The Brief

When public officials tasked with holding criminals accountable cheat to win a conviction, it can lead to reduced sentences — even freedom — for other convicted criminals, sometimes dozens of them. It can also give people who were wrongfully convicted a shot at redemption.

A new tally released earlier this month lists criminal cases against 57 Orange County defendants that were tainted as a result of official misconduct uncovered in the trial against the county's deadliest mass shooter, Scott Dekraai, who gunned down eight people at a Seal Beach salon in 2011.

In these cases, which include 35 homicide cases, charges against a defendant were dropped or lessened, or the defendant was granted a new trial. For five defendants, all charges were dismissed.

"Either an innocent person was charged or a guilty person went free, neither of which we like as a society," said Maurice Possley, senior researcher at the National Registry of Exonerations.

The tally was done by Scott Sanders, the O.C. assistant public defender who, nearly a decade ago, was largely responsible for exposing the county’s notorious "snitch scandal." The number of cases tainted by the scandal is much higher than previous, publicly released estimates. And Sanders said there could be many more.

"I'm not saying it's complete by any nature," Sanders said of the list. "It's not."

On top of the cases already impacted by the snitch scandal's long reach, Sanders outlined dozens more cases in a recent court filing that could be revisited because of new evidence of potential misconduct. That misconduct, Sanders alleges, was carried out by O.C. law enforcement officers and a former top prosecutor who is now a superior court judge.

"Whether those cases get justice is very much in question at this moment," Sanders told LAist.

The O.C. District Attorney's Office has yet to file a formal response to Sanders' allegations, which the public defender says justify dropping murder charges against one of his clients. An initial court hearing on the matter is scheduled for Friday in San Diego.

Here's how misconduct uncovered in one case can affect so many other, seemingly unrelated cases.

Assistant public defender Scott Sanders (right) surfaced evidence of a secret, unconstitutional jailhouse informant program while defending Scott Dekraai (left), accused of killing eight people in a Seal Beach beauty salon.

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Mark Boster-Pool

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O.C.'s snitch scandal, a recap

The official misconduct uncovered in the Dekraai murder case, which has been confirmed by courts, internal investigations and the Department of Justice, was twofold: misusing jailhouse informants, commonly known as snitches, and hiding information about it from defendants.

The misconduct happened under the previous O.C. district attorney, Tony Rackauckas, who lost his re-election bid to current district attorney Todd Spitzer in 2018. Spitzer has implemented reforms and pledged not to tolerate cheating among prosecutors and law enforcement.

Rackauckas, who is now in private practice, did not immediately return a voicemail left on his cell phone asking for comment.

Harvard law professor Alexandra Natapoff said jailhouse informants are a common feature of the U.S. criminal justice system. But the way the system works, and its abuses, are often kept quiet.

"Every once in a while there's an enormous debacle … that shines a light not just on an individual jailhouse snitch, but the marketplace within that particular jail," she said.

That's what happened in the Dekraai case.

"Orange County, I think, can fairly be said to now be the poster child for the institution-wide jailhouse snitch scandal model," Natapoff said.

It's not illegal for authorities to use confidential informants — in or out of custody — to collect information. But once someone has been charged with a crime, the Sixth Amendment and subsequent court decisions guarantee them the right to have an attorney present during questioning by a law enforcement representative, including an informant secretly working for law enforcement. This is sometimes called the "Massiah" rule after a Supreme Court case.

Prosecutors must also turn over evidence from, and about, jailhouse informants used in a defendant's criminal case because it could help the defendant question the informant's credibility. Failing to do so violates the 14th Amendment and related court decisions, which require prosecutors to share with defendants any evidence they have that could help them prove their innocence. This is sometimes known as the "Brady" rule after another Supreme Court case.

The origins of the snitch scandal

In 2014, Sanders was defending Dekraai and another man, Daniel Wozniak, who was later convicted of double murder, when he began to uncover evidence of a secret informant program in O.C. jails.

The mass murder case against Dekraai should've been a slam dunk — he confessed to the crime soon after the shooting. But deputies decided to put him in a jail cell with a confidential informant, motivated by the possibility that Dekraai might try to plead insanity, according to a 2020 audit of the misconduct commissioned by Spitzer.

Then, prosecutors hid evidence from Dekraai's defense team about the informant and his work on behalf of law enforcement.

Dekraai pleaded guilty in 2014, but his sentencing was delayed for three years while the court investigated police and prosecutor misconduct in the case. Eventually, courts removed the entire Orange County District Attorney's Office (OCDA) from Dekraai's case and ruled that he couldn't be sentenced to death because of the misconduct.

After that ruling, Paul Wilson, whose wife Christy was among those killed by Dekraai, told LAist: “They’ve taken the largest mass murder in Orange County history and they have completely and utterly screwed that case up.”

News of misconduct spreads

As people in custody and their lawyers found out about the debacle, which was extensively covered by local and national media, some discovered their own cases involved the same methods and actors as the ones behind the misconduct in Dekraai’s case.

"If you're sitting in state prison, you're going to probably know about it, you're going to hear about it," Sanders said about early news of the snitch scandal. "People would write in. People would say, 'Hey, I want to have my case addressed.' All sorts of things like that."

Some realized that police officers or sheriff's deputies who testified in their cases were associated with misconduct in the Dekraai case, giving them grounds to question those officers' testimony.

Others came to suspect there might be evidence about informants used in their case that hadn't been turned over to their defense team.

Ramon Alvarez was among those who successfully challenged his conviction. He had been found guilty in 2012 of shooting a man in the head and then storing the body in a Santa Ana yard in a kiddie pool full of ice.

His murder conviction was dismissed last year after he presented evidence that a known jailhouse informant had lied in his case in exchange for an $11,000 check from the Santa Ana Police Department. An assistant district attorney had told the jury in Alvarez's trial that the informant had not been offered anything for his testimony.

A report last year from the Justice Department confirmed that failing to disclose the police department’s payment violated Alvarez's constitutional rights. Federal investigators also pointed to the prosecutor's motive. "The prosecutor conceded during our interview that he could not have successfully prosecuted Alvarez without [the informant]’s testimony," the DOJ investigators wrote, adding that "the only reason for the jury to believe [the informant], who 'had a rap sheet a mile long,' was that he was getting nothing for his testimony."

Judge Ebrahim Baytieh, who has been accused of misconduct while a prosecutor in the O.C. District Attorney's office, now runs Orange County's CARE Court, a court-mandated mental health treatment program.

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Lauren Justice

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Snitch Scandal 2.0?

In some of the cases revisited because of alleged misconduct, O.C. sheriff's deputies refused to testify about their use of informants in order to protect themselves from self-incrimination. In other words, they pleaded the Fifth Amendment.

That's what led a judge to throw out a murder conviction against Paul Smith in 2021. Smith was convicted in 2010 for allegedly stabbing his childhood friend Robert Haugen to death in 1988 and setting his body on fire in Haugen's Sunset Beach apartment.

But a judge ordered a new trial after deputies refused to testify. Spitzer, O.C.’s district attorney, said at the time that top prosecutor Ebrahim Baytieh, who's now an O.C. Superior Court judge, failed to turn over evidence of the informant use to the defense.

Spitzer fired Baytieh in February 2022, but the former prosecutor went on to win election to the O.C. Superior Court a few months later, with endorsements from dozens of current and former judges and law enforcement leaders.

In a lengthy court document filed last month in Smith's case, Sanders now alleges that Baytieh was at the center of an "enormous web of deception" designed to cover up misconduct that helped prosecutors win cases while cheating defendants out of their right to a fair trial.

[Read our story: OC Snitch Case: Former Top Prosecutor, Now Judge, Accused Of Criminal Cover-Up By Public Defender]

"As detailed for the first time in this motion, Baytieh energetically worked to prevent both the informant program from being uncovered and evidence about specific informants being disclosed because he knew that these disclosures would make it more difficult to win particular cases," Sanders wrote.

Sanders also alleges that Baytieh — who had been lauded for his ethics at the district attorney's office and put in charge of determining which evidence prosecutors needed to disclose — was in fact among the worst offenders in the jailhouse snitch scandal.

A spokesperson for Orange County Superior Court has said the court and judicial officers are prohibited by ethical rules from discussing active cases. The district attorney's office did not immediately respond to a request for comment on the allegations.

In the motion, Sanders cites an additional 98 cases — 45 of them involving murder charges — where he said defense attorneys should have been handed evidence that could help their clients' cases.

Sanders argues that the misconduct is so egregious that the murder charges against Smith should be dropped.

How common is this kind of misconduct?

Possley, from the National Registry of Exonerations, said we don't really know how common it is for law enforcement officials and prosecutors to withhold evidence because it's a "hidden crime."

"What we know is that sometimes this stuff comes to light decades later," he said.

The National Registry of Exonerations found in a 2020 report that official misconduct, usually by police officers or prosecutors, contributed to false convictions in 54% of cases where the defendant was later cleared of charges. Black exonerees were more likely than white exonerees to have faced misconduct in their cases, especially when charged with murder or drug crimes.

The report found that hiding evidence that could have helped a defendant prove their innocence was the most common type of misconduct, having been involved in 44% of the cases they examined.

The researchers didn't specifically look at how often the use of jailhouse informants was tied to the misconduct. But a review of the registry's database turns up 164 out of 3,385 cases in which official misconduct and jailhouse informants played a role in a person's exoneration.

The registry, which has been collecting data since 1989, defines exoneration as being completely cleared of charges based on new evidence of innocence.

Not all snitch scandals have such a far reach

Orange County is certainly not the first place to get caught up in scandals over jailhouse informants. The problem goes way back and wide — across the country and right next door in Los Angeles.

L.A.'s own jailhouse informant scandal, which came to light in the late 1980s, blew up when a prolific informant named Leslie White showed authorities how he could fake a murder confession from a defendant in jail by impersonating officials to get information about a case. He would then finagle placement in the same room as the target so he could make a confession look plausible.

"Perjury has been committed," White wrote from jail in a 1988 Los Angeles Times op-ed. "That is a fact, not a possibility."

At the time, the Los Angeles District Attorney's Office said it planned to review every case in the preceding decade in which a jailhouse snitch testified to getting a confession.

A few years later, a grand jury investigating the scandal reported there were between 150 and 250 criminal cases in which jailhouse informants had testified over the previous decade. But it's unclear how many of those cases were reopened because of the damning revelations about informants in L.A. jails.

The National Registry of Exonerations includes nine people in L.A. County whose ultimate finding of innocence was at least partially due to official misconduct and the use of a jailhouse informant.

But unlike Sanders' list of cases affected by misconduct in the O.C. snitch scandal, LAist could find no record of the total number of cases impacted by L.A.'s snitch scandal, including cases in which sentences were reduced or a new trial was ordered.

Why the apparent difference? Possley said a big reason is Sanders. In L.A., there was no similarly determined defense attorney working to identify and revisit cases that may have been tainted.

"Sanders has had to swim upstream the whole goddamn time," Possley said.

He said there has historically been resistance among criminal justice officials to make the kinds of misconduct connections that Sanders has among disparate cases. "Because they know that there's a problem and that starting to tug on that string might unravel a pretty big piece of fabric," he said.

Sanders himself credits the O.C. public defender's office for giving him and other colleagues the time and resources to investigate the extent, and effects, of misconduct.

"Our office has encouraged and allowed me and others to do this work now for nearly a decade," Sanders said. "We're going into the second decade here. … And even with that, it's going to be difficult for all of the cases to get addressed in the way they should."

Natapoff, the Harvard scholar who's an expert in snitching, said the O.C. scandal is "both a cautionary tale of what happens when we leave the informant market unregulated and also a sign to us that without public defender offices and attorneys willing to spend the resources to uncover these kinds of scandals, we are likely never to learn about them."

A new conversation about criminal justice

Natapoff says informants are just one aspect of a system that has turned criminal justice into a marketplace.

"The people who run the jails understand that this market is robust, that information can be obtained — fabricated or not, as it were — and prosecutors understand that there is a machinery for producing information in the jails, which comes with its own baggage," she said.

Incarcerated people — and most anyone who's spent time in custody — also understand "that if they can produce information about a cellmate or someone else in the jail, that a reward will be forthcoming," Natapoff added.

One of the reasons the public doesn't hear more about the misuse of jailhouse informants, she said, is because the vast majority of criminal cases — about nine in 10 — end in plea deals, not trials.

"In effect, the informant market is the sort of under-the-table, black market version of our general plea bargaining system, which says we negotiate all cases, we negotiate all guilt," Natapoff said. "We almost never litigate the facts anymore."

In a system that runs on deals, she said, “law enforcement is incentivized, even systemically encouraged, to engage in all kinds of deal-making with suspects and defendants who might be useful to them."

But as informant scandals have emerged over the years, an increasing number of jurisdictions have enacted reforms, which Natapoff chronicles on her website.

Plus, she said, the conversation around criminal justice has changed over the years.

"Twenty years ago, we did not have the so-called bipartisan consensus that mass incarceration is a terrible idea. Twenty years ago, we were not having a conversation about Black Lives Matter or debtors' prison or all the conversations that we now have about the unfairnesses and the dysfunctions of our criminal system," Natapoff said.

Innocence projects have increasingly sprung up to help people who were wrongly convicted challenge their fate. On the institutional side, many district attorneys' offices, including Orange County, have opened "conviction integrity units" to investigate claims of innocence.

But because of the decentralized nature of criminal justice in the U.S., reforms tend to be piecemeal, Natapoff said, and uncovering misconduct is often up to outsiders.

"The criminal system itself does not divulge these facts," Natapoff said, referring to the big informant scandals of recent decades. "It was advocates, it was the innocence movement, it was journalism starting to chip away at the culture of secrecy."

Downtown Los Angeles

A person in an inflatable frog suit holds a sign during a protest in Los Angeles, California on January 10, 2026 against US Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) after the fatal shooting of Renee Nicole Good in Minneapolis.

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Etienne Laurent

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AFP via Getty Images

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A woman holds incense during a protest in Los Angeles, California on January 10, 2026 against US Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) after the fatal shooting of Renee Nicole Good in Minneapolis.

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Etienne Laurent

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AFP via Getty Images

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A person holds up a sign during a protest in Los Angeles, California on January 10, 2026 against US Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) after the fatal shooting of Renee Nicole Good in Minneapolis. (Photo by ETIENNE LAURENT / AFP via Getty Images)

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Etienne Laurent

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AFP via Getty Images

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A person holds up a sign during a protest in Los Angeles, California on January 10, 2026 against US Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) after the fatal shooting of Renee Nicole Good in Minneapolis.

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Etienne Laurent

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AFP via Getty Images

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A tourist bus drives past as people protest in front of the Metropolitan Detention Center (MDC), in Los Angeles, California on January 10, 2026 against US Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) after the fatal shooting of Renee Nicole Good in Minneapolis.

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Etienne Laurent

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AFP via Getty Images

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Pasadena

Alison Brett (far right) of La Crescenta at the Ice Out For Good protest in Pasadena on Jan. 10, 2026.

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Josie Huan

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LAist

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Casey Law of South Pasadena at Ice Out For Good protest in Pasadena on Jan. 10.

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Josie Huang

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LAist

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People have been taking to the streets nationwide this weekend to protest the Trump administration's immigration enforcement tactics following the death of Renee Good in Minneapolis, a 37-year-old woman who was shot and killed by a U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) officer this week.

At least 1,000 events across the U.S. were planned for Saturday and Sunday, according to Indivisible, a progressive grassroots coalition of activists helping coordinate the movement it calls "ICE Out For Good Weekend of Action."

Leah Greenberg, a co-executive director of Indivisible, said people are coming together to "grieve, honor those we've lost, and demand accountability from a system that has operated with impunity for far too long."

"Renee Nicole Good was a wife, a mother of three, and a member of her community. She, and the dozens of other sons, daughters, friends, siblings, parents, and community members who have been killed by ICE, should be alive today," Greenberg said in a statement on Friday. "ICE's violence is not a statistic, it has names, families, and futures attached to it, and we refuse to look away or stay silent."

Large crowds of demonstrators carried signs and shouted "ICE out now!" as protests continued across Minneapolis on Saturday. One of those protestors, Cameron Kritikos, told NPR that he is worried that the presence of more ICE agents in the city could lead to more violence or another death.

"If more ICE officers are deployed to the streets, especially a place here where there's very clear public opposition to the terrorizing of our neighborhoods, I'm nervous that there's going to be more violence," the 31-year grocery store worker said. "I'm nervous that there are going to be more clashes with law enforcement officials, and at the end of the day I think that's not what anyone wants."

Demonstrators in Minneapolis on Saturday, Jan. 10, 2026.

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The night before, hundreds of city and state police officers responded to a "noise protest" in downtown Minneapolis. An estimated 1,000 people gathered Friday night, according to Minneapolis Police Chief Brian O'Hara, and 29 people were arrested.

People demonstrated outside of hotels where ICE agents were believed to be staying. They chanted, played drums and banged pots. O'Hara said that a group of people split from the main protest and began damaging hotel windows. One police officer was injured from a chunk of ice that was hurled at officers, he added.

Minneapolis Mayor Jacob Frey condemned the acts of violence but praised what he said was the "vast majority" of protesters who remained peaceful, during a morning news conference.

"To anyone who causes property damage or puts others in danger: you will be arrested. We are standing up to Donald Trump's chaos not with our own brand of chaos, but with care and unity," Frey wrote on social media.

Commenting on the protests, Department of Homeland Security (DHS) spokesperson Tricia McLaughlin told NPR in a statement, "the First Amendment protects speech and peaceful assembly — not rioting, assault and destruction," adding, "DHS is taking measures to uphold the rule of law and protect public safety and our officers."

Good was fatally shot the day after DHS launched a large-scale immigration enforcement operation in Minnesota set to deploy 2,000 immigration officers to the state.

In Philadelphia, police estimated about 500 demonstrators "were cooperative and peaceful" at a march that began Saturday morning at City Hall, Philadelphia Police Department spokesperson Tanya Little told NPR in a statement. And no arrests were made.

In Portland, Ore., demonstrators rallied and lined the streets outside of a hospital on Saturday afternoon, where immigration enforcement agents bring detainees who are injured during an arrest, reported Oregon Public Broadcasting.

A man and woman were shot and injured by U.S. Border Patrol agents on Thursday in the city. DHS said the shooting happened during a targeted vehicle stop and identified the driver as Luis David Nino-Moncada, and the passenger as Yorlenys Betzabeth Zambrano-Contreras, both from Venezuela. As was the case in their assertion about Good's fatal shooting, Homeland Security officials claimed the federal agent acted in self-defense after Nino-Moncada and Zambrano-Contreras "weaponized their vehicle."
Copyright 2026 NPR

Bob Weir, the guitarist and songwriter who was a founding member of the popular and massively influential American rock band the Grateful Dead, has died. According to a statement from his family posted on his website and social media pages, Weir died from underlying lung issues after recently beating cancer. He was 78.

A member of the Dead for its first three decades, and a keeper of the flame of the band's legacy for three more, Weir helped to write a new chapter of American popular music that influenced countless other musicians and brought together an enormous and loyal audience. The Grateful Dead's touring, bootlegging and merchandising set an example that helped initiate the jam-band scene. Its concerts created a community that brought together generations of followers.

Known to fans as "Bobby," he was born in San Francisco as Robert Hall Parber, but was given up for adoption and raised by Frederick and Eleanor Weir. In 1964, when he was still a teenager, Weir joined guitarist Jerry Garcia in a folk music band, Mother Mcree's Uptown Jug Band. In May of 1965 Weir and Garcia were joined by bassist Phil Lesh, keyboard player Ron "Pigpen" McKernan and drummer Bill Kreutzmann to form an electric, blues-based rock and roll band that was briefly named The Warlocks. After discovering that there was another band using that name, Jerry Garcia found a phrase that caught his eye in a dictionary and in December of that year they became the Grateful Dead, launching a 30-year run over which time they grew into a cultural institution.

Weir was a singular rhythm guitarist who rarely played solos, choosing instead to create his own particular style of chording and strumming that gracefully supported Garcia's distinctive guitar explorations especially during the extended jams which were the heart of the band's popularity.

Lyrics were largely a product of a communal effort between Weir and Garcia, as well as lyricists John Perry Barlow, Robert Hunter, that often blurred the lines between who wrote what. The opening lines to "Cassidy," which first appeared on Weir's 1972 solo album Ace and was played by the Dead on live recordings including the 1981 double album Reckoning, reflect the combination of metaphor, rhyme and storytelling set to memorable melodies that the band's audiences could memorize, analyze and sing along to:

I have seen where the wolf has slept by the silver stream
I can tell by the mark he left you were in his dream
Ah, child of countless trees
Ah, child of boundless seas
What you are, what you're meant to be
Speaks his name, though you were born to me
Born to me, Cassidy

Weir's emotive singing, on "Cassidy" and other songs like "Sugar Magnolia," "One More Saturday Night" and the band's unofficial theme, "Truckin', " often included whoops and yells, in contrast to Garcia's calm and steady approach. His occasional tendency to forget lyrics was usually greeted by thunderous applause from fans.

After Garcia's death in 1995, at age 53, the surviving members of the band carried on in various forms and arrangements, the longest running of which was Weir's Dead & Company, which also featured Grateful Dead drummers Kreutzmann and Mickey Hart. Weir and the band concluded their "final tour" in July of 2023, but then returned to the stage for two extended residencies at the Sphere in Las Vegas, in 2024 and 2025.

A self-described "compulsive music maker," in 2018 Weir formed yet another band to mine the depths of the Grateful Dead catalog. It was a stripped-down guitar, acoustic bass and drums outfit that he called Bobby Weir & Wolf Bros. Its members included renowned bassist and producer Don Was.In October of 2022, Weir & Wolf Bros worked with a classical music arranger to present yet another iteration of the Dead's catalog, notable for never being played the same way twice, with a group that largely only plays what's written on the paper in front of them, the 80-piece National Symphony Orchestra.

In a 2022 interview with NPR, Weir explained the reason for that collaboration, and in doing so, seemed to offer a possible explanation for why the band's music stayed so popular for so long: "These songs are … living critters and they're visitors from another world — another dimension or whatever you want to call it — that come through the artists to visit this world, have a look around, tell their stories. I don't know exactly how that works, but I do know that it's real."

After Jerry Garcia's death in 1995, Weir kept the legacy of the Grateful Dead alive, touring with bands that came to include generations of musicians influenced by the group. Here, Weir performs with The Dead at Madison Square Garden in New York City in 2009.

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Scott Wintrow

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Weir's work to shepherd and sustain the Dead's legacy was rewarded by ever younger generations of Deadheads, the band's loyal following, who attended tour after tour, often following the band from city to city as their parents and grandparents did during in the 1960's, '70s, '80s and '90s.

In an interview with Rolling Stone in March 2025, Weir shared his thoughts on his legacy, as well as on death and dying, that had a hint of the Eastern philosophies that were popular when the Grateful Dead emerged from the peace and love hippie movement of San Francisco. "I'll say this: I look forward to dying. I tend to think of death as a reward for a life well-lived," he said.

Copyright 2026 NPR

Planet Books, a long-running outpost known for its boundless collection of used books, toys, posters and other antiquities, must move — once again — by March or risk closure.

After 27 years in business, owner James Rappaport said the news came last fall from the proprietors of the neighboring Antique Mall II, which, since 2020, has sublet to him a 4,000-square-foot warehouse now cramped with rare tomes and second-hand memorabilia.

Andrew Jurkiewicz, who owns Antique Mall II alongside his partner, Linda, confirmed the move in a phone call Monday. They’re selling their own store, a decision that ran simultaneously to their landlord’s decision to sell the property altogether.

One person familiar with the sale said the listing — which opened in October — has drawn several interested buyers and is expected to enter escrow in the next week. A public record search found the properties, at 1851 to 1855 Freeman Ave., are owned by DPV Properties LLC, which recently moved its address from Seal Beach to out of state.

When reached by phone, one of the owners declined to comment on their reason for the sale.

After their leases end in March, the businesses are expected to vacate. The antique shop, Jurkiewicz said, will relocate to a space at 3588 Palo Verde Ave. — formerly a Joann Fabric and Crafts — under new ownership.

“We’re both tired,” he said of running the 37-year business that he moved into a former plywood business on Freeman Avenue in 2010.

The future of Planet Books, meanwhile, is far more uncertain. Rappaport has been quiet about his plight until now, insisting he didn’t want to “sound any alarms” that might disrupt the flow of business or scare his regulars.

“I don’t want to panic anybody, especially myself. Not really sure what to do, actually,” Rappaport said.

This marks the second time the bookstore has needed to vacate its location since it opened in 1998.

Its first incarnation on East Anaheim Street was a combination of a couple of hundred book crates left behind by San Pedro bookseller Vinegar Hill Books and collectible toys acquired by the store’s former owner, Michael Munns.

Monthly rent at that time was about $2,000 for 1,500-square feet. Today, Rappaport said, the building costs $5,200 a month to rent, with half of it currently vacant.

His search for a new space has spanned the city, even traveling into neighboring Seal Beach, each time running into the same story.

“Twice the money and one third the size,” he said.

It’s also difficult to find something to fit their needs. The current store has a bookstock of easily more than 100,000 titles.

There’s also the trove of toys, postcards, movie posters and other antiquities that line the walls, counters and shelves throughout. In the back area — the workers call it the “nether world” — towering stacks of books form trench lines leading to an aging work computer, limited-edition prints and a bathroom which hasn’t worked properly since they moved there.

Any storefront they find will likely require a “major purge” of inventory, Rappaport said. Planet Books has two music sections and three sections for both science fiction and mystery. He plans to downsize through donations to nearby schools, shelters and prisons.

If the store cannot find a new home, Rappaport said he’ll have to move his inventory into storage, likely at a facility in Stanton.

There’s also the definite possibility the store closes, he said, though workers are more optimistic.

For many, Planet Books has become the bookstore’s bookstore — the book hog’s mud puddle — where the clerks know the difference between Tom Wolfe and Thomas Wolfe and where patrons might lose themselves for the day among cheap out-of-print treasures on Zen and macrobiotics, Armenian dictionaries, Cantonese cookbooks and volumes on Lydia Maria Child, a 19th century abolitionist.

Wherever the store lands, Rappaport said it will be his last move.

“I’m 68, getting old, you know, I don’t need this,” he said. “I can’t retire because I don’t make anything in Social Security. I just want to have a little bit of fun.”