signature, he did the same double take as I had and said, ‘‘No way.’’
    ‘‘That church is local, Jesse. I’m afraid this means Tabitha’s in Santa Barbara.’’
    He pointed at one of the drawings. ‘‘It means your brother should watch out.’’
    Blatant as it was, I hadn’t noticed it.