* * *
Fitzgerald went out and hunted up Jason Rollins, the assistant district attorney assigned to the case.
“Hey, Jason. Wanna play Let’s Make a Deal?”
“Ricky Fitz. How the hell are you?”
“Pissed, that’s how. I was up at the crack of dawn to come down here just to bail a guy out.”
“What’s the case?”
“Chaz Bowen.”
“Oh, that one. Slam dunk. Caught in the act with burglar tools and a gun. Breaking into a Hollywood producer’s house, for Christ’s sake.”
“Was he arrested in the house?”
“He was apprehended while trying to get in the window.”
“So you can’t charge him with breaking and entering. He didn’t enter.”
“I can charge him with attempted burglary.”
“You’ll never get a conviction.”
“Give me a break. You’re going to cop a plea and you know it. You can’t put that guy in front of a jury. If he answers questions, he’s guilty. If he refuses to answer questions, he’s guilty. The minute he steps into court, he’s guilty.”
“My client doesn’t want to serve time.”
“Then he shouldn’t have gotten arrested.”
“I couldn’t agree more. Shall we pretend he didn’t?”
“Unfortunately he’s been booked.”
“You can always drop the charges.”
“With so much evidence? My boss would want to know why. His-lawyer-told-me-to is a very poor answer.”
“I gotta get him out.”
The ADA shook his head. “You cop a plea, he’s doing time. I can’t give you a deal where he doesn’t.”
“How about time served?”
“A half an hour? Come on, Ricky, the charge isn’t going away. The only way he’s gets out is on bail.”
“How much?”
* * *
Donnie Martel snatched up the phone. “Yeah?”
“Donnie. Rick Fitzgerald. You sent me to bail out Chaz.”
“Did you do it?”
“Sure thing.”
“How much?”
“Hundred thousand.”
“That much?”
“The guy had a gun on him, Donnie. He’s lucky he’s out at all.”
“Did he talk?”
“If he had, he’d have talked himself into a cell. The guy’s a moron, Donnie. Shutting up is the only bright thing he’s ever done.”
“Are you kidding me? The guy’s an expert locksmith.”
“That is the type of thing I don’t want to know, Donnie.”
“Why didn’t he talk?”
“He couldn’t think of anything to say.”
“Jesus.”
* * *
Donnie slammed down the phone. Donnie Martel was a lower-level crime boss with big aspirations and little to show for it. He was always eager to do jobs for the big boys, the shit jobs that no one wanted to do but everyone needed done. He did a lot of them, and most of them panned out. When they came off without a hitch, they were completely unappreciated. No one ever noticed his efforts until something got fucked up. In Donnie’s case it was always baby steps forward, and a gigantic slide back.
Chaz Bowen was one hell of a slide. The situation couldn’t have been worse. Here he was, doing a job for the one guy on the West Coast he wanted to impress. Gino Patelli was the big boss, the legit boss, the one the others all kowtowed to, the one who was never personally involved in anything.
Donnie couldn’t believe it had all gone wrong. It had been such a simple job. Yes, it was a hit, but it was an easy hit, not like whacking some rival mob boss. It was a movie producer, for God’s sake, Mr. John Q. Public. This wasn’t a complicated scenario, it was supposed to have been just a home invasion gone bad. The stupidest thug in the world should have been able to pull that off.
But no, Donnie had to find one even stupider. So now he had to tell Gino Patelli that the simple assignment the big man had condescended to give him had blown up in his face.
Donnie picked up the phone to make the call. He started punching in the number, but found his hand was shaking. He slammed down the receiver.
Damn.
This would have to be done in person.
5
Gino Patelli’s mansion might have belonged to a movie star. Many of the homes in Bel-Air did. Few belonged to crime bosses. Such clientele were discouraged, but Gino Patelli passed muster on two counts. First, he presented himself as a vintner, and while this pretense fooled no one, it was hard to dispute, since he owned enough vineyards to have stocked every tavern on the West Coast. In fact, he barely produced enough wine for his own table, and couldn’t care about the rest. Still, it gave him bragging rights on the one hand, and a legitimate front on the other.
The other thing that made Gino Patelli hard to ignore was the fact that people were afraid of him. Men who crossed him fell upon hard times. Cause and effect was always hard to prove.
* * *
Donnie Martel rang the buzzer at the iron gates, and identified himself for the camera mounted there. He wasn’t asked his business. He was not getting in unless his business was already known.
After a few moments, the massive gates swung open. Donnie drove up the long, tree-lined drive, and parked in the circle in front of the mansion. He got out and went up to the front door. He could practically feel the X-ray from the scanner checking him for a weapon.
The door was opened by two silent goons who double-checked the scanner and patted him down for a gun. Finding none, they turned him over to a nondescript man in a faded suit with a paisley tie who looked like he couldn’t hurt a fly. Donnie knew better. Sylvester was Gino Patelli’s right-hand man. People who crossed Gino had a habit of disappearing. Sylvester was rumored to be the reason why.
Sylvester walked Donnie down the long, wood-paneled hall to the double-doored office at the end. Another goon patted him down again before opening the door.
Donnie took a breath and followed Sylvester in. The door closed behind him. Donnie had to fight the impulse to look back. He and Sylvester stepped up and stood in front of the large oaken desk.