The Hidden Law Read Free

analyzed what Peña had actually said in his defense, it amounted to a self-serving statement about the burdens of high office. He hadn’t mentioned the fact that he had taken another man’s life, much less expressed any remorse for it. His grief seemed directed at the setback to his career. I could have forgiven him for his human frailty but not his arrogance. By the time I heard my name called to testify I was incensed.
    “Senators, ladies and gentlemen,” I began, “I don’t think anyone disagrees that there is a growing problem with gang violence in the poorest neighborhoods of the city. This bill, however, will not solve that problem. It will make it worse. This bill is a blank check for the police to come in and round up young men and women because of how they dress, or who they choose as their friends, or simply because the police don’t like their looks.”
    “Excuse me,” Peña cut in. “You are a criminal defense lawyer, aren’t you, Mr. Rios.”
    “That’s right, Senator.”
    “And isn’t it true that you have defended gang members in the past?”
    “What is that supposed to mean?”
    He lurched forward, startled by my asperity. “Well, Mr. Rios, I don’t think anyone’s surprised about what side you’re taking.”
    “I defend criminals, Senator, but I’m not one myself. Can you make the same statement?”
    Everything got very quiet. Peña nodded slowly, as if he’d taken my measure, but I could see he was struggling for a response that wouldn’t make him appear completely hypocritical.
    “I guess I’m going to have to get used to that kind of smear,” he said.
    “You have a homicide charge hanging over your head, Senator. That’s not a smear, it’s a statement of fact.”
    “My personal problems don’t have anything to do with this hearing,” he replied.
    “Nor does the fact that I’m a defense lawyer,” I snapped back. “So if you’ll stop imputing my character, I won’t discuss yours.”
    With a dismissive shrug, he leaned back into his chair and focused his attention on the ceiling. I finished my statement and left the podium, catching sight of Tomas Ochoa who winked approval. Ignoring him, I headed for the door. I heard someone at my back running toward me. I stopped and turned. It was Peña’s aide. Breathlessly he said, “Senator Peña would like to talk to you for a minute.”
    “About what?”
    “I don’t know, but he’s waiting.”
    Curious, I followed the aide back up the aisle and through a door that led to a small anteroom behind the chamber. Peña was slouching against the wall, smoking. When he saw me, he dropped the cigarette, crushed it, and extended his hand with a broad grin.
    “Henry,” he said. “It’s nice to see you again.” My expression must have been as blank as my mind at that moment because he added helpfully, “Last year at the MALDEF dinner. You were with Inez Montoya.”
    “Of course,” I said, remembering that he had been glad-handing at Councilwoman Montoya’s table.
    He wagged a genial finger at me. “You were pretty tough on me out there.”
    “You deserved it,” I replied.
    He clamped his hand on my shoulder, massaging it with thick fingers. “It’s all a show, Rios. Nothing personal.”
    “Under the circumstances, Senator, that’s a remarkably cynical thing for you to say.”
    He dug his fingers deeper into my shoulder. “Henry, truce, OK?”
    “Sure,” I said.
    “Listen, we’ll let the courts decide whether my bill is constitutional. That’s not what I wanted to talk to you about.”
    “No?”
    He dropped his hand from my shoulder, lit another cigarette, and with a curt nod dismissed his aide. “I fucked up good in Sacramento, Rios. I killed a man, and I hurt a lot of other people.” His long face took on a distant, pained expression. “I’m still hurting a lot of people. I read that piece about you in the Times, he continued. “You’ve been where I am.”
    He referred to a profile that had appeared in the