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“Hey, me either,” Eve concurred. She took what she had and headed out to take a swing at Penny.
The lawyer wore a chunk of gold the size of home plate on the middle finger of his right hand, and a suit the color of radioactive limes. There was enough oil in his hair to fry a small army of chickens, and his teeth were a blinding white gleam.
Eve thought: Do you actually want to be a cliché?
He got out of his chair when she entered and rose to his full five feet, five inches. And an inch of that came from the heels of his snake-patterned boots.
“My client’s waited over two hours,” he began, “and nearly all of that without benefit of legal counsel.”
“Uh-huh.” Eve sat down, opened her file. “Your legal counsel, which I assume is this.” Eve glanced up at the lawyer. “Should be aware that two hours is well within the reasonable time frame, and that you haven’t been questioned since you requested counsel. Therefore, he should sit down so we don’t waste any more time. Record on.” She read off the salients, cocked her brow at the lawyer. “Ms. Soto is represented by?”
“Carlos Montoya.”
“Who is present. Mr. Montoya, did you present your identification and license to practice for scan?”
“I did.”
“Good. Ms. Soto, you’ve been read your rights, and have stated you understand them, and your obligations in this matter.”
“It’s all shit.”
“But you understand all the shit?”
Penny shrugged. “I understand fine, just like I understand me and my lawyer are going to sue your ass for false arrest.”
“Won’t that be fun? You’re charged with assaulting an officer, which includes assault with a weapon and resisting arrest.”
“I never touched you.”
“As the touchee, I beg to differ. However, I’d be willing to negotiate those charges if you find yourself now willing and able to answer questions regarding Lino Martinez, and events pertaining to him.”
“I told you already, I haven’t seen Lino since I was fifteen.”
“You lied.”
“My client—”
“Is a liar, but you probably get that a lot. Me, too. The body of Lino Martinez has been officially identified. We are aware he posed as one Father Miguel Flores for a period of more than five years, and frequented the bodega where you work. We are aware of your previous relationship. You want to keep insisting you didn’t know, then we’ll stick with the assault and resisting, and given your reco
rd, you’ll be doing a little time in a cage.”
Eve closed the file, started to rise.
“I’m not doing time for knocking your hand away when you went to grab me.”
“Oh yeah, you are, and for pulling a knife, for spitting in my face, and resisting. And since you don’t know me, let me point out to you—and your counsel—that if you had even one private conversation with Lino Martinez, met him anywhere, any time outside the bodega, I’m going to find out. Then I’m going to knock you back for making a false statement—and I’m going to start wondering if you got your hands on some cyanide, then—”
“This is bullshit.”
Eve only smiled, turned for the door.
“Wait a damn minute. I want to talk to my lawyer before I say another thing.”
“Pause record. I’ll just step out so you two can chat.”
Eve left them, considered risking Vending for a tube of Pepsi, but decided it wasn’t going to take that long. Inside three minutes, Montoya came to the door.
“My client may be willing to amend her statement.”
