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A bipartisan package of bills aimed at punishing unethical attorneys and hedge funds that have flourished within California’s legal industry is headed to Gov. Gavin Newsom’s desk.

The two bills would bar lawyers from prioritizing the desires of private investors who fund lawsuits, and ramp up penalties for lawyers who scout for clients at hospitals, jails and accident sites.

Assemblymember Rick Chavez Zbur (D-Los Angeles), one of the bill authors, said the legislation is intended to police the state’s bruised legal profession in response to “a wave of inappropriate attorney conduct” reported by The Times.

Times investigations last year found some clients within L.A. County’s $4-billion sex abuse settlement said they were paid to sue and, in some cases, fabricate claims.

“When attorneys are exploiting vulnerable people, including paying folks to file fraudulent claims, they’re not just breaking the law, they really undermine the credibility of the legal system and every attorney,” Zbur said.

Both bills were sponsored by the Consumer Attorneys of California, a powerful trial lawyer trade group that says it wants to beef up punishment for misconduct.

“If we are going to demand that corporations, government, and powerful institutions be held accountable, we must be — and we are — willing to hold ourselves to that same standard,” Doug Saeltzer, head of the association, said in a statement.

California law already bans a practice known as capping, in which non-attorneys directly solicit or procure clients to sign up for lawsuits with a law firm.

Zbur’s legislation, Assembly Bill 2039, would require that attorneys lose their license if they’re convicted of felony capping or a misdemeanor capping conviction in which they “acted knowingly and for financial gain.” The lawyers could also be fined $25,000 per violation.

The bill also creates whistleblower protections for law firm employees who report misconduct, and would enact new restrictions on loans that attorneys give their clients. California is one of the few states where lawyers can lend money directly to plaintiffs.

Lawyers who use the loans to sway the client’s decision-making around “legal strategy, settlement decisions, or continued representation” can be fined $15,000 per offense.

The second bill aims to bar private investors from influencing a case — for example, telling a lawyer how many clients to take on or when to settle — in lawsuits they fund.

California allows lawyers to take high-interest rate loans from investors, such as private equity firms or hedge funds, who expect to profit from the payout when a case is settled. Critics of this litigation funding claim investors sometimes exert themselves in legal strategy to the detriment of the clients, such as requiring a case to settle prematurely so the law firm can repay the loan faster.

“We don’t want them having any influence in the outcome of a case,” said Assemblyman Ash Kalra (D-San José), who authored AB 2305. “We want the lawyers to be able to represent their clients, and then not have those financial pressures play any role.”

A spokesperson for Newsom’s office said they don’t comment on pending legislation.

Lawyers already are barred under State Bar rules from allowing a third party to dictate case strategy. Kalra has said the goal of the bill is to provide additional “clear statutory safeguards.”

Law firms would also be barred from using money from private investors to market for cases, Kalra said. The State Bar would be tasked with disciplining lawyers that flout the rule.

A Times investigation last year found law firms that have filed thousands of sex abuse claims in California are funded by private investors, meaning an unknown chunk of the $4-billion settlement will go into the pockets of opaque funders.

It’s unclear how violations of the law would come to the attention of the State Bar. Litigation funding agreements are typically private between the funder and the law firm, and clients often don’t know their cases are being funded by private investors.

Jaime Huff, the head of the Civil Justice Assn. of California, which advocates for lawsuit reform on behalf of business interests, said her group — a frequent foe of California trial lawyers — ultimately pulled their support from the bill because they found it toothless.

“I don’t trust the State Bar to tie their own shoes in the morning, much less govern this stuff,” said Huff. “It’s basically gaslighting the public into thinking, ‘Yes, they’ve done something.’”

“It’s like the mall cop of self-policing,” she added.

Kalra said the point was to send a blunt message to the state’s legal bar.

“There may be loopholes that folks find in this one, and they have to follow up and close those loopholes,” he said. “But ultimately, it makes a very clear rule as to how that funding can be used. Once that rule is in place, it’s the law. And lawyers have to follow the law.”

They were two killings that rocked the rap world.

In 1996, Tupac Shakur was gunned down off the Las Vegas Strip. Then, less than a year later, Christopher Wallace, aka Biggie Smalls or the Notorious B.I.G., was killed in a drive-by shooting in front of the Petersen Automotive Museum on Wilshire Boulevard.

The two killings have long been tied together in popular culture.

Now, a detective says the investigation into Wallace’s death helped lead police to the suspect on trial in Las Vegas in Shakur’s slaying.

Duane “Keffe D” Davis, a onetime Compton gang member, is accused of orchestrating the Sept. 7, 1996, killing of Shakur. Prosecutors say the killing was rooted in a war between Southside Crips-Burris Street, led by Davis, and Mob Piru, a gang long associated with Death Row Records. Shakur was closely affiliated with the record company.

Authorities say Davis was in the car with his nephew, who grabbed the murder weapon and fired the fatal bullet.

On Wednesday, former LAPD Homicide Det. Daryn Dupree said Davis set out his role in Shakur’s killing in detail in 2008 to a joint LAPD federal task force that was formed to investigate Wallace’s murder.

To force Davis’ cooperation, Dupree said investigators gathered evidence that Davis, now 63, had sold a large quantity of PCP through his home, exposing him to a potential life sentence and leaving his family open to charges.

The task force questioned Davis about a car he owned that was similar to the one used in Wallace’s L.A. killing. Davis was given a proffer agreement, according to Dupree, meaning he agreed to provide information in exchange for possible benefit.

Davis said he knew about the Smalls shooting and then indicated, “we did the other one,” Dupree testified. That statement, he said, shifted investigators’ focus to the Shakur killing.

“We were talking about Christopher Wallace,” Dupree said. “We didn’t ask him any questions about Tupac. He offered that on his own.”

In a second interview, Dupree testified Davis stated that his nephew Orlando Anderson had been jumped, spurring Davis and cohorts on a hunt for revenge against Shakur.

The attack on Anderson occurred at a Mike Tyson fight earlier on the night of Sept. 7 in Las Vegas, according to Clark County prosecutors. Earlier in the trial, video was shown of Shakur’s entourage attacking Anderson, allegedly in retaliation over a chain that Anderson had previously stolen.

“They went looking for Tupac, Suge and anybody who was involved basically in the beatdown of Mr. Anderson,” Dupree said. Death Row Records boss Marion “Suge” Knight was in the car with Shakur the night he was killed.

When they found Shakur, the former detective testified, Davis “had the gun at first, but they came up on the passenger side,” where Knight was seated, “so he could not shoot across the driver. So he handed a gun to Dre in the back seat.” Deandre “Big Dre” Smith was among those in the white Cadillac in addition to Davis and Anderson.

“Davis said Deandre Smith was afraid to shoot,” Dupree testified, so “Anderson grabbed the gun and shot across Mr. Smith into Mr. Knight’s car.”

Davis told the task force they used a .40-caliber handgun, according to testimony.

Prosecutors said they would begin playing all five hours of the interviews to jurors on Thursday.

Dupree said Davis was signed up as a confidential informant in March 2009. He said Las Vegas police were not aware of the secret conversations at the time.

Dupree testified that Davis told investigators that former rapper and music mogul Sean “Diddy” Combs had been involved in targeting Shakur and Knight through East Coast drug dealer Eric “Von Zip” Martin.

He testified that Davis pledged to rekindle his relationship with Martin to gather evidence. But Martin had cancer, and that was not possible, Dupree said. Martin died in 2012.

Combs was never connected to the Shakur case and has denied ever being involved. Others have questioned Davis’ credibility on this and other points.

The Times in 2008 published a story suggesting a Combs link to Shakur’s killing. But it later retracted the story, saying it was based on documents that appeared to have been forged.

Prosecutors in Davis’ trial say the motive was straight revenge for the beating of Anderson, and that Martin allegedly gave Davis a gun. But they have made no allegations against Combs, who has long denied any role or connection to Shakur’s killing.

Michael Sanft, Davis’ defense attorney, told jurors in opening statements there would be no evidence linking his client to the shooting. Sanft noted that previous investigations did not take his client’s statements seriously because they were not credible. The defense attorney, in an unusual move, repeatedly undermined his own client’s credibility, saying Davis’ memoir, “Compton Street Legend,” where he talks about the Shakur killing, was a work of fiction for money and his client wasn’t in Las Vegas.

Under cross-examination, Dupree said Davis faced a life sentence in the PCP case and that his wife and family were in jeopardy because of it, so he needed to help authorities.

He said that LAPD Det. Greg Kading, the task force leader, left the department after investigating the Shakur and Smalls cases and published a book in 2011 that revealed Davis’ interview.

Dupree said the task force was trying to determine if money was really offered to kill Shakur. He said they were trying to build a racketeering case. “This is trying to solidify that Death Row Records was built on narcotics and Bad Boy Records.”

Dupree said he personally did not doubt Davis when he talked about Anderson killing Shakur.

“I knew he loved his nephew.”

For all the notoriety of the rapper killings, neither has yet led to convictions.

Wallace was leaving a music industry party at the Petersen Automotive Museum on March 9, 1997, sitting in the front passenger seat of a Chevrolet Suburban, when his killer pulled up alongside in a dark Chevy Impala.

As the SUV idled at a stoplight, the gunman opened fire, hitting the 24-year-old four times. He was rushed to Cedars-Sinai Medical Center, where he was pronounced dead shortly after 1 a.m.

From the beginning, police said they struggled to get leads and cooperation.

As The Times reported back in 1997, “although more than 1,000 people were said to be at the party, police said they had few eyewitnesses and even fewer solid leads … Detectives said they are investigating whether Wallace’s death is linked to bicoastal tensions within the rap world, but had nothing solid to go on.”

Despite many theories and a long LAPD investigation, the case remains unsolved.

There have been numerous books, documentaries and civil litigation that make allegations, but police said they could never build a case.

In 2017, an LAPD detective told The Times: “The shooter is most likely dead. You cannot ask him who paid him.”

Almost three decades ago, Joe Timko and Randy Neece were wandering through Disneyland, saw Goofy trailing around the gardens and made the connection.

This, but for dogs?

A Disneyland-inspired wonderland for their canine counterparts is what they were thinking. Timko, who Neece describes as “the most impulsive person in the world,” had no hesitation.

“That’s what we should do!” he says.

Dogs run around at the Wonderland yard.

That offhand vision has since expanded into Canyon View Ranch, a five-acre luxury retreat tucked into the hills of Topanga that its clients refer to as Disneyland for canines. Designed by married couple Timko and Neece, who worked as a trainer and TV game show director, respectively, this dog boarding retreat is like no other. Think multiple bone-shaped pools, a chauffeured shuttle service, behavioral and weight loss programs, 35 feet of underground tunnels and dedicated lands à la Disneyland, including Adventureland for the bigger hounds and Munchkinland for the little ones and older sports.

Dogs here wake promptly at 5 a.m. for morning exercise, eat breakfast at 6, take scheduled naps at 8, enjoy a “biscuit break” at 5:30 p.m. and are finally tucked in for “lights out” at 8. Ranch activities include hurtling through agility courses, swimming beneath a massive artificial waterfall and roaming sprawling fantasy playgrounds built expressly for their entertainment.

A map of the ranch drawn by Nina Rae Vaughn, the same artist who illustrates Disneyland’s official park maps.

(Canyon View Ranch)

Dog owners say that as soon as they pull into the driveway, their pups realize exactly where they’re headed and “start going bonkers,” says Neece. When they’re let loose, they enter Canyon View Ranch with the abandon of children running down Main Street, U.S.A.

Getting to the ranch requires a journey up winding hills, past signs that read “Please Be Kind,” on roads flanked by cacti, chaparral and coastal sage scrub. It looks nothing like the city.

Today, Canyon View Ranch boards around 60 dogs at once, often with a waiting list stretching six months or longer. There is no limitation on how long they can stay, and many of the dogs I meet today have been here for several weeks, totaling thousands with the ranch’s $100 nightly rate. Dogs travel from all over to get here, from Las Vegas to Dubai. Their owners include schoolteachers and secretaries alongside some of Los Angeles’ wealthiest families.

“We could be watching over all the jewelry in their safe,” Neece says, “and it wouldn’t matter as much as their dog.”

On this Wednesday morning, Neece and Timko lead the way through the property. Neece is calmly and casually kind, like a faithful bloodhound without jowls. Timko is sprightly, a live-wire Chihuahua. The two of them live on-site in what looks like a family home straight out of a 1990s Disney film, a white colonial home with blue shutters. There are 20 staff on-site. For Neece and Timko, the job is 24 hours a day, seven days a week.

Munchinkland is for smaller and less energetic dogs at Canyon View Ranch.

Dogs follow animal care specialist John Highland.

“I have the best job in the world,” says John Highland, former veterinary technician and now one of the ranch’s animal care specialists, as the dogs stream into Adventureland.

A great many dogs run up to me, tails wagging, tongues lolling. Neece and Timko lead me eastward of Adventureland toward the dandelion-headed alpacas, Stumbelina and Sparkle. Other animals on-site include a stable full of horses and Cowboy the tortoise, who is about the size of a lawnmower and whose head protrudes from what looks like a Venus flytrap made of bone.

“They help bring the flavor of fun, and that’s exactly what we want to do here,” Neece says. “We want it to be an escape, just like Disneyland.”

Neece was raised 15 minutes away from Disneyland and developed an obsession with it early on. “I’ve read every book imaginable,” he says. “I have this really deep appreciation for Walt Disney’s vision.”

Every detail of Canyon View Ranch evokes the legendary Anaheim theme park. The property has its own illustrated map, drawn by Nina Rae Vaughn, the same artist who illustrates Disneyland’s official park maps. The dogs’ sleeping quarters are modeled after the park’s Pirates of the Caribbean ride, with its fort-like corridors made of sun-dried brick, the walls strewn with overgrown jungle vines. At Christmas, snow machines cover the grounds while lights are strung through the trees and holiday music plays all day.

The Disney vision has now come full circle. Several members of the Disney family are clients: Roy P. Disney and his wife, Sheri. His sister, Susan Disney Lord, is also a client, along with her children.

Canyon View Ranch even has what Neece describes as its own “Mickey Mouse”: Max the Tibetan terrier. A statue of him sits out front, honoring the first dog Timko and Neece owned together. “Usually, Tibetan terriers come in black and white, but we wanted Max, who came in earth tones, because he matched the furniture,” says Neece. The terrier, it turned out, was a champion, and the owner wouldn’t sell him unless the couple promised to show him. They agreed, and in 1997, Max won best of breed at the Westminster Kennel Club Dog Show. “All of this started because we made the decision to buy that dog,” says Timko.

Randy Neece, left, and Joe Timko spent years creating a “doggie Disneyland.”

Neece and Timko gaze over the canyon view from which inspired the ranch’s name. After 26 years, they’ve watched three generations of dogs come and go. “One of the things we didn’t count on when we started this was the emotional toll,” says Neece. “Yeah,” Timko adds, “every loss hurts.”

“When Max died, Joe struggled for weeks,” says Neece. “I later realized that a lot of it translated into him worrying about losing me next.”

In the late 1980s, while still working on TV sets, Neece learned he was HIV positive. “It was a death sentence then,” he says.

Larger dogs play in the Wonderland yard.

He survived, one of a comparatively small number of his generation who did. He returned to television briefly, working on two more game shows, one of which included one of his biggest paychecks. (“‘Match Game’ built Canyon View Ranch,” he laughs.)

But something had shifted. “When you go through something like that,” he says, “you really start taking inventory of your life. There’s something about that that frees you up to take a risk. I was ready to reinvent myself.”

The couple sold their house in Laurel Canyon and bought the Topanga property in the late ’90s from Melissa Sue Anderson, who had played Mary Ingalls on “Little House on the Prairie.” Slowly, year after year, they planted every tree alongside ranch foreman David Barrios, dug every tunnel, built every waterfall and themed land, until the place began to resemble the idea they’d first imagined while watching children crowd around Goofy.

Now, late in this hot August afternoon, dogs of every size race through underground tunnels and emerge from the other side even more manically happy than when they entered. The Pomeranian munchkins in Munchkinland skitter around, sniffing wagging butts. A Labrador sprays his friends with water soaked into his fur from the bone-shaped pool. If there is such a thing as the Rainbow Bridge, Canyon View Ranch must be what it looks like on the other side.

Dogs dip in a pool and follow John Highland at Canyon View Ranch.