It was a good point. The glimmer was getting brighter.

“Did you screen him?”

“’Course.”

“What, his driver’s license?”

“No, his passport. He said he didn’t have a license.”

“What was his name?”

“Hector something.”

“Come on, Gloria, Hector what? Try to re-”

“Hector something Moya. It was three names. But I remember ‘Moya’ because I said ‘Hector give me Moya’ when he brought out the coke.”

“Okay, that’s good.”

“You think it’s something you can use to help me?”

“Maybe, depending on who this guy is. If he’s a trade-up.”

“I want to get out.”

“Okay, listen, Gloria. I’m going to go see the prosecutor and see what she’s thinking and see what I can do for you. They’ve got you in here on twenty-five thousand dollars’ bail.”

“What?”

“It’s higher than usual because of the drugs. You don’t have twenty-five hundred for the bond, do you?”

She shook her head. I could see the muscles in her face constricting. I knew what was coming.

“Could you front it to me, Mickey? I promise I’d -”

“I can’t do that, Gloria. That’s a rule and I could get in trouble if I broke it. You’re going to have to be in here overnight and they’ll take you over to arraignment in the morning.”

“No,” she said, more like a moan than a word.

“I know it’s going to be tough but you have to nut it out. And you have to be straight in the morning when you come into court or I’ll have no shot at lowering your bond and getting you out. So none of that shit they trade in here. You got that?”

She raised her arms over her head, almost as if she was protecting herself from falling debris. She squeezed her hands into tight fists of dread. It would be a long night ahead.

“You’ve got to get me out tomorrow.”

“I’ll do my best.”

I waved to the deputy in the observation booth. I was ready to go.

“One last thing,” I said. “Do you remember what room the guy at the Travelodge was in?”

She thought a moment before answering.

“Yeah, it’s an easy one. Three thirty-three.”

“Okay, thanks. I’m going to see what I can do.”

She stayed sitting when I stood up. Soon the escort deputy came back and told me I would have to wait while she first took Gloria back to her dorm. I checked my watch. It was almost two. I hadn’t eaten and was getting a headache. I also had only two hours to get to Leslie Faire in the DA’s office to talk about Gloria and then out to Century City for the case meeting with Roulet and Dobbs.

“Isn’t there somebody else who can take me out of here?” I said irritably. “I need to get to court.”

“Sorry, sir, that’s how it works.”

“Well, please hurry.”

“I always do.”

Fifteen minutes later I realized that my complaining to the deputy had only succeeded in her making sure she left me waiting even longer than had I just kept my mouth shut. Like a restaurant customer who gets the cold soup he sent back to the kitchen returned hot with the piquant taste of saliva in it, I should have known better.

On the quick drive over to the Criminal Courts Building I called Raul Levin. He was back at his home office in Glendale, looking through the police reports on the Roulet investigation and arrest. I asked him to put it aside to make some calls. I wanted to see what he could find out about the man in room 333 at the Travelodge on Santa Monica. I told him I needed the information yesterday. I knew he had sources and ways of running the name Hector Moya. I just didn’t want to know who or what they were. I was only interested in what he got.

As Earl pulled to a stop in front of the CCB, I told him that while I was inside he should take a run over to Philippe’s to get us roast beef sandwiches. I’d eat mine on my way out to Century City. I passed a twenty-dollar bill over the seat to him and got out.

While waiting for an elevator in the always crowded lobby of the CCB, I popped a Tylenol from my briefcase and hoped it would head off the migraine I felt coming on from lack of food. It took me ten minutes to get to the ninth floor and another fifteen waiting for Leslie Faire to grant me an audience. I didn’t mind the wait, though, because Raul Levin called back just before I was allowed entrance. If Faire had seen me right away, I wouldn’t have gone in with the added ammunition.

Levin had told me that the man in room 333 at the Travelodge had checked in under the name Gilberto Garcia. The motel did not require identification, since he paid cash in advance for a week and put a fifty-dollar deposit on phone charges. Levin had also run a trace on the name I had given him and came up with Hector Arrande Moya, a Colombian wanted on a fugitive warrant issued after he fled San Diego when a federal grand jury handed down an indictment for drug trafficking. It added up to real good stuff and I planned to put it to use with the prosecutor.

Faire was in an office shared with three other prosecutors. Each had a desk in a corner. Two were gone, probably in court, but a man I didn’t know sat at the desk in the corner opposite Faire. I had to speak to her with him in earshot. I hated doing this because I found that the prosecutor I was dealing with in these situations would often play to the others in the room, trying to sound tough and shrewd, sometimes at the expense of my client.

I pulled a chair away from one of the empty desks and brought it over to sit down. I skipped the pleasantries because there weren’t any and got right to the point because I was hungry and didn’t have a lot of time.

“You filed on Gloria Dayton this morning,” I said. “She’s mine. I want to see what we can do about it.”

“Well, we can plead her guilty and she can do one to three years at Frontera.”

She said it matter-of-factly with a smile that was more of a smirk.

“I was thinking of PTI.”

“I was thinking she already got a bite out of that apple and she spit it out. No way.”

“Look, how much coke did she have on her, a couple grams?”

“It’s still illegal, no matter how much she had. Gloria Dayton has had numerous opportunities to rehabilitate herself and avoid prison. But she’s run out of chances.”

She turned to her desk, opened a file and glanced at the top sheet.

“Nine arrests in just the last five years,” she said. “This is her third drug charge and she’s never spent more than three days in jail. Forget PTI. She’s got to learn sometime and this is that time. I’m not open to discussion on this. If she pleads, I’ll give her one to three. If she doesn’t, I’ll go get a verdict and she takes her chances with the judge at sentencing. I will ask for the max on it.”

I nodded. It was going about the way I thought it would with Faire. A one-to-three-year sentence would likely result in a nine-month stay in the slam. I knew Gloria Dayton could do it and maybe should do it. But I still had a card to play.

“What if she had something to trade?”

Faire snorted like it was a joke.

“Like what?”

“A hotel room number where a major dealer is doing business.”

“Sounds a little vague.”

It was vague but I could tell by the change in her voice she was interested. Every prosecutor likes to trade up.

“Call your drug guys. Ask them to run the name Hector Arrande Moya on the box. He’s a Colombian. I can wait.”

She hesitated. She clearly didn’t like being manipulated by a defense attorney, especially when another prosecutor was in earshot. But the hook was already set.

She turned again to her desk and made a call. I listened to one side of the conversation, her telling someone to give her a background check on Moya. She waited awhile and then listened to the response. She thanked whoever it was she had called and hung up. She took her time turning back to me.

“Okay,” she said. “What does she want?”

I had it ready.

“She wants a PTI slot. All charges dropped upon successful completion. She doesn’t testify against the guy and her name is on no documents. She simply gives the hotel and room number where he’s at and your people do the rest.”