Petievich, Gerald - To Live and Die in L.A. by Gerald Petievich

Author:Gerald Petievich
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: United States. Dept. of the Treasury, Counterfeits and counterfeiting
Publisher: New York : Arbor House
Published: 1984-12-07T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 13

RICK MASTERS STOOD in front of a high, steel-reinforced counter in the L. A. county jail. A pale and sleepy-eyed sheriff's deputy shoved a printed form across the counter in a well-practiced motion. Masters used a pen attached to a thin chain to sign the form. The deputy compared the signature to another printed form which was stapled to a clear plastic bag containing Masters's personal property. He tossed the bag. Masters caught it as it hit his chest. The deputy pointed to the door. As Masters moved toward it, a hydraulic lock snapped. Masters pulled the door open and stepped outside to face the dead-end street at the rear of the jail. It was dusk and slightly chilly. He glanced at his wristwatch in the property bag. He'd been in jail exactly forty-nine hours.

A limousine pulled up at the curb. The driver climbed out and opened the rear door on the street side. Masters climbed in back with Grimes. "What took you so long?" he said.

"It couldn't have been done any faster. Take my word for

it. I just came, from the judge's chambers. And I'm talking about the senior judge of the Superior Court. I had to do a lot of fast talk..."

"Where's Blanca?" Masters interrupted.

"One of my investigators went to pick her up at the women's jail. She'll probably be home before you."

The driver made a U-turn. He cruised slowly past the five-story cement structure which Masters knew, because a prisoner had told him, was the biggest jail in the free world.

"Why did I get arrested?" Masters said.

"I see it as a harassment thing. They searched your house and couldn't find anything. They probably arrested you because they were pissed off. They knew they couldn't keep you for more than a day or two."

"That's the way I read it too. The only part I don't understand is how they got the search warrant for my house. Where did their information come from?"

"The Feds were watching Waxman's place when he was hit. They saw Blanca go there shortly before Max got it."

Masters said nothing. His stomach tightened. He rubbed his chin. "How do you know?"

"It's right in the affidavit for the search warrant. It says that Treasury agents had the place under surveillance."

"Shit."

Grimes gave him a look of concern. "Is there anything I should know at this point? I'm asking as your attorney."

"Where were they watching from?"

"The affidavit said they were watching from a church across the street."

Masters's mind quickly retraced his steps. He almost breathed a sigh of relief as he realized that he'd been nowhere near the

Wilshire Boulevard entrance to the law office on the night of the murder.

"You seem concerned," Grimes said. "If there's something I should know, I'd rather hear it sooner than later. I remind you that I'm your lawyer and anything you say to me is privileged."

Ignoring the question, Masters leaned back in the seat and closed his eyes. The traffic was heavy on the way to his house.

Inside the motel room, John Vukovich stood at the window.

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