Breach of Trust

78

Hector was on his second scotch in the limo, which, combined with a number of beers at the event, lent a rim of redness to his eyes and an easing of his posture. It seemed to put him in a bad mood, as well, if I was any good at reading people.

“What’s this stuff you’re talking about? Jobs for Rick Harmoning and this judge who says hello to the governor?”

Again with this dance. Hector, out of the loop and wanting in. Me, wanting to keep Hector out of the loop to protect him. “How come the governor stays at the Ritz instead of sleeping in his own bed?” I asked.

Hector seemed annoyed by the question, swatting at it like he would a buzzing fly. “He’s in campaign mode. She knows he needs to focus. I doubt she misses him much. But hey,” he said, returning to his subject, “what about all this stuff you’re talking about?”

He swallowed the remainder of the scotch, refilled, and stared at me.

“Look, Hector, they tell me these things in secrecy. I’m just doing what I’m told.”

“Secret from me? Who got you here, Counselor? You forget that?”

It was partly the booze talking, and Hector had had plenty. But alcohol typically lays bare true emotions, deep insecurities. Hector wanted to be a player again, and he took any secrets as the ultimate sign of disrespect.

“I do what I’m told,” I repeated, which felt like a cop-out, especially coming from me. I tended to be something of a contrarian, and Hector knew that.

Hector held out his hands, like he was displaying himself to me. “You think I’m just some peon? You know I’m going to be the first Latino lieutenant governor?”

I drew back. “You’re not running for lieutenant governor.”

“I’m not running.” He looked away in disgust. Then he leaned into me. “Mickey Diedman’s going to win guv lite, and when Barack or Hillary becomes president, Carl’s going to get Mickey on the federal bench and appoint me as the replacement.”

All of this was news to me. Having become more attuned to politics of late, I was certainly aware that a downstate county prosecutor, Michael Diedman, was running for lieutenant governor as a Democrat and appeared to be the favorite. It was not exactly an unusual path from county attorney to federal judge. Had some deal been struck?

“Wow, that’s great,” I said, only because Hector’s ego seemed to be suffering and I thought it was what he wanted to hear.

“Yeah, so tell that to all those assholes in there. Madison, Peshke, Mac-you think any of them have ever been elected to anything? No, they don’t have the balls. They just stay behind the scenes while we go out there and take the fucking hits. Then they look at me like I’m some fucking puppy dog they have to pat on the head.” He squirmed in his seat, really working himself up now. “Who do you think Carl listens to more than anybody? They think I’m just a fly on the wall but who does Carl listen to the most? Who tells him what to do?”

“You,” I gathered.

“Me. Fuckin-a right, me.” He patted his chest. “You see me tonight? You think I can’t work up a crowd like he can? I’m going to be the first Latino lieutenant governor and then I’m going to be the first Latino governor. They think I’m just some brown face they can parade in front of the Mexicans? Fuck them. Fuck all of them.”

“Hector-”

“Look at what I got for my public service. I got fucking indicted, that’s what I got. I didn’t do anything different from anyone else. But me? The Latino politician? No, the Latino, they can’t have him in power. They have to take him down.”

He took another long sip of his fresh drink, his hand trembling. I’d heard this angle from Hector on occasion, this racial thing. I had my doubts; I thought federal prosecutors were equal-opportunity hunters when it came to politicians. But then again, I was a white Catholic boy. I’d never walked in his shoes. And the persecution complex is a natural reaction when the government comes after you, justly or otherwise. It stops being about what you did to get their attention; it becomes how bloodthirsty they are in their quest to catch you.

“Joey Espinoza fucked you,” I said again, letting him gain momentum, because I sensed something here.

“Joey Espinoza.” He had a physical reaction to the name, spilling some of his drink. “Let me tell you something about Joey Espinoza. I mean, now that it’s over.”

I steeled myself. I didn’t know what was coming next. And I couldn’t control it. I had a recorder in my pocket that would pick up this entire thing. I’d been trying to protect Hector from the feds out of a sense of loyalty to a former client. But I had a number of puzzle pieces that I hadn’t fit together yet, and one of the biggest was Joey Espinoza. FeeBee or not, I needed to hear this.

“I mean, you’re not my lawyer anymore, but you’re still my guy. I mean, am I right or am I wrong? Are you my guy?”

That, of course, was how someone like Hector saw the world. It was like a damn Godfather movie, kissing the ring, pledging fealty to a master. Hector didn’t need to know that our conversation would be protected by the attorney-client privilege. In fact, he was going to tell me something that he wouldn’t tell me when I was sworn to professional secrecy. No, where he sat, being his “guy” was a more sacred bond than being his attorney. He just needed to hear me say it.

“Of course, I’m your guy,” I said.