get a look at him?” I said.
He closed his eyes, but didn’t indicate no.
“If you can try to help me out,” I said, “maybe we can get this guy.”
He looked at me through the slits that were his eyes. Like he was trying to decide if he could say anything.
“Who you?” he said.
“A lawyer. I was talking to the lady across the street from the house you were in. You live there?”
He didn’t respond.
“We were trying to find a guy, and somebody took a shot at us. Didn’t hit me, he hit an innocent bystander, a nun, and the shot came from your house. What about it?”
“Got hit,” he said. He seemed truthful, from the gut. “Happened fast.”
“Anything you can give—”
“Hey!” The cop was in the room. “Nobody talks to him. Get out.”
“I may be his lawyer,” I said.
The cop looked confused. I looked at the kid, and shrugged.
The cop said, “This your lawyer?”
The kid paused, then shook his head slowly.
“You have to leave,” the cop said.
“You think about it,” I said to the kid, and left my card on his stand.
133
I CHECKED IN on Sister Mary again. She was sleeping. Father Bob was praying by her bed. I put my hand on his shoulder. He looked up and motioned for me to sit.
I pulled up the one other chair in the room.
“She had a message for you,” Father Bob said. “She wants you to go get some sleep so you can go to court tomorrow. She said she wants the blow-by-blow afterward. She said it’s Showtime and you’re the Lakers in 1985.”
I smiled. “Boston Garden. Game six. I wish. She’s lying in bed with a bullet wound and I have no idea what’s going on.”
“My grandmother always said, Never play leapfrog with a unicorn.”
I paused. “That some sort of down-home wisdom?”
“It means don’t worry about what doesn’t exist. Just look at the task in front of you.”
I tried to look. What I saw was a long black tunnel. Inside were people with guns and money. I thought of that Warren Zevon song. Lawyers, guns and money. Dad, get me out of this.
Father Bob put his hand on my arm. “And remember, we’re your people now.”
“Are you?”
“Of course.”
I shook my head doubtfully. “You’re my friends. Good friends. I don’t know about my people.”
“Explain.”
I sat back in the chair. “Your religion mystifies me. It’s the heart of everything you do. But it’s beyond me. And here I am tearing down Sister Mary’s standing with the Almighty. I have no right to do that. She’s lying there with a bullet wound because of me.”
“Ty, servants of God have suffered much worse.”
“Martyrs, you mean? But that was for the faith. She took a hit because of a lawyer. Scrounging around looking for a witness. Isn’t she supposed to be praying and looking out for the poor and all that?”
Father Bob was silent for a long moment. Then, “I consider you a friend, too, Ty. More than that. What you’ve done for me, for our community. It’s forged bonds.”
“But I’m not part of you. There’s something between us that doesn’t mix.”
“Oh, I don’t know. Jesus ate with tax collectors and even a lawyer or two.”
“What was he thinking?”
“He was thinking of you,” Father Bob said.
“I didn’t get the memo,” I said.
“It’s written on your heart.”
“Lawyers don’t have hearts, haven’t you heard?”
He smiled. “Augustine said God made us for Himself, and our hearts are restless until they rest in Him.”
“Well, I have a feeling I’m going to stay restless, unless I find my witness.” I stood. “Tell Sister Mary I’ll see her tomorrow.”
As I was driving away from the hospital, I got a call from Sid.
“Update time,” he said.
“Go ahead.”
“Earlier today the guy sent an e-mail from a computer terminal at a branch of the L.A. Public Library. Over in Sylmar. I was able to do a little hacking—just promise you won’t tell anybody, okay?”
“Lips. Sealed.”
“Okay, so here’s what happened. You reserve a computer with a library card. Every library card has a number, and this one is fourteen digits. I was able to get to a name. The name associated with the card. Somebody named Douglas Aycock. That mean anything to you?”
“Nothing.”
“Didn’t think so, because he’s from Oklahoma.”
I tightened my grip on the steering wheel.
Sid went on. “Last time we talked you mentioned this Oklahoma theory that Sister Mary had. Pretty good theory, turns out. I checked. And I did find a guy with that name out of Oklahoma City. I found it in