Illegal by Paul Levine

From the Publisher

The Edgar-nominated author acclaimed for his crackling courtroom scenes delivers an adrenaline-laced, no-holds-barred thriller—his most powerful novel to date—as a disgraced lawyer travels the twisted border between justice and revenge.

Haunted by a tragedy in his past and wanted by the cops for his latest malfeasance, trial lawyer Jimmy “Royal” Payne needs to skip town. That’s when he crosses paths with twelve-year-old Tino Perez, newly arrived from Mexico with no money and no papers. The gutsy kid first robs Payne, then pleads for his help. Marisol, the boy’s mother, is missing, after crossing the border with a vicious coyote.

Payne doesn’t go out of his way for anyone. But ex-wife Sharon, the L.A.P.D. detective he still loves, gives him a choice: help the boy or go to jail.

Following a chain of greed, corruption, and betrayal, Payne traces Marisol’s steps from Mexicali to California’s Hellhole Canyon, swept into the dark current of illegal immigration, human trafficking, and sexual slavery. Soon the cynical lawyer and the savvy kid are bonding…and battling cunning predators on both sides of the border. It’s the two of them against an army of cops, coyotes, vigilantes, and sex slavers. Most dangerous of all is Simeon Rutledge, a wealthy grower and the biggest employer of farm workers in California.

Just why is Rutledge willing to bribe Payne—or kill him—to keep Marisol under wraps? Will Payne’s quest redeem his mistakes and resurrect his dead marriage—or get him buried in a shallow grave? Either way, he’ll find out there’s no escaping hispast….

From the shadows of migrant stash houses to the fertile fields of the San Joaquin Valley, Illegal delivers a searing mix of live-wire prose, shattering violence, and rich characterization. Set against a backdrop of larger social issues, this is a masterful tale from one of the most skillful practitioners of the contemporary thriller.

Publishers Weekly

At the start of Levine's entertaining if somewhat formulaic crime thriller, Jimmy "Royal" Payne, a Los Angeles trial lawyer whose marriage and career have collapsed since his 10-year-old son died in a car crash a year earlier, is looking for redemption as well as a change of scenery. Payne agrees to help an illegal immigrant, spunky 12-year-old Tino Perez, find his mom, from whom Tino got separated during a night crossing from Mexico. The search leads Payne into the dark world of human trafficking and sexual slavery in California's vast farming region. Edgar-finalist Levine is hardly breaking new ground with Payne, a cynical, wisecracking softie who's similar to the leads of the author's Jake Lassiter series (Slashback, etc.) and Solomon vs. Lord novels (The Deep Blue Alibi, etc.). Still, Payne has a broad enough backstory and personal charm to head up a series of his own. (Mar.)

Copyright © Reed Business Information, a division of Reed Elsevier Inc. All rights reserved.

Kirkus Reviews

A haunted buccaneer of the Los Angeles bar tackles the job of saving an illegal Mexican boy whose life is even more troubled than his own. There's been no good news for J. Atticus Payne in the year since his son was killed in a car accident. His marriage to a Consumer Frauds detective has gone south; he's violated a court order in his effort to protect a client's abused daughter; and now he's been forced to deliver a bribe for the Public Integrity Squad, who want to trap Judge Walter Rollins in a sting. When His Honor shoots himself with the cops outside his door, everybody turns against Jimmy Payne, and he takes it on the lam. His unlikely traveling companion is 12-year-old Agustino Perez, who got separated from his mother while they were crossing over from Mexico and is determined to track down the coyote who promised to reunite them. Only a few felonies later, Jimmy and Tino are talking to El Tigre, but it's already too late. Marisol Perez has passed from his hands to those of retired madam Wanda the Whale, trigger-happy Dickie Chitwood and, ultimately, Simeon Rutledge, the mega-rancher who's taken a fatal fancy to her gypsy eyes and plans to make her his own on whatever terms his minions can arrange. Proficient man-on-the-run action notable mainly for some extra surprises that Levine (9 Scorpions, 1998, etc.) squeezes off in the last innings. Agent: Al Zuckerman/Writers House

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Read an Excerpt

Chapter One


Judge Rollins drew a handgun from beneath his black robes, pointed the snub-nosed barrel at Jimmy Payne’s chest and said, “Who you pimping for, you low-life shyster?”

Payne gaped at the revolver.

This cannot be happening.

The judge gestured toward the stacks of hundred-dollar bills on his desk. “C’mon, Payne. You’re not smart enough to dream this up on your own.”

They faced each other in the judge’s chambers, a tranquil refuge of leatherbound books and walnut wainscoting. Payne felt his knees wobble. “I swear, Judge. I just represent the defendant. Ramon Carollo.”

“Not like you to defend human traffickers. I remember the hell you raised when those wetbacks got barbecued in a trailer truck.”

“I like to call them ‘undocumented aliens.’?”

“Why? They from Mars?”

The judge vaulted out of his high-backed chair. Quick for a big man. Silver hair swept straight back, like feathers on a snow goose. Shoulders as wide as a bookcase.

“Take off your clothes, Payne.”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“I swear I’m not wearing a wire. You can pat me down.”

“Strip!”

Payne wasn’t sure he could. His joints seemed rusted shut.

“Now!”

With jerky motions, Payne kicked off his shoes, unhooked his belt, and dropped his trousers.

“You bring me nine stacks of hundred-dollar bills, fifty to a stack.” Judge Rollins motioned toward the open briefcase on his desk and did the mathin his head. “Forty-five thousand dollars.”

“That’s the offer,” Payne agreed.

“Odd amount. Like it was supposed to be fifty thousand, but some half-assed bag man skimmed five off the top.”

“No, sir.” Payne lowered his tie and slipped out of his shirt. “Forty-five is all I’ve got to spend.”

“No sale, shitbird.”

“I thought it was worth a shot, Your Honor. But let’s just forget the whole thing. I’ll put my pants on and—”

“Drop those undershorts, too.” The judge waved the gun like a king with a scepter.

Payne pulled down his red-and-white boxers with the Los Angeles Clippers logo. He preferred them to the Lakers purple-and-gold shorts, not for the colors, but because he favored underdogs.

“Now turn around and spread your cheeks.”

“No way, Judge.”

“Do it!”

At thirty-seven, Payne was in good shape. Flat stomach, decent chest, a sinewy runner’s body. He spun around and bent over. “Like I said, Your Honor, no wire.”

Judge Rollins gazed off. “I don’t know whether to shoot you or arrest you.”

Jimmy straightened and turned around. “Just let me go, Judge. There’s a lot of good I can do out there.”

“Out where? You’re Jimmy Payne. Royal Payne. You cut corners. You represent undesirables. You piss people off.”

“Honestly, Judge. I’m gonna change my life.”

“People don’t change, Payne. They just get old and die. Sometimes, they don’t even get old.”

Payne stepped sideways toward a set of shelves decorated with framed vanity photos. Judge Rollins with Mayor Villaraigosa, Senator Boxer, some local bigwigs, and a pretty young woman in a pink sash, the Rose Bowl queen, maybe. Alongside the photos, the scales of justice. Bronze. Heavy. Tilted heavily to one side. One more step and Payne could grab the scales by the blindfolded lady and take a swing at the judge.

“Freeze, sleazebag.” Rollins pulled back the hammer of the .38. As the click echoed in his brain, Payne thought of his son, Adam. Ten years old. Loved baseball. Cheeseburgers. Surfing. A boy needs his father.

Just how the hell did I get into this?

Read a Sample Chapter

Illegal

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By Paul Levine

Bantam

Copyright © 2009 Paul Levine
All right reserved.
ISBN: 9780553806731

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Chapter One


Judge Rollins drew a handgun from beneath his black robes, pointed the snub-nosed barrel at Jimmy Payne’s chest and said, “Who you pimping for, you low-life shyster?”

Payne gaped at the revolver.

This cannot be happening.

The judge gestured toward the stacks of hundred-dollar bills on his desk. “C’mon, Payne. You’re not smart enough to dream this up on your own.”

They faced each other in the judge’s chambers, a tranquil refuge of leatherbound books and walnut wainscoting. Payne felt his knees wobble. “I swear, Judge. I just represent the defendant. Ramon Carollo.”

“Not like you to defend human traffickers. I remember the hell you raised when those wetbacks got barbecued in a trailer truck.”

“I like to call them ‘undocumented aliens.’?”

“Why? They from Mars?”

The judge vaulted out of his high-backed chair. Quick for a big man. Silver hair swept straight back, like feathers on a snow goose. Shoulders as wide as a bookcase.

“Take off your clothes, Payne.”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“I swear I’m not wearing a wire. You can pat me down.”

“Strip!”

Payne wasn’t surehe could. His joints seemed rusted shut.

“Now!”

With jerky motions, Payne kicked off his shoes, unhooked his belt, and dropped his trousers.

“You bring me nine stacks of hundred-dollar bills, fifty to a stack.” Judge Rollins motioned toward the open briefcase on his desk and did the math in his head. “Forty-five thousand dollars.”

“That’s the offer,” Payne agreed.

“Odd amount. Like it was supposed to be fifty thousand, but some half-assed bag man skimmed five off the top.”

“No, sir.” Payne lowered his tie and slipped out of his shirt. “Forty-five is all I’ve got to spend.”

“No sale, shitbird.”

“I thought it was worth a shot, Your Honor. But let’s just forget the whole thing. I’ll put my pants on and—”

“Drop those undershorts, too.” The judge waved the gun like a king with a scepter.

Payne pulled down his red-and-white boxers with the Los Angeles Clippers logo. He preferred them to the Lakers purple-and-gold shorts, not for the colors, but because he favored underdogs.

“Now turn around and spread your cheeks.”

“No way, Judge.”

“Do it!”

At thirty-seven, Payne was in good shape. Flat stomach, decent chest, a sinewy runner’s body. He spun around and bent over. “Like I said, Your Honor, no wire.”

Judge Rollins gazed off. “I don’t know whether to shoot you or arrest you.”

Jimmy straightened and turned around. “Just let me go, Judge. There’s a lot of good I can do out there.”

“Out where? You’re Jimmy Payne. Royal Payne. You cut corners. You represent undesirables. You piss people off.”

“Honestly, Judge. I’m gonna change my life.”

“People don’t change, Payne. They just get old and die. Sometimes, they don’t even get old.”

Payne stepped sideways toward a set of shelves decorated with framed vanity photos. Judge Rollins with Mayor Villaraigosa, Senator Boxer, some local bigwigs, and a pretty young woman in a pink sash, the Rose Bowl queen, maybe. Alongside the photos, the scales of justice. Bronze. Heavy. Tilted heavily to one side. One more step and Payne could grab the scales by the blindfolded lady and take a swing at the judge.

“Freeze, sleazebag.” Rollins pulled back the hammer of the .38. As the click echoed in his brain, Payne thought of his son, Adam. Ten years old. Loved baseball. Cheeseburgers. Surfing. A boy needs his father.

Just how the hell did I get into this?

Continues...

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