“Where is he, anyway?” Lorna asked.
“He may still be at the reception center but they were moving him to Corcoran. Here’s what you do. Make about ten copies of the ruling and put them in an envelope and send it to Casey at Corcoran. You should have the address.”
“Well, won’t they be letting him go?”
“Not yet. His parole was violated after his arrest and the appeal doesn’t affect that. He won’t get out until he goes to the parole board and argues fruit of the poisonous tree, that he got violated because of an illegal search. It will probably take about six weeks for all that to work itself out.”
“Six weeks? That’s unbelievable.”
“Don’t do the crime if you can’t do the time.”
I sang it like Sammy Davis did on that old television show.
“Please don’t sing to me, Mick.”
“Sorry.”
“Why are we sending ten copies to him? Isn’t one enough?”
“Because he’ll keep one for himself and spread the other nine around the prison and then your phone will start ringing. An attorney who can win on appeal is like gold in prison. They’ll come calling and you’re going to have to weed ’em out and find the ones who have family and can pay.”
“You always have an angle, don’t you?”
“I try to. Anything else happening?”
“Just the usual. The calls you told me you didn’t want to hear about. Did you get in to see Glory Days yesterday at County?”
“It’s Gloria Dayton and, yes, I got in to see her. She looks like she’s over the hump. She’s still got more than a month to go.”
The truth was, Gloria Dayton looked better than over the hump. I hadn’t seen her so sharp and bright-eyed in years. I’d had a purpose for going down to County-USC Medical Center to talk to her, but seeing her on the downhill side of recovery was a nice bonus.
As expected, Lorna was the doomsayer.
“And how long will it last this time before she calls your number again and says, ‘I’m in jail. I need Mickey’?”
She said the last part with a whiny, nasal impression of Gloria Dayton. It was quite accurate but it annoyed me anyway. Then she topped it with a little song to the tune of the Disney classic.
“M-I-C…, see you real soon. K-E-Y…, why, because you never charge me! M-O-U-T-H. Mickey Mouth… Mickey Mouth, the lawyer every—”
“Please don’t sing to me, Lorna.”
She laughed into the phone.
“I’m just making a point.”
I was smiling but trying to keep it out of my voice.
“Fine. I get it. I have to get going now.”
“Well, have a great time… Mickey Mouth.”
“You could sing that song all day and the Dodgers could lose twenty-zip to the Giants and I’d still have a great time. After hearing the news from you, what could go wrong?”
After ending the call I went into my home office and got a cell number for Teddy Vogel, the outside leader of the Saints. I gave him the good news and suggested that he could probably pass it on to Hard Case faster than I could. There are Road Saints in every prison. They have a communication system the CIA and FBI might be able to learn something from. Vogel said he’d handle it. Then he said the ten grand he gave me the month before on the side of the road near Vasquez Rocks was a worthy investment.
“I appreciate that, Ted,” I said. “Keep me in mind next time you need an attorney.”
“Will do, Counselor.”
