Free the Pallbearers (2010) by Stephen - Scully 09 Cannell Page B

insolently but made no move to step out of the way. His attitude wasn't going to do much for the walk-in trade.
    "We're here for the six o'clock meeting," Vicki said, not wavering under his malevolent stare. "You wanta go tell Mr. Vargas we're here or just stand there acting like a dickhead?"
    Jesus ... I thought. But he just stepped aside and let us in.
    I followed Vicki into the house. The bungalow looked to be entirely devoted to Sabas Vargas's legal practice. There were several hard-looking Hispanic women in their mid-twenties to thirties typing legal documents on computers and answering phones. Most of them also had teardrop tattoos. It wasn't like any law office I'd ever been in before. This staff looked like a bunch of parolees. Then one of the chica warriors stood and confronted us.
    "What is it?" the tall, angry presence demanded.
    "We're here to talk to Sabas." I fished out my trusty badge again. She glared, shrugged, then turned and, without a word, left us there, heading into the back.
    "Put that thing away," Vicki whispered. "Nobody cares."
    A moment later, Sabas came down the hall in shirtsleeves. Without the jacket and with his cuffs rolled up, I could see that he was heavier than I had originally thought. A roll of fat pressed at his belt line, a faded marine tattoo decorated one forearm.
    "I'm just wrapping up a client conference," he said, and I noticed a very slight Mexican accent that I'd somehow failed to detect at the reception. "Some of the others are already gathered in the conference room. Follow me." We headed toward the back of the house.
    I could see into the guest bedrooms that opened off the hall. They were full of records and supplies. One was outfitted with a copy - machine and file cabinets. He led us into a den, which looked out over a small weed-choked backyard that surprisingly contained a cracked and empty kidney-shaped swimming pool. Then he left us, heading back down the hall to finish his meeting.
    The room contained a fold-up conference table and ten metal chairs. Jack Straw was lounging in one, tipped back insolently. Seriana Cotton was sitting with rigid military posture in another. Diamond Peterson hadn't made it yet.
    "I didn't see the Harley out front," I said.
    "We both parked around back in Sabas's driveway," Straw replied. "You'd have to be brain dead to leave your ride out front."
    I had a sudden mental image of my MDX jacked up, missing all four tires, radio, and airbags.
    "This is quite a setup," I said, indicating the reception area out front. "I could probably make my arrest quotas for the week by just running this guys office staff."
    "Sabas told us he takes a lot of pro bono cases," Seriana explained. "His clients and their families work in the office to settle out their legal expenses."
    Before I could respond, Sabas Vargas came into the den and closed the door behind him. "Let's get started," he said, taking control of the meeting. "I just talked to Diamond and she said she had some inventory lists to take care of at Huntington House and will be a little late."
    He pulled up his chair and sat at the edge of the table. "Okay, lets talk about how we go about proving Pop didn't kill himself so Huntington House can get this life-insurance check." He looked directly at me. "Shane, why don't you start by giving me a police take on that."

    Chapter 16
    "I'm not sure I have a take," I said, trying to cluck him. What I really wanted to do was to get the hell out. I already knew that coming here was a huge mistake.
    Sabas Vargas had a deep bass voice that he used to control the room. "I know we re not all on the exact same page, but the idea of this meeting is to discuss whether or not its feasible that Pop would go into his backyard and blow his head off. A lot of you feel he wasn't that kind of guy."
    "We don't know that," I said. "Diamond was the closest to him recently. She says he was stressed, worried about missing funds."
    "Seriana tells me that you got the ME's report,"