Free King Con by Stephen J. Cannell Page A

very precise.
    “This is Miss Victoria Hart, yes?” he said slowly. “Your secretary gave me this number.”
    She had been gathering up the remnants of her case to file in her office. She had armloads of depositions from nurses and doctors, all of whom had witnessed Frank Lemay’s injuries, but would never be called upon to testify. The case was over. Jeopardy had attached. After tomorrow, Joe Rina could never be tried on this charge again.
    “Who’s calling?” she said without interest.
    “This is Cedric O’Neal.”
    “Who?” she asked impatiently.
    “I’m Anthony Heywood’s criminal attorney.”
    “Whose criminal attorney?”
    “Anthony Heywood’s. I believe his street nickname is ‘Amp’ Heywood, or some such silliness. …”
    Victoria thought Cedric O’Neal sounded wimpy.
    “He told me he called you last night and gave you information about where the bodies of the two police officers and your witness could be found. It’s on the evening news that you subsequently found them, yes?” he continued.
    Victoria set the folders down, grabbed a yellow legal pad, and wrote down, “Cedric O’Neal.” Under that she wrote, “Anthony ‘Amp’ Heywood.”
    “Okay, how can I help you, Mr. O’Neal?” she said with interest, and grabbed for her leather-bound copy of the
Martindale-Hubbell Law Directory,
which listed all the attorneys in the United States … where they went to school, what year they graduated, along with other pertinent facts including any landmark cases they had worked on. It also had employment histories.
    In his cheap motel apartment in Coral Gables, BeanoBates paced, carrying the phone. A con man working a phone hustle was known in the trade as a yak. Most yaks paced to keep their energy level up when doing phone freaks. He performed Cedric O’Neal with a perfect clenched-jaw, Eastern-old-school accent. “How can you help me?” he repeated her question. “Well, Miss Hart, I was thinking maybe we could help each other, yes? You see, Mr. Heywood has come to me with some legal problems which, frankly, are a mite troublesome. Mr. Heywood is of the opinion that a former accomplice of his is negotiating with the government to get a reduced sentence on a felony charge of grand larceny.”
    “What accomplice are we talking about? What case? And what does all this have to do with me?”
    “I’m not quite ready to tell you that yet. … If you don’t mind, I’d like to make my presentation, then you can do all of your spiffies once I’m done.”
    “My what?” she said, confused.
    “Give it your own shine, yes?” he clarified.
    What a jerk,
she thought.
    “Mr. Heywood may have some information that would be useful to you in your prosecution of the Rina case … but Mr. Heywood, instead of giving it away free, is finally being pragmatic and is looking to see what kind of assistance you might be prepared to give to him.”
    “So this case his accomplice is about to pin on him is in my jurisdiction?”
    “Conceivably.”
    “You’re very cagey.”
    “Well, you know how this stage of a plea bargain can be. We’re tiptoeing around issues of prior knowledge, yes? If I might continue …? Mr. Heywood might be willing to give you information about the death of the man this morning’s paper is identifying as Demo Williams. In return, he’d like your advocacy in any forth-comingcriminal action that your office may be contemplating against him.”
    “Jesus, you’re wordy. … You can just say it, Mr. O’Neal.”
    “I’m operating under instructions from my client right now. My client has not been implicated in anything yet, but he fears he’s about to be, and I would just as soon handle this negotiation one-on-one. When constructing agreements of this nature, I like to see who I’m talking to.”
    “Your client seemed to be indicating to me over the phone last night that his ‘Ace Cool,’ which means best friend, told him that he was part of the killing at Trenton Towers and