Abuse of Power by Michael Savage Page A

circling it. You ever heard of something called Operation Roadshow?”
    Tony thought for a moment. “Not that I remember. What is it? Some kind of black op?”
    “No idea. And I’m not even sure Copeland knows. But he went to a lot of trouble to put that phrase in my head, so I figure it must mean something.”
    “I can check around.”
    “Good luck. I tried, and all I found was some obscure World War II reference. Either this is something so far under the radar that it’s out of our reach, or Copeland is playing mind games.”
    “Which do you think it is?”
    “He may be annoying sometimes, but that’s not usually his style.”
    “And you think this has something to do with the cover-up?” Tony asked.
    “What I think is that all we’ve got is a hunch, based on speculation and hearsay, and unless we can get some solid information we’re just spinning our wheels.”
    “So why not go to the source?” Tony asked.
    “What do you mean?”
    “Jamal Thomas or his brother. Ask flat out if they’re sure about who was driving that car and whatever else they might remember.”
    Jack shook his head. “The brother’s not talking and the cops have Jamal on lockdown. I tried talking to his brother’s public defender a few days ago and got rebuffed. No way I’ll ever get to those kids.”
    “Don’t speak too soon,” Tony said, then folded the newspaper over and slid it across the table. “The story’s buried on the second page, but I think you’ll find it interesting.”
    Jack put his cup on the counter and crossed to the table, staring down at a single column, headlined CARJACKING SUSPECT TO BE RELEASED .
    “Jamal’s bail was set at 200K,” Tony said. “His folks could barely afford the 25K they paid for Leon. His attorney filed a motion to reduce bail and the judge granted it.”
    “How much?”
    “He’ll be putting up ten percent with the bondsman, twenty thousand dollars. They’re taking him home at the close of business tonight.”
    “Hold on,” Jack said. “If his folks—”
    “There’s just a mother.”
    “Okay. If she was tapped out by Leon’s bail, where’s the twenty grand coming from?”
    Tony tapped the tabletop. “Read the article. Says the bond is being put up by an organization called the Juvenile Defense Coalition.”
    “Never heard of it,” Jack said.
    “Apparently they’re dedicated to keeping troubled teens out of jail because the poor things might actually have to take responsibility for their actions.”
    Jack nodded. “Better to have them out on the street where they can sell dope to school kids and break into their neighbors’ houses, right?”
    “Or steal cars from potential terrorists,” Tony said.
    Jack shook his head in disgust. He had no problem with the juvenile justice system treating kids like kids, but there was a point where you had to draw the line. Sure, some of them came from broken homes and had grown up in terrible environments, but that didn’t really excuse the choices they made. And when it came down to it, the law-abiding citizens of this country were usually the victims of those choices.
    Jack had come to believe that some people were just born bad. These kids knew damn well that what they were doing was wrong and couldn’t care less.
    So why should anyone else?
    Of course, in this case the actions of a bunch of misguided do-gooders might actually work in Jack’s favor. If the kid was due to be released, that meant access, and Jack might finally be able to talk to the punk.
    Juvenile court records were routinely kept confidential in California, but Jack had managed to use a back-channel source to get a name and address, and he knew the kid lived with his brother and mother at the Sunnydale projects.
    He had tried contacting the mother—Juanita Thomas—shortly after the blast, but her line was a constant busy signal, and he had assumed that he wasn’t the only one looking to do a bedside interview with her son. But now that the focus of the