The Amazing Harvey (31 page)

She shook her head and said, “Wow.”

“‘Wow' what? C'mon. Give it up.”

Hannah picked up her napkin and dabbed at the corner of her eye. “This is the nicest thing I've ever gotten from my father.”

I held out my hand for the paper.

She reread the note, then handed it to me.

Hannah—

I'm so proud of you.

The check's taken care of.

Dad.

 

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

 

After leaving Tommaso's, Hannah followed me as I drove toward
Lune Bleue,
a fancy name for a dive on Ventura Boulevard in Studio City. I hadn't been there since I needed a phony ID. Sure hope it's still open.

There it is. The sign's lit up. Good indication that the club's still there.

I stuck my hand out the window, signaling Hannah to park with the valet, then drove a couple of blocks farther, turned onto a residential street, and found a free parking space. By the time I hiked back to the club, Hannah was standing in front.

She said, “This place is a dump.”

“I knew you'd like it.” I touched her elbow and led her inside. We heard soft jazz behind a black velvet curtain. As we came around it, I saw a quartet playing on a small riser. Sax, piano, stand-up bass, and a drummer swishing wire brushes on the drumheads. A number of small round tables surrounded the crowded dance floor. The walls were painted with caricatures of Miles Davis, Thelonious Monk, John Coltrane, Count Basie, Dave Brubeck, and a number of other jazz greats.

When the music ended, the audience clapped softly. The people on the dance floor went to their tables.

I spotted an empty table in the back and threw my head toward it, signaling Hannah to follow me. We wove through the people and sat down. No wonder this table's empty. There's a post that blocks the view of the musicians.

She said, “How'd you know I like jazz?”

“Simple. I eliminated every other kind of music known to man.”

She laughed. Second real laugh tonight. Her eyes sparkled.

A waitress appeared. “What'll it be?”

I said, “I'll just have ice water for now.”

She pointed to a laminated card, folded into a triangle on the table that read:
Two drink minimum per person.

I said, “Sparkling water.”

Hannah ordered a Diet Coke. There goes twenty bucks. Screw it. I won't get that many nights out.

The group started another song. With the post in our line of sight, I coulda saved the drink money and put on the radio.

I said, “Mind if we stand a minute? I'd like to watch these guys.”

“Okay.”

We got up and moved a few steps away. The stand-up bass player picked the strings with his index and middle fingers, like his fingers were imitating a walking man. The drummer bobbed his head in time to the music.

These guys are good. Watching a good jazz ensemble is like hearing a conversation. First they play together. Then they play off each other.

The sax player closed his eyes and held up his horn. I closed my eyes. What was it I once read about a great jazz saxophonist? Something like, “He wove his notes like whirls of smoke.”

I opened my eyes. Hannah was almost imperceptibly moving her body in rhythm to the music. Wow. That's the equivalent of my swinging from the rafters.

I said, “You want to dance?”

She stopped moving. “No.”

“Why not?”

“I can think of several hundred reasons.”

“Give me one.”

“I'm a shitty dancer.”

“So am I. Try another one.”

“I haven't danced since college.”

“That means you know how. So far, no prize.”

“I'd be self-conscious.”

“In front of all your close friends here?”

“I'll look foolish.”

“I hate to break it to you, but these people are far more interested in themselves than in watching you.”

“You don't understand. When you're a fat kid, people make fun of you while you're dancing. It leaves scars.”

“Unfortunately for your excuse factory, you're now a normal-size adult.” I grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the dance floor.

“Harvey, stop.”

From the tone of her voice, I could tell it wasn't a real “Stop.” It was a Pull me so it's not my fault that we're out here “Stop.”

I got her to the dance floor, took her right hand in my left, and put my right hand on her waist. Hannah gave an exasperated sigh, then started dancing.

We had enough space between us to satisfy a high school chaperone. With each step, I closed a little of it.

I said, “Where do you want to be in ten years?”

“What?”

“I mean, what do you want to accomplish in life?”

“I want to be the biggest criminal lawyer in Los Angeles.”

“That's it?”

“Well, I want to get married and have children. I doubt I'll have time for that until I'm further along in my career. Or until my biological clock ticks me into it.”

“How many kids?”

“I don't know. One at a time. At least two, though. Only kids don't do so well in life.”

“I'm an only kid.”

She pulled back to look at me. “Oh. I didn't mean it like that.”

I drew her back in, a little closer this time. “No big deal. Besides, it's only partially true. After Dad died, my mother took in a stream of foster children. She loved kids, and it helped pay the bills.”

“How was it, with all those kids coming and going?”

“I hated it at first. You know, sharing Mom. Some of them were pretty seriously troubled. A six-year-old once set the living room curtains on fire.”

The music stopped. Everyone on the dance floor applauded. Hannah started for the table. I grabbed her hand. Another song started. I pulled her back onto the dance floor. She resisted for a second, then started moving with the music.

Hannah said, “So what do you want out of life? I mean, besides being Houdini?”

“There'll never be another Houdini. He captured a unique time in history. Houdini became a metaphor for immigrants escaping the chains of poverty.”

“We were talking about your goals.”

“Right. I want to be big enough that they'll build me a theater in Vegas. That's the ultimate goal for magicians. I also want to get married and have kids.”

“How many?”

“More than one.”

She smiled. We were close enough that I could feel her breath against my chest. I pulled her against me. She's not pulling away. Can she feel my heart thumping? Can she feel the lower part of my body getting anxious to thump?

The song ended. Hannah got away before I could grab her. I hustled back to the table. Our twenty-dollar drinks were sitting there.

As I sat down, I said, “That wasn't so bad, was it?”

“I guess I'm not humiliated, if that's what you mean.”

“You sure know how to make a guy feel appreciated.”

She smirked at me.

I said, “C'mon. It was fun. Let's dance some more.” I grabbed her hand.

She took her hand back. “I think that's enough.”

“Something wrong?”

She looked at me. “We have a lot of work to do on your case. I think we need to keep things professional.”

I grabbed the plastic straw in my drink and pinched it.

Hannah said, “You're facing serious charges. I need to be one hundred percent objective.”

I turned up my hands in surrender. “Okay, okay. We'll postpone this discussion until my case is over.”
Assuming I'm not doing twenty to life on a chain gang.

She looked at her watch and grabbed her purse. “I didn't realize it was so late. Thanks for this. It was really fun.” She reached into her wallet and pulled out two twenties. “That's for the drinks.”

“I'll take care of it.”

“I insist.”

She pushed the bills into my palm and closed her hand around mine to keep them there.

“Hannah…”

She let go of my hand and hurried off.

 

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

 

Monday morning, I got to work before Hannah and started filing. When she walked in, she looked at me, then quickly looked away.

I said, “I'm pleased to be able to say something you've never heard before.”

She glanced at me. “What's that?”

I gave a little bow. “Your filing is completely up-to-date.”

“Really?” She looked around the office for her piles of paper.
You won't see any.
She looked back at me. “Well done. Thank you.”

“You're welcome. By the way, I'm doing a magic show tonight, if you'd like to come.”

“I … well, I'll see if I can make it.”

I rubbed my palms together. “Now, what can I do until you create another tidal wave of documents?”

Hannah put her purse on her desk. “I've thought it over, and I've decided you can consider your legal fees fully paid.”

“You mean … I'm finished working?”

“Yes. You can leave now, if you like.”

Not that I've got anywhere to go … I cocked my head. “You're not kicking me out because I made you feel awkward at the jazz club, are you?”

She tightened her lips. “You sure know how to deflate someone who's making a nice gesture.”

I did an exaggerated grimace. “Let me rephrase that. How incredibly generous. I can't thank you enough.”

The phone rang. Hannah quickly grabbed it. “Oh. Hi, Chris.” She put her hand over the phone. “It's the DNA lab,” she whispered. “I paid them off.”

I whispered, “Thank you” as I hurried over next to her.

Hannah sat down at her desk and jotted notes while she listened. I strained my ear to pick up the conversation but couldn't hear anything.

Hannah said, “Uh-huh.” Scribble, scribble. “I see.” Scribble. “Okay, well thanks.” She hung up.

I said, “Well?”

“Have a seat.”

“Oh shit.”

She motioned for me to sit.

I grabbed a chair, pulled it close to her desk, and sat. “Hit me.”

She took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. “The DNA sample at the crime scene matches your database DNA. We can't use it to create reasonable doubt.”

I crossed my arms over my chest and let out a long breath. “So.” I uncrossed my arms. Clenched my fists. “Where's this leave us?”

“Your DNA is at the crime scene. The apartment manager says you look familiar. Her father was in Seattle. The father of her child was in jail. Three people will testify that her boyfriend Kevin was working at the time of the murder. Your alibi at the Magic Castle is useless. How do you think it looks?”

My head throbbed. I rubbed my mouth with my fingertips. Is it hot in here?

I said, “It looks like I am royally fu—screwed.” I jumped up and started pacing. “Goddammit! It's NOT my DNA! All these fucking experts are wrong. There is an explanation. We're just missing it.”

Hannah let me keep pacing for quite a while before she said, “The DA offered a deal.”

I sat down in the chair, hooked my feet around its legs, and grabbed the seat with my hands. “What kind of deal?”

“A plea bargain. You agree to serve time, they agree not to have a trial.”

“I've seen enough TV to know what a plea bargain is. How much time?”

Hannah cleared her throat. “Fifteen years.”

I jumped up. “Fifteen years!”

“With good behavior, you're out in eleven or twelve.”

I rolled my eyes. “Oh, that makes me feel so much better.” I got up and started pacing, clenching my teeth. It really is hot in here.

Hannah's eyes followed me. She said, “I'm sure it's negotiable. But for any kind of deal, you're looking at years in prison.”

I kept pacing. “The alternative?”

“If we go to trial, you're facing an L-WOPP. That's Life without Possibility of Parole. We can probably argue it wasn't premeditated, so you wouldn't get life, but any way you slice it, it's a lot more years than what they're offering.”

I ran my fingers through my hair.

I looked at Hannah. Her eyebrows were steepled sympathetically.

I said, “What do you think I should do?” I bit off a chunk of what little cuticle I had left.

She shook her head. “Only you can make that decision.”

“Do you think I'm guilty?”

She glanced away, then looked at me. “What I think doesn't matter. It's the opinion of twelve people in a jury box that's important.”

I stopped pacing and stood in front of her. “Spoken like a true lawyer. Now answer me. Do you think I did this?”

She held my gaze. “No. I don't.”

“Thank you.”

“Unfortunately, my opinion is totally irrelevant. The evidence against you is bad. You won't say ‘I had sex with her but didn't kill her,' so there's no way to explain the DNA. Frankly, I don't even know what defense we'd use.”

“Put me on the stand. I'll tell the truth. I didn't have sex with her. I never even knew her.”

“Murder defendants never go on the stand. Besides, they'd be asking you questions like ‘How did your semen end up in a woman you never met?'”

I went back to pacing.

Hannah spoke softly. “Why don't you take some time and think about it?”

I walked out of her office.

*   *   *

I strode to my car, jerked the door open, started to get in, then slammed it. Better not drive when I'm this upset. Better not spend the money on gas.

How can this be happening?

I walked hard down Magnolia, moving fast enough to turn people's heads. Fuck 'em.

I decided to jog around North Hollywood Park, a few acres of scrubby trees just up the road.

Why me? Why would some conspiracy pick me as the victim? I'm nobody.