Incriminating Evidence by Sheldon Siegel Page A

uncommon in this part of town for the businesses to pay some protection money to the local gangs. Tony undoubtedly participates in the program; he wouldn’t have a choice. He runs a cash operation. He’s never been robbed. “My source promised to get back to me in the next few days,” he says.
    —————
    Rosie and I are driving toward the office. “I wonder who paid for the funeral,” she says.
    “Ramon probably figured out a way,” I say. “He’s resourceful and he probably has some discretionary funds tucked away for situations like this.” I shrug and add “Maybe he found somebody to make a donation.”
    “Maybe.” She reflects for a moment and says, “Did you ever preside at a funeral where there was such a small crowd?”
    “Many times.”
    “What was it like seeing an empty church in front of you? Could you imagine being so alone in the world that nobody came to your funeral?”
    I remember presiding over dozens of funerals where nobody showed up. It made me profoundly sad. “There are a lot of very lonely people out there, Rosie.”
    “Yes, there are.” She swallows and asks, “What do you think about Johnny Garcia?”
    “Makes you want to cry.”

8
FAST EDDIE
“We’re lawyers. We sell bullshit. Trial work is ninety percent theater.”
—E DWARD M OLINARI , CONTINUING LEGAL EDUCATION SEMINAR .
    Fast Eddie Molinari is all smiles when I arrive at his office in a flat on the second floor of a renovated two-story building overlooking Washington Square later that afternoon. The place looks like an Italian villa and smells of North Beach Pizza, which is just down the street. Instead of traditional artwork, the walls are adorned with enlarged newspaper clippings about Fast Eddie’s legal conquests. Right above his antique rolltop desk is a blown-up headline that reads “Molinari Wins Stay of Execution—Client Avoids Death Penalty.” Fast Eddie has a nose for publicity.
    I can’t think of a better way to end my week. I get to spend some quality time with the man whose grandstanding and sloppiness resulted in the execution of one of my clients. “Nice to see you again, Mike,” he lies.
    I take a seat and admire the view of St. Peter and Paul across the park. The hardwood floors are a nice touch. A state-of-the-art laptop sits like a trophy on the corner of his cluttered desk next to a fashionable humidor. Not surprisingly, there are no pictures of a spouse or children. Fast Eddieplays pretty loose with women. He’s been married five times. His divorces always make the gossip column in the Chronicle .
    Molinari got the moniker Fast Eddie because he once pulled a gun on a former client who came to his office with a baseball bat and threatened to kill him. He’s a short, wiry man who can’t sit still. His most distinctive features are the wild eyebrows that sit above his beady eyes. In his spare time, he’s an amateur boxer. The combative element of his personality seems to extend to all aspects of his life. He may not be likable, but if you’re looking for a lawyer with unlimited capacity for war, he’s your guy. Today, the avuncular Ed greets me. This means he wants something. If he doesn’t get what he wants, the pit bull will appear.
    I shake his thin hand. He smiles and says, “Looks like we’re going to have a chance to work together again.”
    Yeah. Just like old times.
    He opens his arms in a gesture of welcome. “Look, Mike,” he says, “I know we’ve had some hard feelings in the past.”
    Tell me about it. It wasn’t only the day he announced on Channel 4 that our client had been executed because I wasn’t adequately prepared for trial. There was also the time he told the judge in open court that the San Francisco public defender’s office was a cesspool of corruption. That didn’t do much for morale around the PD’s office. “Are you still seeing Jill?” I ask. Ed was going out with the ex-wife of one of my former partners from Simpson and Gates a few years