17. Chapter 17
I’m hustled into the Sagebrush police station like I’m Jack the Ripper. The cops rough me up, then bait me as I empty my pockets, get printed and photographed. I’m forced to remove my shoelaces, but at least they don’t cavity search me or make me put on prison garb. It’s too soon for that. I have to be processed and formally charged. There’s grumbling among the ranks because Miguel’s murder is Reno’s jurisdiction and the Reno cops on their way to pick me up.
The resounding echo of the cell door as it clangs shut behind me plunges me into despair. Last time I was in prison for killing a guy. I was guilty. I made no excuses. I did my time, kept out of trouble, followed all the rules of my parole. This time, I’m innocent, but that won’t matter. Given my record, it’ll take a lot of convincing to prove it.
I feel sick as I’m hurtled back in time before I went to prison. I was hot-headed and self-righteous. I figured I could do anything I wanted and get away with it. Even killing that guy. I was sure I wouldn’t do time for it. Don’t know why. Guess because I was an immature prick.
Prison changed me fast. I grew up, sorted out my shit, found what worked for me. Order, predictability. The Jury. The club is controlled chaos. Shit happens, shit is handled. We all move on.
But this. I’ve lost control of my life again. Because of X. She’s a disaster but she’s also innocent. She didn’t make any of this happen. The crazy might have started with her, but neither she nor I realized how deep and dangerous this shit show was.
I turn and face the concrete wall of the holding cell. I’ve been here before and I promised myself that I’d never go back. I swore that I would die before they’d take me, but back at the clubhouse, like a pussy, I dropped flat on the ground when the cops ordered and let them handcuff and drag me off.
I heave my tired body onto the bench. How long has it been since I slept? Coming up 36 hours, I’d guess, then think of X. She’s in the same boat.
My heart pounds as I think about her. She’s in the Jury’s chamber and only two groups of people cross that threshold. Members of Hell’s Jury and their enemies. Generally, only the Jury members come out alive. Hangman will be raving like a madman and putting the blame on X and she’s stuck in that concrete box with a fucking useless dog and a kilo of coke. And no way out.
I’m fucked, I decide as I look around the cell. Defeat hits me hard between the eyes. Me in prison, X locked up in the chamber. This can’t be the way things go down. X is alone and at the mercy of Hangman and even if he does cut her loose, the assholes looking for the stolen kilo of coke won’t stop until they have it back. Which makes X a target.
Blood thunders in my head as I think of what could happen to that girl. I still can’t fathom why X affects me like no other woman I’ve ever met. I still want to deny these feelings, don’t want to care, but deep down in the recesses of my stony interior I can’t shake the idea of her not being in this world. I have to do something and I have to do it now.
“Hey!” I shout as I cross the cell and rattle the bars. “Where the fuck is my phone call!”
“Fuck off,” a distant voice shouts down the hall.
Then another voice, nasal and pretentious, says, “Give him the fucking phone call. Hangman knows where he’s at, so who’s he gonna call?”
One of the cops snickers. “The Ghostbusters.”
Levine and another cop cuff me, then escort me into a room and sit me down in front of a phone. Fuckin’ cowards.
“Five minutes, asshole,” Levine sneers as he takes off the cuffs.
I give him the finger and his face sours as he slams the door behind him and locks it.
I stare at the phone. My first instinct is to call Paulie and tell him that X is in danger, but given our encounter this morning, he’d likely take on Hangman to get to his daughter. That wouldn’t end well for Paulie.
Instead I call Hangman.
“What?” he shouts.
“Don’t fuck her up,” I say to him.
“We’re getting you out. Give us an hour or two.”
If I’m formally charged, then I’m in here overnight. Maybe longer because the Reno cops will drag me back to Reno. I’ll need to make bail in the morning but that’s not a problem. Hangman can’t get me out of a prison sentence but he will make sure I’m released despite my record. He has a lot of friends and influence. “I don’t give a shit about me,” I reply. “I’m telling you right now to leave X alone.”
There’s a pause before Hangman launches into a verbal onslaught. “Who the fuck do you think you are, you motherfucker, telling me what to do? I’ll do whatever the fuck I want. You talk to me like that again, I’ll turn you into fucking horse food.”
His tirades are legendary and no one takes his threats lightly, but the brothers know his limits when it comes to women. Especially our women.
“Leave her alone, Hangman.”
“Jesus fuck.” He sounds like I’ve hurt his feelings. “I’m not gonna touch the crazy Mexican.”
Latina, I correct in my head, but I’ve got the win. Not the time to press my luck.
“She still downstairs?”
“It’s the safest fucking place for her.”
I think about her seeing first-hand what the club is about and my heart sinks. After this, she’ll be afraid of me, and for some reason that kills me. I want her to trust me, believe in me. The fact is, I want her. It’s crazy, because she’s a tight little package of chaos and that’s something I can’t handle, but there it is.
“It’s a nightmare down there. You fucking know that. Find her somewhere else. Get her out of there.”
“What the fuck is wrong with you? She’s the one who got you locked up.”
He’s right in a roundabout sort of way, but I deny it. “Not her fault her motherfucking ex stole a…” I stop. I can’t be sure the call isn’t monitored. “Got killed,” I end feebly.
“Sam’s on his way,” Hangman says at same time the door to the room I’m in bangs open.
Levine walks in like the fucker he is. “Time’s up, sweet cheeks.”
I think about the dozen different ways he’s going to slowly die as I stand and let him cuff me. It’s a dozen steps from the room to the cell, but he’s being careful. He knows my reputation.
Before we get there, Sam shows up. “Uncuff him,” the Jury’s lawyer says curtly. “And put him back in the room.”
Levine looks like he wants to protest, but Sam stares him down. Sam’s slick, classy suit and tie, walks the walk, talks the talk. He knows his law inside and out. Doesn’t step outside it, or at least that’s the impression he gives.
“You know this fuck is good for this, so why’re you wasting your time?”
Sam walks up to him. He’s tall and lean and not particularly threatening. “You’re out of line, Sargent. I expect my client to be treated with respect.” He glances at me, at my bruised face. “I’ll make sure that you are held accountable for his injuries.”
Captain Jackson comes around the corner. “He resisted arrest.”
Sam turns to him. “You should distance yourself from your officers, Captain. Of all my clients, Mr. Kincaid is the least likely to assault anyone. He’s well aware of the prejudice of the system and how his past works against him.”
I’m surprised at Sam, how on target he is. We took a road trip together to help Coyote out with his girlfriend problem, but that didn’t make us best friends. Still, we respect each other, and maybe he’s got more insight than I’ve credited him with.
Jackson backs off. “We won’t add his resisting arrest to the charges. Never planned to.”
Sam ignores him. “Let’s go.”
“You have a half-hour,” Levine jeers as he steers me back towards the room.
Sam glares at him. “I won’t need that much time. Take the handcuffs off him. He’s not going to beat you to a pulp.” The way he says it implies someone else will.
Levine, who’s too stupid to know his middle name, yanks my arms hard as he removes the cuffs. “Half hour,” he snarls as he all but shoves me in the room. Sam follows, closing the door on whatever shit’s still spewing from the fucker’s mouth.
“Sit down,” Sam says as he seats himself and shoves his case on top of the table. “Hangman already gave me the details as he knows them, but I need you to explain exactly how you landed in this shit.”
I’m paranoid. “Not here.”
“Because?”
“Because we can’t trust these cocksuckers not to listen in.”
“These cocksuckers are too stupid to do something like that. And it doesn’t matter.” He pauses as he sees the stubbornness in my face. “Okay, Here’s what we’ll do. I say what happened to the best of my understanding and you’ll nod or shake your head.”
The plan is stupid, but I nod anyway, curious as to what story he’s concocted to get me out of trouble.
He looks down at his notes then launches into the events of the last week. “Ximina Belmonte asked for your help dealing with her ex-boyfriend. Not only was he harassing her, but he hired a man to accost her in the early hours of the morning a few days ago.
“She saved herself from physical and sexual assault by fighting him off, then running for her life. She was lucky. You and her father, Paul Belmonte, know each other and given your association with Hell’s Jury, she approached you on Monday to provide assistance. You agreed to talk to the ex-boyfriend, but when you arrived at his apartment, you found him dead.”
“Murdered,” I clarify, wondering exactly where he got so much detail. Hangman knows the bare bones, but he’s not usually one to line it up in a way that makes sense.
“Based on your incarceration for manslaughter, you chose to leave the scene before the police arrived by knocking on the door of one of the suites. The woman, Amber O’Toole, recognizing you as the owner of Hook’s, which she frequents, opened the door to you and invited you in. Initially, she told the police that you’d forced your way in, but when I talked to her, she explained the truth and said she was worried about how it might look if she was a harboring a fugitive. I reassured her that she was not under oath at the time of her statement and could belatedly tell the truth without consequences.
“Once it was safe to do so, you walked out of the apartment, talked to the two police officers stationed at the door of the deceased’s apartment, then left the scene. At no time did you misidentify yourself or become aggressive.
“You then went to Miss Belmonte’s place of employment, because you were afraid for her safety, then sought out her father to discuss the situation with him. You and Miss Belmonte proceeded to her apartment which had been trashed by some unknown person. You left the premises, stopped at Western Nevada College, where she is a student, to retrieve some personal items from her locker then went to your house to shower and change clothes.”
I nod. He’s got the order wrong, but I don’t correct him. Maybe there’s a reason why or maybe it doesn’t matter.
“Leaving Miss Belmonte at your house, you then went to the clubhouse to talk to Luke Morgan.
Who the fuck is Luke Morgan? Name sounds familiar but I can’t place it.
Sam catches my frown and clarifies, an amused twist to his lips. “The president of your club.”
Right.
Sam continues. “You were then arrested. A warrant to search the Hell’s Jury Clubhouse was produced. Miss Belmonte was not on the premises when the police arrived. She was also not at your house, her apartment, or Belmonte’s Bakery. Currently, her presence is unknown.” He pauses. “Have you considered the possibility that she set you up?”
I narrow my eyes at him, then carefully say, “I did consider it, then rejected it. She’s a good girl.”
A small smirk plays at Sam’s lips. “No doubt that’ll hold up in court.”
“It’s the truth.”
He shakes his head. “Is there anything you’d like to add?”
I start to say no, then stop. “What about the dog?” Then stop again. Why the fuck is that relevant?
For the first time since he arrived, Sam looks confused. “Dog?”
“Yeah. Miguel’s dog has been following me around since I went to the apartment. I left him with X.” Which isn’t a lie.
“Well, then I expect he’s with X.” Sam replies smoothly. “Whatever the case, we are of course, concerned with her safety and hope you might have some thoughts as to where she might be.”
She’s at the fucking bottom of the Jury’s chamber with the fucking dog. “She mentioned friends.” I try to think if she ever mentioned names. “I’m sure her pops knows.”
“Her pops?” He grins like I’ve said something funny.
My face heats. “Belmonte. Paul.”
“I know who her pops is,” he replies.