Free JO01 - Guilty or Else by Jeff Sherratt

overdue, but now three? Why were forms so important?
    Rita would let me know when she returned. But first, I had to get a hold of Sol. I grabbed the receiver and punched in his office number.
    “Is he around, Joyce?”
    “He’s still at Del Mar, but I can get him a message.”
    “I’ve got a plate number, need an ID.”
    “No need to bother the boss, I can handle it. Won’t have the information until this afternoon. It’s almost eleven now. Our DMV contact would be out to lunch. He’ll run the plate when he gets back, around three.”
    “Thanks. Call me when you get the name, okay?”
    I leaned back in my chair, laced my hands behind my head, and put my feet on the desk. All I had to do now was wait until Joyce called back, then I’d find out who was following me. With a name and Sol’s help, I’d find out why.
    The front door opened. “Jimmy, I’m back. I’ve got the forms.”
    “What forms?”
    “Discovery forms. I’m sure you want me to fill them out and file them with the D.A. as soon as possible.”
    “For the Rodriguez case?”
    “Well,
duh
.”
    “Oh, yeah. I was just going to ask you to do that.”
    Rita smiled and walked back to her desk. In a few minutes, the phone rang. She shouted from the other room, “Miss Allen’s on the line.”
    “Hi, this is O’Brien.”
    “Jimmy, I just received a call. Thought you might want to talk about it, but you probably already know what I’m referring to.”
    Why would she call me? Is there something I should know? “Yeah, sure. I know what it’s about.”
    “Do you want to discuss it? That is, if you know what I’m talking about.”
    “Of course, I know.”
    “He called me too, and I thought maybe we could figure out a plan, how we’re going to handle the press. I don’t want this case tried in the newspapers.”
    I pulled the pink message slip Rita had given me from my pocket. The one about the reporter from the
Times
wanting information. “Conway called you, too?”
    “Yeah, that’s what I want to talk about. When will you be available?”
    “Let’s talk about it over a bite. I owe you lunch,” I said.
    “I don’t know about that. Two lunches in a row…”
    “It’s the only time I have available.” I enjoyed having lunch with beautiful women, even if it was only business, but she hesitated. “Unless you want to see my picture in the paper, I suggest we meet and agree on the ground rules. The media is going to be all over this. I don’t want us arguing in public, either.”
    “Okay.” She sighed. “Shall we meet at the Regency again?”
    “It’s my turn to pick the place. How about Chris ’n Pitt’s?” I said.
    “Oh my God, Chris ’n Pitt’s. Sawdust on the floor and all that?” She didn’t sound too thrilled. Her voice had a cringe to it, but I thought I heard a small laugh behind the cringe.
    “Yeah, I see you know the place. I’ll see you there in a half hour.” I hung up before she could bail on me.

C H A P T E R  11
     
    Chris Pelonis had painted the exterior of his Chris ’n Pitt’s restaurants to look like log cabins. He said the paint job reminded people of honest-to-God country barbecue. It reminded me of painted stucco. The dining room floors, as Bobbi had said, were covered with sawdust, and you ate your huge slabs of baby-back ribs with all the trimmings while seated at wooden picnic tables. The waitresses’ costumes—gingham blouses, Levi mini-skirts with white piping, and cowgirl boots—went with the country western music that heehawed in the background.
    I did a little two-step up to the hostess’s station and put my name in for a table. Bobbi came through the front doors and gawked in disbelief. She ventured a little farther into the waiting area. As soon as she spotted me, she shook her head slowly, giving me a mock scornful look. Then she started laughing.
    I went to her side. “Howdy, ma’am.”
    “I hope you’re not going to do that cowboy shtick all through lunch.”
    “A little