A Criminal Defense

Chapter 17

Loan? It wasn’t no loan. That asshole Galen stole my money. Stole. . it. A hundred thousand dollars.”

The man standing behind the chain-link fence next to a fight-scarred pit bull didn’t look to Donnally like a guy who’d ever seen a hundred thousand dollars in any form. Cash, check, or money order.

Having emitted a rapid first blast, Tink Fischer fell silent and then looked Donnally up and down as if only now having the thought he’d should’ve had when Donnally first walked up and set the dog to barking. What’s a white guy doing out here without a badge and a backup?

“Where’d you park your car?”

“Truck.” Donnally pointed his thumb over his shoulder toward the curb in front of the faded pink stucco bungalow across the street.

“The Big Block Boys have been fighting a turf war with Bay Side. You’re in what you could call the line of fire. Lots of dope money to be made on the corner so there’s lots to fight over.”

Fischer glanced over at the mostly primer gray 1980s Caprice Classic in his carport. Donnally followed his eyes. The only shiny spots on the skin were the bent-in edges of the bullet holes.

“Maybe I should talk fast,” Donnally said.

Fischer smiled. “I’ll try to keep up once I know where you’re headed.”

Donnally smiled back. “I’m interested in Sheldon Galen.”

“You a private investigator?”

“Let’s just say I’m a dissatisfied customer.”

Fischer snorted. “Been down that road myself.”

Donnally looked down at the dog, guessing that it was the one that Fischer had tried to bring into the bank with him.

“Because he lost your case?”

Fischer waved the question away. “I wasn’t gonna win it. The DA was offering a bullet in the county jail and I figured I could get it cut down if the judge heard some kinda sob story from me.”

It was called a long sentencing hearing. Using a trial not to prove innocence, but mitigation. And a bullet was courthouse slang for a year in the county jail.

“I told them about how the dog was my son’s and how the dog got all despondent after he got killed and didn’t like being left alone.” Fischer tilted his head toward the corner, implying that was where the murder took place. “It was true. That’s what happened. Judge bought it and I got six months.”

“But it really didn’t have anything to do with why you punched the security guard.”

“I hit him because he was a racist asshole. He had what I call a black-guy-with-a-pit-bull complex.” Fischer spread his hands. “The dog is like a loaded gun. Like I was supposed to leave him tied up on the sidewalk so he could take chunks out of people’s legs walking by?”

“Then what was your beef with Galen?”

“He represented me in a civil suit. A false arrest case. Cops beat the shit out of me. I was walking by a sideshow-just. . walking. . by-”

“A what?”

“Aren’t you from around here?”

“I’m from up north.”

“A sideshow is where the kids spin donuts in their cars in intersections. Look at the pavement when you drive on out of here. You’ll see the skid marks. Big crowds show up. Sometimes the drivers lose control and jump the curb and people get killed. Cops always trying to stop them.”

Donnally nodded his understanding.

“I’m walking by one last year and the cops come squealing up and everybody scatters. Me and the dog are the last ones there. Next thing I know, I’m facedown on the sidewalk bleeding from out my broken nose and my neck all twisted up.”

Something of Donnally’s incredulity must have shown on his face.

“It’s true. I didn’t know what happened until I saw the cell phone video somebody took from their second story window. When the city attorney got a look at it, they couldn’t wait to get the case settled. Galen got me a hundred and forty grand. He was supposed to keep forty for his fees and expenses, like for the chiropractor treatments to help build up the damages, and give me the rest.”

“But he was slow to give it to you.”

“Damn slow. A month goes by, then two, then four.”

Donnally figured out right then what Hamlin must have. The settlement check from the city would’ve been made out to the Sheldon Galen trust account, separate from Galen’s own money, where it would be held for the benefit of the client-and Galen had embezzled it. And to do that he would’ve had to falsify accounting records and launder the funds into a form in which he could use them himself. He might even have had to forge checks to make it appear that the payments were made to Fischer when they were actually made to himself. If caught, not only would he have lost his bar card, but he would’ve ended up as a real jailhouse lawyer, doing his own bullet in the county jail.

“Finally, I go over to Galen’s office and he says he’ll have it in a week. A month goes by. I head over there again. I tell him to have it tomorrow or he’s gonna have a long meeting with the dog.”

“I heard you threatened to sue him.”

Fischer laughed. “By then, I’d had enough of lawyers. He must’ve come up with that tale to go along with his Fischer-loaned-me-the-money story. I go back the next day and he’s got it. In cash. Two stacks.”

“He tell you where he got the money to pay you back?”

“Didn’t stay around long enough.” Fischer reached down and patted the pit bull’s head. “Me and the dog grabbed it and got out of there.”