Page 42 of The Wrong Side of the Law

Chapter Thirteen

Gabriel

“Well, bye,” I say to the back of the door, once it closes behind her.

I know Emily’s pissed when she leaves, but I really don’t think it’smeshe’s angry with. If she really examined things, really peeled away the surface layers and dug into the root of the problem, it wouldn’t be me.

I just can’t let her get too close to anything involving her brother. Even what she’s doing now is too closely related, and it’s getting dangerously close to an ethical line.

Does her brother know how lucky he is to have her? I seriously doubt it. I’ve never met the kid, but from what I can tell he’s not the brightest bulb on the tree. Emily’s the one who seems to have inherited the family brain.

Even with all the work she’s doing, and in spite of her desk being half the size of mine, somehow Emily manages to keep it relatively tidy. She’s laid out an array of six legal pads in the center of the blotter. Each seems to be dedicated to a different list or subject for notes.

My eye is drawn by hot pink and day-glo orange highlighting neat, feminine script:Diego Lopez. CALL HIM!There’s a phone number with a 314-area code, and Emily drew five small stars on each side of the note.

Well, why not?

“Lopez,” says a man’s voice, answering on the second ring.

“Gabriel Cooper,” I say. “I’m with the State Attorney’s office in-”

“Oh, good!” the other man interrupts. “I was going to give you a call.”

“You- wait, what? You were?”

“Yeah. I talked to your assistant. I didn’t tell her everything. Y’know how it is.”

“Well, no. I don’t, really,” I chuckle. “You haven’t told me yet, and she didn’t leave much for me in the way of notes.” God, I hope you’re not the kind of idiot who just writes of paralegals as lesser beings. There’s plenty of them who are smarter than the lawyers they work for.

My answer draws a deep, rumbling belly laugh from the other end of the call.

“Tell you what,” he says, “you sound like a man who needs a cup of coffee. Good coffee, not the lowest-bidder stuff that the government buys you.”

“Get out of my budget!”

Lopez laughs again.

“But seriously, though,” he says, suddenly sober again, cautious. “Gimme your cell phone number, and then why don’t you take a walk.”

“No shit?” What’s he being so cautious about?

“No shit. It’s about lunch time in Florida anyway, isn’t it?”

Three minutes later I’m outside and holding my iPhone, and two minutes after that it vibrates urgently, showing the same 314 number I’d just called. I swipe a finger to answer it.

“Hey, Diego.”

“Yo. Okay, so, sorry about all the mystery before. I just- well, I just, there’s some things that I don’t want to talk about inside my office, and there’s prying ears everywhere.”

“Yeah, I get that,” I say. “My receptionist is a walking, talking listening device.”

An ambulance passes by, sirens blaring, making all conversation impossible for a moment.

“You’re out on the street? Good. It’s a shitty thing,” Diego sighs. “We’re supposed to all be on the same team, the guys in the white hats. Why the hell can’t everyone act like it?”

“I know, right? And yeah, I’m out on the street. You were right, it’s time for lunch,” I say. “So, you’re, what? Prosecutor? A cop? Emily didn’t leave me any background.”

“Yep. Assistant Prosecuting Attorney, St. Louis, Missouri. I mostly work gang/drug cases. That’s how I came across Robert Ferry, and that’s how your assistant came across me, via Dave Banks.”

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