“You’ll die here, in this room, and no one will bat an eyelash about it. Trust me on that. Your only out is to sign that confession.”
Slick thought but a moment on that. Nodded. “Everyone’s gotta die at some point, here is just as good as anywhere.”
Brower shook his head in mock sadness, nodded to Collins and opened the door. Loud shouts echoed out in the main office area. Heated, angry words peppered with colorful profanity bounced off the walls. Slick smiled when he heard them.
“You know who’s doing the shouting, deputy?” Slick asked.
Brower stopped. Stared at Slick.
“You don’t, but I do, I know exactly who it is. And if I were you, I’d put a leash on this steroid freak of yours here, at least until you find out what’s going on. It’d be in your best interest. Just my advice, of course, the choice is yours. We all have choices.”
Brower listened to the shouting and considered it.
Finally, he jerked his chin at Collins, who stepped back, glowering. It was true, the pimple-scarred bastard had wanted to beat Slick to death, Slick could see it. Brower grabbed the unsigned confession and stuffed it into his pocket.
Slick let out a deep, deep breath of relief. That had been far too close.
“L
isten to me,
you piss-eyed bunch of inbred colicky pig-fuckers, if you don’t bring my friend Jon out here right fucking now, we’re gonna have a situation, I mean it!”
Thumper brought his fist down hard on the counter, cracking the glass. The well-fed deputy behind the counter flinched, unsure of what to do, and looked for help.
“Answer me, motherfucker! Where’s my friend?”
Thumper was not tall. That was the first thing most people noted. He wasn’t a tall man. Five-foot five or thereabouts, but his chest and arms were corded with hard muscle, he walked light on the balls of his feet and the scar tissue around his eyes and nose suggested he’d done a lot of fighting on a professional level, which he had. Anyone just glancing at him could sense the danger as Thumper held himself as a man capable of handing out a considerable amount of physical damage to anyone at any time.
And he was supremely pissed. The fat deputy, named Moore, looked around for salvation, but no one wanted any part of this problem. What was shocking to all the uniformed men in the room was that Thumper had absolutely no fear of them whatsoever. They weren’t used to that, even from a fellow white man. Moore cleared his throat and tried to take control.
“You need to calm down, your friend is being processed—”
“Bullshit, save that horse-hockey for the cheap seats. He was arrested yesterday, fat boy, so he was processed yesterday. Don’t fucking lie to me, asshole. Bring him out here, pronto, before I force feed you that cheap tie you’re wearing.”
Moore didn’t know how to respond to that. Or rather, he did know how he’d usually respond, but Thumper’s two companions, standing silent, intimidated him. One of them was a lawyer in an expensive suit with a fancy leather briefcase in hand. Moore didn’t recognize him but he knew a pricey lawyer when he saw one.
The other fellow, a massive bronze man in a highway patrolman’s uniform, Moore knew all too well, and he was the real reason everyone else in the office had found something else to do rather than skullfuck Thumper for having the balls to raise his voice to any of them.
“Answer me, motherfucker, where is he?”
Brower stepped into the office area.
“What seems to be the problem?”
“The problem is that Jon Elder was arrested in this shitburg yesterday, that’s the fucking problem. He’s in here somewhere and we want to see him right fucking now.”
“Well, have a seat. It’ll be a while yet.”
“No it won’t, Sparky, we’ll see him right now or you’ll see my foot go up somebody’s ass, pronto.”
The lawyer stepped forward, “Deputy, my name is Melvin Hayes, I’m Mr. Elder’s attorney and I demand to see my client without delay or haste.”
“Your client waived his right to counsel.”
“Bullshit!” Thumper said. “Pure corn-fed bullshit!”
“Do you have the signed release?” Melvin asked.
Brower shook his head. “He stated it expressly, in my presence. Deputy Collins was also present for the statement. He refused to sign anything but verbally waived right to counsel.”
“Then it’s not official,” Melvin said.
“As far as we’re concerned, it is. You doubt our word?”
“Fuck yeah, we doubt it. Slick would never waive right to counsel!” Thumper said, hammering the glass counter with his fist once again. It shattered and the cops jumped.
“What the hell is going on out here?”
Rawlings stormed out of his office, face beet red and jowls flaring. “I’m on the phone with the governor’s office and I can’t hear myself think! What the fuck—”
Rawlings stopped on a dime when he saw the three men at the counter.
“Navajo Joe,” he said to the huge state trooper. “It figures, whenever I get a pain in my balls, you show up. What do you want?”
“Sheriff Ted. What do I want? Gun control, socialized medicine and world peace, among other things,” the big man said. “The list goes on and on.”
“You mean you don’t get all that on the reservation as part of your government handout package, along with the free smokes and scotch?”
“Not yet, anyway, maybe someday, but what I want is beside the point. I’m here in an unofficial capacity, strictly as an observer,” Navajo Joe said.
“Then do me a favor and unofficially observe somewhere else.”
“Be happy to. Let this lawyer see his client and we’ll be on our way.”
“Who’s his client?”
“Jon Elder, as I told this fat fucking moron behind the counter,” Thumper said.
“Wait, who the hell are you? You don’t talk to my deputies like that—”
“My name’s Tommy Olson and I talk how I want to who I want whenever I want, last I checked, this was still America and we have free fucking speech!” Thumper said.
“Keep it up and I’ll arrest you for disturbing the peace—”
“And I’ll be happy to appear as witness before the judge,” Navajo Joe said, “and tell him I saw that Tommy, the defendant in question, wasn’t disturbing the peace.”
“In other words,” Thumper said, “go fuck yourself, Sheriff.”
Rawlings stared at Navajo Joe and Thumper, plainly furious. Melvin was a smart enough lawyer to know when to keep his mouth shut and stayed out of it. Rawlings looked to Brower, asking a silent question.
“Defendant waived his right to counsel,” Brower said.
“Without a signed waiver, it’s not official,” Melvin said. “So, unfortunately, I cannot accept that.”
Brower and Rawlings exchanged another look. Rawlings nodded.
“Okay, but it’ll still be a minute, Doc Johnson is checking him,” Brower said.
“No, he’s not, we saw Doc driving down the street not ten minutes ago,” Navajo Joe said. “Can we dispense with this happy horseshit and get this lawyer to his client, please? Some of us actually have to work for a living.”
Rawlings didn’t want to give in, but he was trapped. “Lawyer only. You other two stay here, where I can see you.”
Brower snapped his fingers and led Melvin on back. Rawlings turned to Moore. “Call the DA’s office, have them get someone down here.”
“Already did, Sheriff, but…”
“But what?”
“The only ADA currently available was Dubya De—” Moore stopped himself before finishing. Navajo Joe heard the slip and laughed.
“Camilla ‘Dubya Dee’ Leon, the one and only brown person working in the DA’s office. This ain’t your day, is it, Ted?”
Brower returned, stood next to Rawlings as the sheriff seethed.
“What about bail? You gonna cite him out?” Joe asked.
“Not a chance, violent offender.”
“What? What’s he charged with?” Thumper asked.
“Obstruction of justice, assaulting a law enforcement officer, resisting arrest.”
“My ass. Who’d he assault? Who arrested him?” Thumper said.
“He assaulted me,” Rawlings said. “And the two of us arrested him.”
“That’s a goddamn fucking lie. If Slick assaulted you, you’d be walking in plaster, if you could walk at all, and if he decided to resist arrest, you wouldn’t even have gotten the cuffs on him. You’re a bald fucking liar, Sheriff,” Thumper said.
Rawlings involuntarily put his hand on the baton at his belt, his intent clear. Navajo Joe slid between the two.
“For an assault victim, you have nary a blemish, Ted,” Navajo Joe said.
“He’s also suspected of drug trafficking.”
“What! That’s a hot crock of shit, you fuckers!”
Navajo Joe held up his hand to keep Thumper at bay, glanced at Rawlings.
“You find drugs on him?”
“No, but there were other indicators—” Brower began.
“Then you’ve got nothing on that, you’re reaching,” Navajo Joe said. “I’d be happy to call the state’s narco specialist to help you figure that out, if need be. He owes me a favor. All that’s left is the assault and resisting arrest charge.”
“And obstruction of justice.”
“If you’re not gonna cite him out, what about bail?”
“Not up to us, up to the judge.”
“That’s another crock and you know it. Think I just got off the reservation? Try again. You can bail him out now if you want to. You got cash, Thumper?”
“I got cash, I got bond, security, I got it all.”
Thumper plopped a bag on the counter. Unzipped it. Loaded with money.
“So why not take the way of less stress, Ted? Bail our friend out and then we’ll be out of what little hair you have left on your head,” Navajo Joe said.
“I’ll think about it.”
“While you think about that, also think about this. I might ask a few of my fellow troopers to join me for lunch here in town at the diner every day. You remember Mohammad Jones, played tackle for the Chargers for a few years? He’s a trooper now. He remembers you, Ted, and none too fondly. You pulled him over for a busted taillight one night, years ago when he was driving back to college after winter break, except it wasn’t busted until after you stopped him. Like I said, he remembers you none too fondly. There’s quite a few fellows I know like that, big, dark and unreasonable when the subject turns to Sheriff Ted Rawlings. We can congregate here every day, for lunch.
“You know they have a size requirement for the staties, right? You gotta be a big bastard to be considered for State Patrol, not like being a deputy where the sheriff hires whoever he wants regardless of qualifications or their physical condition or mental capacity. You actually have to be able to do the job to be a trooper.”
None of the deputies in the room liked that one bit. Brower took a step in the trooper’s direction, eyes glittering. Rawlings stopped him. He took a moment, popped a fresh stick of gum into his mouth.
“I don’t like threats, Navajo Joe. You think you’re immune, untouchable? Think you can walk in here and say whatever the hell you want to my people and there will no consequences? Times change, Joe, Arizona’s changing, even for your people on the reservation, you should think about the future.”
“The red man has no future, Ted. I’ve been told that ever since I was a tiny papoose. Funny thing is, once a fella accepts that about himself, it makes everything else in life so much simpler.”
Nothing was said. Moore finally piped up.
“Dubya Dee is here.”
Rawlings glared at Moore for again slipping up verbally, and he dropped his eyes. Rawlings cursed silently and ground his teeth.
“There’s paperwork. Fill that out, leave a cash bond and we’ll release him, but only after the ADA signs off on it.”
Navajo Joe glanced outside at the woman headed up the sidewalk and grinned. “I have a feeling she’ll see things our way.”
S
lick was huddled
with his lawyer, exchanging whispers, when she walked into the interrogation room. Slick didn’t really hear much of what Melvin said after that. He was charmed, almost immediately, and by the very woman whose sole purpose was to send his ass to jail.
She had that type of energy that he always responded to. She charged up a room like a tuning fork hit hard and the air vibrated with her presence. She looked good, and she was one of those women who knew she looked good, was comfortable with that fact and didn’t make a big deal out of it. Dark, gleaming hair, black eyes that snapped, he could tell, olive skin and enough curves on her body to make for careful navigation but not so many that one would get lost in them.
She sat opposite them, file folder in hand, and looked Slick in the eye.
“Mr. Elder, I’m Assistant District Attorney Camilla Leon, I’ll be handling your case. Counselor, I don’t believe we’ve met before. Camilla Leon.”
“Melvin Hayes, how do you do. I’m out of Scottsdale.”
“You’re a ways from home, Mr. Hayes.”
“Evidently even farther than I thought, seeing as my client was denied his phone call, denied his right to counsel, was abused during questioning and told that if he didn’t sign a confession to crimes that he didn’t commit, he’d be beaten to death. I seem to have wandered into a third world country where the Bill of Rights is an afterthought.”
Camilla considered that for a moment and Slick saw a flicker, somewhere deep inside, she hid it very well but it was in there. She was angry and not at them. Slick liked her more and more. She kept her professional face on, allowing herself just a glance at those behind the observation glass, and leaned forward.
“If your client was denied his phone call and right to counsel, how do you explain your presence here? Did he not call you?”
“His friend Tommy Olson called and retained my services. Mr. Elder was booked for a flight in Tucson yesterday morning. He missed the flight and didn’t call Mr. Olson when he was scheduled to do so. Mr. Elder is a professional poker player and often carries large amounts of cash on his person, so when Mr. Olson didn’t hear from him when he was supposed to, Mr. Olson, a former police officer, grew understandably concerned and used his contacts to track him down. He discovered that his friend had been arrested in Bendijo and that’s how we ended up here.”
Camilla thought about that, looked at Slick for a moment then back to Melvin.