the side that kept trucks between me and the mobile office. Just in case anyone was peeking.
When I got to the Ezzo truck I found the driver leaning against the front, arms folded, watching the pour. He was short and Italian looking. I could see him behind a deli counter as easily as driving a truck.
“How you doing?” I said.
He gave me a look like I didn’t belong here, which I didn’t. But he nodded.
“You a friend of Carl Richess?” I asked.
He unfolded his arms and stood straight. “Who are you?”
“That seems to be the question of the day,” I said. I offered my hand. “Ty Buchanan, family lawyer.”
He shook my hand tentatively. “What do you want?”
“And your name is?”
He let go of my hand. “I asked what you wanted. I got nothing to say.”
“If you don’t know what I want, how can you know you have nothing to say?”
“Look, I got work to do.”
“How well did you know Carl?”
“I got nothing to say.”
But he looked like he could say a lot if he wanted to. “Carl’s dead,” I said. “And I’m representing his brother, who’s being charged. I just want some facts.”
“I got nothing, okay?”
“Then do you know anybody at the company I could talk to?”
He shook his head.
“Toss me a bone,” I said. “For a guy whose life is on the line.”
He looked at his feet. “I’m sorry about Carl, okay? I’m sorry about Eric, but that’s the way things break.”
I hadn’t mentioned Eric’s name. But this was a guy who did not want to be pushed, not now. I took out a card and held it out to him.
He didn’t take it. “I got nothing for you.”
A voice bellowed from in back of the truck. “Nick! Let’s go!”
The Italian turned quickly, ducked around to the driver’s side, and got in his truck. From the cab he gave me a quick look.
Then I felt whap on my shoulder. A security guard the width of a cement truck said, “You have to leave now, sir. Please don’t come back.”
60
SINCE I WAS doing so well getting people to talk, I walked the couple of blocks to the field office of Councilmember Jamie MacArthur.
It was functionally governmental, with a reception area. At the front desk a young woman asked how she could help me. I thought about saying, You can tell me who murdered Carl Richess and where to find him, but instead I said, “I don’t suppose the councilman is in today.”
“Oh, no,” she said. “Councilmember MacArthur will be out the rest of this week.”
“Cutting ribbons somewhere?”
She said nothing.
“You know, supermarkets and all that?”
She shook her head.
“Maybe I could talk to his aide. I’m a lawyer.”
“Lawyer?” she said. “May I ask what this is regarding?”
“Politics. Building projects. Fun.”
She said, “Excuse me,” got up, and went through a door behind her desk.
I looked at the framed photo of a smiling Jamie MacArthur on the wall. I tried to figure out just how symmetrical his square jaw was. And whether he’d had some work done. Like Stallone. Like just about everybody in this town, at one time or another.
“Hello, I’m Regis Nielsen.”
I turned. He was tall and thin, with an almost perfectly round head that seemed too big for his neck. His glasses had black plastic frames.
“Ty Buchanan,” I said, offering my hand. “I’m a lawyer. I’m representing a client who used to work on the building project you’ve got going around the corner.”
“It’s a major project, all right. Going to be a fine-looking office complex when we’re done. Good for Hollywood.”
“No doubt. Lots of labor. I imagine you had your hand in setting it up.”
“I don’t know what you mean by that, but of course the councilmember was heavily involved in bringing this project to the district.”
“What I mean is, you probably have the typical labor problems, and we all know what that’s like.”
“Councilmember MacArthur has always had good relations with the unions. In fact, he has good relations with just about everybody.”
I had to bite my tongue. There was a rumor that MacArthur had once had relations with a woman not his wife. Back when he was on the board of the L.A. Unified School District. He’d weathered that, his marriage survived, and now he was framed, on the wall.
“Word is,” I said, “that he’d make a great gubernatorial candidate.”
Regis smiled in that public-relations way political aides have. “We are dedicated to serving the needs of our constituents. That’s all Mr. MacArthur has on his mind right now.”
“Reason I’m asking,”