The Thousand - Kevin Guilfoile [70]
Derek turned toward the television for a long time, as if he had been waiting for this scene. “I couldn’t give him the clothes, or anything of Erica’s. But the gun. That wasn’t an artifact from her life or from Dad’s. That was an artifact from Gold’s life. From yours. I didn’t want it.”
Reggie said, “What did you sell it for?”
“He gave me twenty thousand dollars.”
“Did you tell him? What the gun was?”
“I didn’t have to.”
“Where’s the money?”
“Gone. I fixed the back steps. Paid off my credit card bill. That television. Some went to my mom. She thought I’d finally sold one of my paintings.” He laughed.
“No one asked you where it came from? What about the IRS?”
“He paid cash. It never even passed through a bank.”
“What was his name?”
“I didn’t care.”
“If that gun were ever traced back to you, you could be in a lot of trouble. The cops will have more questions.”
Derek Liu held out a hand for something to pull himself up, finding the arm of the worn and understuffed sofa. “My dad told me he was grateful to you. But if you hadn’t kept Gold out of jail, my father would still be alive.” He licked his chapped lip. “Your job is to help bad people get away with being bad.”
Reggie had an easy reply to that old argument. His job was to equalize the power of the state by giving power to the individual. He cared only that his clients were accused, not whether they were guilty. He didn’t give that speech now.
“What did the EKG stand for?” Derek asked.
For a moment, Reggie had no idea what he meant.
“The EKG inscribed on the gun.”
Reggie scanned for a recording device. “Why have you kept quiet all this time?”
Derek’s hands were shaking. “I know a lot of stuff about a lot of people. Stuff I wish I didn’t know. Some of it my dad told me before he died.” He nodded at Reggie. “Some of it Erica told me before she was killed. She was scared, man. I don’t think Gold killed her because she was his lover. I think he killed her because she overheard something. Or because Gold told her something he wasn’t supposed to tell her. And I don’t want anyone to know that I know it, too.” He dropped onto the couch.
“Why are you telling me this now?”
“I never called you. I almost did, a couple times when I was arrested. I wanted to keep what I know hidden in my pocket for when I really needed you. Now this shit looks serious, and if it all comes back on me—this doctor who was killed—I’m gonna need help and I need you to know that I know. So you’ll help me.”
“What did Erica tell you, Derek? What did she find out that got her killed?”
“Uh-uh,” he said. “You just let them know that I’m keeping my mouth shut. You keep me from getting desperate, no one will ever hear a peep from me.”
Reggie took a step forward, pinning Derek Liu to the sofa. In court, he was a master of shrinking and expanding the distance between himself and a juror whose attention he wanted. “Who am I supposed to tell that to, Derek? Who are these people?”
Derek didn’t even look up as Reggie reached into his pocket and set Erica’s necklace on top of the television.
22
WAYNE DIDN’T WANT to admit he was intimidated by David Amoyo, but as he pulled his Mustang into the vast lot of the Puma Lounge, there were butterflies in his stomach and bees in his intestine and a whole gaggle of geese pushing their way into his colon.
At least the bathrooms in the high-end strip clubs were usually clean.
Amoyo was a minor star among Vegas players, his digital assistant reportedly loaded with celebrity numbers. Even before he started counting cards with Canada Gold, he was famous for being modestly famous. For always having an invite. For always leaving the party early because he knew of a better one across the Strip. His notoriety ended up being the perfect cover for his con. No pit boss or casino dick thought twice when David Amoyo sat down at a table with this movie actor or that Los Angeles Laker