The Hidden Law Read Free Page B

once had, but he had decided that even this, or perhaps especially this, was beyond my understanding. I reacted with my own anger at being treated like an enemy by the man with whom I’d shared the last five years of my life.
    I went into the bookstore and bought the book, suffering the sales clerk’s sympathetic glance as he stuffed it into a bag. Over a limp ham sandwich I flipped through the chapters. Finding nothing relevant, I buried it in my briefcase and set off to court, the one place where I knew the rules.
    I arrived in court a few minutes late. The deputy district attorney, an amiable man named Kelly Miller, who had been chatting with the clerk, said to me, “Your kid’s a no-show, Henry.”
    ‘My kid’ was a twenty-two-year-old gay man named Jimmy Dee, Deeds on the street, where his deeds were legion. He was a beautiful black boy with a luminous smile, undeniable charm, a four-page rap sheet for hustling and theft, and a romantic attachment to heroin. His last boyfriend, a much older man, had had him arrested for stealing from him to support his habit. After grueling negotiations, I had persuaded the boyfriend, Miller, and the judge to let Deeds plead to trespass on condition that he enter a drug rehab. The purpose of this hearing was for him to submit proof that he’d found a bed somewhere. He was being given a break, a fact that I impressed upon him at every opportunity. When I did, he would turn his klieg light smile on me and say, “I know, Mr. Rios, I know. God put you in my life.”
    “He’s not that late,” I said.
    “Fifteen minutes late.” Judge Patricia Ryan strode out of her chambers, arranging the bow of her blouse over her judicial robe. She was a patrician black woman with an acute street sense. “I don’t know why I let you talk me into this, Henry. I should have had your client led away in manacles.”
    Although she was joking, I could tell she was irate.
    “The case would have fallen apart without this deal,” I said. “The boyfriend is deeply in the closet. He wouldn’t have testified.”
    Miller said, “Your kid copped out, Henry. I could’ve convicted him on his statement.”
    “Juries aren’t buying cop-outs from black defendants in LA these days,” I replied.
    Judge Ryan said, “Save this, gentlemen. I’m going to issue an arrest warrant.”
    “Wait, Judge, will you hold it one day? I’ll go out looking for him.”
    She narrowed her eyes. “We’ve given him every opportunity.”
    “Let’s give him one more.”
    “Mr. Miller?” she asked.
    Kelly shrugged, “Why not? I’m sure Henry’s not getting paid for this extra work.”
    She took her seat on the bench. “OK. People versus Deeds. The defendant is not in court. I will issue an arrest warrant to be held until tomorrow morning. Good luck, Mr. Rios.”
    “Thank you, Your Honor.”
    I called Josh from a phone in the corridor and found him at home. I explained that I was going in search of Deeds and might not be in until late.
    “I won’t be here anyway. There’s an Act Up demo at Antonovich’s house,” he said, referring to a particularly reactionary county supervisor.
    “This is the first I’ve heard of it.”
    “I can’t tell you everything.”
    That solved the mystery of where he had been when I’d called earlier.
    “Is this a lawful demonstration, or am I going to be bailing you out of jail?”
    Coolly, he replied, “The worst that ever happens is that they hold us overnight.”
    “I’d rather you didn’t get arrested.”
    “Worried about your image?”
    “I’m worried about your health.”
    He sniped, “That’s not your problem.”
    I took a deep breath. “In that case, Josh, do whatever you want.”
    “I will,” he said, and clanged the receiver down.
    I hung up and immediately called back, but the line was busy, and stayed busy until I finally gave up.
    Eight hours later, I found myself in the company of my investigator, Freeman Vidor, pulling into the parking lot of the Santa