On the screen I could see my vanity plate.

IWALKEM

I smirked. I walk ’em, all right. I was heading to court to meet one of Jerry Vincent’s clients for the first time. I was going to shake his hand and then walk him right into prison.

Nine

Judge Judith Champagne was on the bench and hearing motions when I walked into her courtroom with five minutes to spare. There were eight other lawyers cooling their heels, waiting their turn. I parked my roller bag against the rail and whispered to the courtroom deputy, explaining that I was there to handle the sentencing of Edgar Reese for Jerry Vincent. He told me the judge’s motions calendar was running long but Reese would be first out for his sentencing as soon as the motions were cleared. I asked if I could see Reese, and the deputy got up and led me through the steel door behind his desk to the court-side holding cell. There were three prisoners in the cell.

“Edgar Reese?” I said.

A small, powerfully built white man came over to the bars. I saw prison tattoos climbing up his neck and felt relieved. Reese was heading back to a place he already knew. I wasn’t going to be holding the hand of a wide-eyed prison virgin. It would make things easier for me.

“My name’s Michael Haller. I’m filling in for your attorney today.”

I didn’t think there was much point in explaining to this guy what had happened to Vincent. It would only make Reese ask me a bunch of questions I didn’t have the time or knowledge to answer.

“Where’s Jerry?” Reese asked.

“Couldn’t make it. You ready to do this?”

“Like I got a choice?”

“Did Jerry go over the sentence when you pled out?”

“Yeah, he told me. Five years in state, out in three if I behave.”

It was more like four but I wasn’t going to mess with it.

“Okay, well, the judge is finishing some stuff up out there and then they’ll bring you out. The prosecutor will read you a bunch of legalese, you answer yes that you understand it, and then the judge will enter the sentence. Fifteen minutes in and out.”

“I don’t care how long it takes. I ain’t got nowhere to go.”

I nodded and left him there. I tapped lightly on the metal door so the deputy — bailiffs in L.A. County are sheriffs’ deputies — in the courtroom would hear it but hopefully not the judge. He let me out and I sat in the first row of the gallery. I opened up my case and pulled out most of the files, putting them down on the bench next to me.

The top file was the Edgar Reese file. I had already reviewed this one in preparation for the sentencing. Reese was one of Vincent’s repeat clients. It was a garden-variety drug case. A seller who used his own product, Reese was set up on a buy-bust by a customer working as a confidential informant. According to the background information in the file, the CI zeroed in on Reese because he held a grudge against him. He had previously bought cocaine from Reese and found it had been hit too hard with baby laxative. This was a frequent mistake made by dealers who were also users. They cut the product too hard, thereby increasing the amount kept for their own personal use but diluting the charge delivered by the powder they sold. It was a bad business practice because it bred enemies. A user trying to work off a charge by cooperating as a CI is more inclined to set up a dealer he doesn’t like than a dealer he does. This was the business lesson Edgar Reese would have to think about for the next five years in state prison.