No Legal Grounds (16 page)

“Cam, you have to do something to stop this guy.”
“He has to break the law, Sam. He hasn’t done that.” In Cam Bellamy’s stuffy office, Sam felt like he was having to

fight for air. Also, for Cam’s attention. He seemed more than a bit consternated at Sam’s presence. Sam had to remind himself that Cam was a working deputy DA, and as such had a full plate of things to do, especially on a Friday afternoon.

“He’s abusing the law,” Sam said, almost desperately. “He’s using it to get at me. That’s a crime.”
“His lawyer will say he gets his day in court, and — ”
“He hasn’t got a lawyer. He’s handling this himself.”
“Then
he’ll
say he gets his day in court. And the judge’ll nod and look you in the snout and say, ‘Are you against the legal system, Mr. Trask?’ ”
“Very funny.”
“If I was trying to be funny I’d crack a joke.”
“If you want to turn a blind eye, then why don’t you — ”
“Whoa, that’s not what I’m doing and you know it.”
“Do I?”
“You should.” Clipped and formal voice.
Sam thought about letting it go, but said, “Maybe you’ll be turning a blind eye to me, returning the favor, so to speak.”
“What’re you talking about?”
“Nothing. Yet.”
Cam pointed a finger at him. “Don’t you start messing around the edges, Sam. That’s not going to solve anything, and I don’t want to see your can in the can.”
“You threatening me?”
Thankfully, Cam Bellamy paused and allowed the heat in the room to go down a notch.
“Look how we’re talking here,” Cam said. “This guy’s got your goat, and good. He wants you to freak, start doing crazy things. But what’s he got? Nada, some half-baked assault suit. Take the offense. Counter sue. Talk to the press. You’ve got a solid career behind you. People won’t believe this nut once you explain things.”
Sam took a deep breath. His palms were sweating. Cam was right, of course. Nicky was playing him like a bass fiddle.
“There was a guy parked across from my house yesterday,” Sam said. “And the day before. I think he was watching it.”
“You sure?”
“Maybe ninety percent.”
“What makes you think so?”
“Just instinct. I talked to him. He didn’t seem very forthcoming.” “Any reason why he should be?”
Sam shrugged. “I got the guy’s license plate. Is there a way you could trace it?”
“I could, if I had a reason.”
“I just gave you one.”
“Sam — ”
“Please. We need to follow everything up. We have to find some legal grounds, anything, to get Oberlin.”
“I agree with you.”
Sam heaved a long, deep sigh. “Too bad we can’t arrest people for what they
might
do.”
“In that case,” Cam said, “we’d all be locked up.”

Sam suggested to Linda the idea that they take Max and go up to Universal City Walk. She eagerly agreed. It was getting on toward four o’clock, and she was glad to be relieved of dinner duty.

Usually, Sam didn’t like City Walk. It was always crowded and noisy. And Friday night would be the worst of it.
But today chaos almost seemed like it would be a blessing, something to drown out the interior sounds with the noise of something happening, life going on. They could have a nice dinner, maybe catch a movie. If there was anything worth seeing.
At four ten Max bounded through the door, looking remarkably happy. “I was making solid contact at the batting cage, Dad.”
Sam remembered it was practice day for Max’s team. One of the team dads had a batting cage at his house.
“That’s great.” Sam put his hand up. “High five.”
Max slapped the hand. “I was keeping my head down and it made the difference. I just hope I can do that in a game.”
“You will. Play like you practice, that’s all.”
“Wanna play catch?”
“Wanna go to City Walk?”
“Really?”
“Get something to eat, see a movie?”
“Which one?”
“We’ll figure it out when we get there.”
“Okay. Can we do some catch first? I want to practice my knuckle ball.” Max, who was not one of the pitching prospects, had recently decided he could make it to the majors with a floater.
“Sure,” Sam said. “Grab the stuff and I’ll meet you out back.”
Max smiled and ran up the stairs.
Linda gave Sam a kiss on the cheek. “You’re a great father, you know that?”
“If I was so great Heather would be here, not out there.”
“Please, don’t be hard on yourself. Not tonight.”
But he’d always been hard on himself, that was how he got to where he was. The idea of resting in God was still a hard one for him.
Max raced by with the mitts and a ball. “Let’s go!” He was out the back door in no time.
Linda started to loosen Sam’s tie. “Okay, Ace, go show off your arm.”
“Right. They used to time my fastball with a calendar.”
“But I bet you looked good in those tight pants.”
“Oh, yeah. Looking good is the secret to the whole thing.”
“Go. And don’t get any grass stains on your slacks. I don’t want to have to — ”
A scream ripped the air.
Max.
“Mom! Dad!”
Another scream.

“I can’t be certain until the test comes back,” he told Sam and the cop in the outer office. “But from the tongue it looks like poison.”
“You got trouble with a neighbor?” the cop said. He was also young — everybody seemed young to Sam these days — a Latino with an earnest face. The silver nameplate on his chest said
Morales.
“This wasn’t a neighbor.”
“You know who?”
“A guy named Nicky Oberlin.”
“Why do you think it was this guy?”
“I don’t think. I know.”
“That’s not — ”
“Just write up your report,” Sam said. “My dog was poisoned.”
The cop didn’t argue. He started filling out a form he’d placed on top of a metal note box.
David cleared his throat. “Sam, what would you like me to do with Buzz?”
“I’m taking him,” Sam said. “We’ll bury him at the pet park in Calabasas. Max needs that.”

“Trust me on this,” Gerald Case said.
“Sure.”
“Believe me.”
“Fine.”
Sam was driving. It was Saturday, late morning, and Sam had

left his house still raging at what Nicky Oberlin had done. Killing the dog, and killing part of Max’s spirit. Sam had called Case and told him it was time to kick things up more than a notch.

Case repeated, “Trust me on this.”
Case had given Sam the cross streets in Reseda. The neighborhood had seen its glory days in the 1950s. It was now run-down, tired, as if it had given up the fight to look like a nice place to live. Patchy lawns in front of stucco houses testified to the misery of neglect.
“In here.” Case pointed to an alley. Sam turned into it. Case told him to pull up against a fence next to a row of city-issued trash receptacles.
“Now what?” Sam said.
“We wait.”
“Wait for what?”
“The go-ahead. When it comes to illegal activity, it’s best to know you’re not being surveilled. You brought the cash, right?”
“Five hundred.”
Case nodded. “Then as soon as Cutter thinks we’re clear, we do business.”
“Somebody named Cutter should be selling knives, not guns.”
“Cutter sells all sorts of things.”
“You know the most interesting people.”
Case smiled. “You do this long enough, you don’t exactly go to the social register for your contacts.”

Sam looked at the weeds growing out of the asphalt near the trash cans. He thought of the future, like the one in that movie with Mel Gibson.
Mad Max.
Was this where the world was headed? Decent guys buying black-market guns because it’s every man for himself?

“You want the rest of the report?” Case said.
“Please.”
“Oberlin’s living in an apartment on Normandie. I can give you

the exact address and room number.”
“Anything else? ”
Case shook his head. “I want to watch his movements for a

couple of days. Then we’ll talk.”
“I don’t want to wait too long on this.”
“Don’t worry. He probably doesn’t either.”
The thought did not do a thing to quiet Sam’s nerves. “Okay,” Case said, looking around one more time. “Let’s go buy

Case pulled his car to a stop behind a van parked at the far end of the alley. Between a cracking cinderblock wall on one side, and high wooden fence on the other, the place was relatively hidden from prying eyes.

The van’s driver-side door opened, and a guy the size of a sumo got out. Sam immediately thought this was not someone he’d like to meet in a dark alley. He wasn’t too keen on meeting him in this sunlit alley.

But Case slapped Sam’s knee and smiled. “There’s Cutter. Come on.”
Cutter leaned against the back of the van, arms folded, eyes behind dark glasses. In a sleeveless denim shirt, Cutter’s arms displayed a landscape of tattoos.
“Hey, Cut, whattaya say?” Case offered his hand, which disappeared into the paw of the gun merchant.
“Hey, bro,” Cutter said, in a voice that was completely out of keeping with the bodily form. It was high and . . . Sam realized with a jolt it belonged to a woman.
“This is my client,” Case said. “You can call him Sam.”
Cutter extended her hand. “What up?”
Sam shook hands. Cutter’s grip was as firm as any man’s. “Nothing much,” Sam answered.
“Don’t look like much of a shooter, does he?” Cutter said.
“He’s a lawyer,” Case answered.
“That’s cool.”
Sam was glad it was cool with Cutter.
“So you got the five hundred?” Cutter asked Sam.
“Yes.”
“Let’s see it.”
Sam had the cash in his coat pocket. But suddenly found he couldn’t fish it out.
“What’s up?” Cutter said, looking at Case.
“I can’t do this,” Sam said.
Case shook his head. “What’s the matter, Sam?”
“I just can’t.” But he wanted to. He wanted to badly. He wanted this weapon in his hands and loaded and pointed at Nicky Oberlin’s head. And he knew that was exactly why he couldn’t go through with it.
Cutter said, “And why not? I don’t look like somebody you can trust?”
“No reflection on you. I just have to do it another way.”
“The legal way is what you’re saying?”
“I guess so.” Weak. But that’s what it was going to have to be.
“I’m out five hundred! I got bills to pay, you know.”
Case said, “Sam, think this over. You need protection.”
“Legally, Gerry. That’s it.”
“You’ll have to wait ten days. You think Oberlin cares?”
Sam peeled off a hundred dollar bill and gave it to Cutter. “For your time,” Sam said.
“I knew I liked you,” Cutter said. “Come back and see me sometime.”
Oh, sure
. Sam got another hand-crushing shake before he and Case left.
Later that afternoon, Sam bought the giant-size Law Enforcement Take Down pepper spray from Bill’s Security in Canoga Park and began the process of purchasing a gun according to the laws of the State of California.