The Lincoln Lawyer - Michael Connelly [121]
“Yeah, I know, the machine doesn’t lie…”
After a moment he got it.
“What are you saying, Mick?”
He stepped in front of me, his body posture stiffening aggressively. I stopped leaning on the truck and dropped my hands to my sides.
“I’m asking, Val. Where were you on that Tuesday morning?”
“You son of a bitch, how could you ask me that?”
He had moved into a fight stance. I was momentarily taken off guard as I thought about him calling me what I had called Roulet earlier in the day.
Valenzuela suddenly lunged at me and shoved me hard against his truck. I shoved him back harder and he went backwards into the TV box. It tipped over and hit the floor with a loud, heavy whump and then he came down on it in a seated position. There was a sharp snap sound from inside the box.
“Oh, fuck!” he cried. “Oh, fuck! You broke the screen!”
“You pushed me, Val. I pushed back.”
“Oh, fuck!”
He scrambled to the side of the box and tried to lift it back up but it was too heavy and unwieldy. I walked over to the other side and helped him right it. As the box came upright we heard small bits of material inside it slide down. It sounded like glass.
“Motherfuck!” Valenzuela yelled.
The door leading into the house opened and his wife, Maria, looked out.
“Hi, Mickey. Val, what is all the noise?”
“Just go inside,” her husband ordered.
“Well, what is—”
“Shut the fuck up and go inside!”
She paused for a moment, staring at us, then closed the door. I heard her lock it. It looked like Valenzuela was sleeping with the broken TV tonight. I looked back at him. His mouth was spread in shock.
“That was eight thousand dollars,” he whispered.
“They make TVs that cost eight thousand dollars?”
I was shocked. What was the world coming to?
“That was with a discount.”
“Val, where’d you get the money for an eight-thousand-dollar TV?”
He looked at me and the fire came back.
“Where the fuck do you think? Business, man. Thanks to Roulet I’m having a hell of a year. But goddamn, Mick, I didn’t cut him loose from the bracelet so he could go out and kill Raul. I knew Raul just as long as you did. I did not do that. I did not put the bracelet on and wear it while he went to kill Raul. And I did not go and kill Raul for him for a fucking TV. If you can’t believe that, then just get the hell out of here and out of my life!”
He said it all with the desperate intensity of a wounded animal. A flash thought of Jesus Menendez came to my mind. I had failed to see the innocence in his pleas. I didn’t want that to ever happen again.
“Okay, Val,” I said.
I walked over to the house door and pushed the button that raised the garage door. When I turned back I saw he had taken a box cutter from the tool bench and was cutting the tape on the top of the TV box. It looked like he was trying to confirm what we already knew about the plasma. I walked past him and out of the garage.
“I’ll split it with you, Val,” I said. “I’ll have Lorna send you a check in the morning.”
“Don’t bother. I’ll tell them it was delivered this way.”
I got to my car door and looked back at him.
“Then give me a call when they arrest you for fraud. After you bail yourself out.”
I got in the Lincoln and backed out of the driveway. When I glanced back into the garage, I saw Valenzuela had stopped cutting open the box and was just standing there looking at me.
Traffic going back into the city was light and I made good time. I was just coming in through the front door when the house phone started to ring. I grabbed it in the kitchen, thinking maybe it was Valenzuela calling to tell me he was taking his business to another defense pro. At the moment I didn’t care.
Instead, it was Maggie McPherson.
“Everything all right?” I asked. She usually didn’t call so late.
“Fine.”
“Where’s Hayley?”
“Asleep. I didn’t want to call until she went down.”
“What’s up?”
“There was a strange rumor about you floating around the office today.”
“You mean the one about me being Raul Levin’s murderer?”
“Haller, is this serious?”
The kitchen was too small for