Chapter Nine
Denis
Denis slumped in his chair, eyes burning as he closed them, the day’s weight pressing down like a physical thing.
Case files blurred together, but memories of Cherry stayed sharp.
His tattooed arms, that low growl of a voice, the way he’d arched into Denis like he’d been starving for it.
Perfect. So perfect. Every box ticked with a sharp and bold mark, because he was gorgeous, sharp, funny, and came with an edge to him that cut just right.
Denis smiled into the dark, letting the images play.
“Denis, Judge Cooper’s on line two. Wants you to reprise your old role as public defender.” Her voice was crisp and no-nonsense, even this late.
He frowned. “I’m not...never mind. Okay, I’ll take it.
” Not his usual gig these days, not when the private practice he’d built up with sweat and blood paid way better, but Cooper was a friend from his public defender beginnings.
He tapped the blinking line. “Judge Cooper, great to hear from you. What brings you slumming in my neighborhood?”
“Denis.” The judge’s drawl was warm, laced with a chuckle. “You know I told you to call me Daylon.”
“Alright, Daylon, how you holding up?”
“Funny you should ask. I need someone I know. Someone I can trust. My normal PD is out, the man had some family emergency, but there’s a guy in lockup I want bonded out ASAP. His lawyer’s AWOL.”
Denis leaned forwards, interest piqued. “What’s the charge?”
“Stupid one, but you didn’t hear that from me. Rookie got his feathers ruffled, overreacted. Bullshit resisting charge. I’d cut him loose on his own, but protocol’s protocol, and next year’s an election year.”
“Bond set?”
“Need you to handle it. Can you be here by 10:30 tonight?”
Denis glanced at the clock. The timeline was tight, but doable. “Oh, night court. Fun times. Yeah, I’m in. Who’s the lucky bastard?”
“Tom Palant. IMC guy. You’ll see the file.”
Denis froze, a jolt running through him. Could it be Cherry? “Got it,” he said, voice steady despite the rapid thud of his pulse. “See you soon.”
***
Cherry
The cell was a windowless concrete box, where the kind of quiet pressed in until your own breathing sounded loud.
He was almost sorry he didn’t have any company.
Cherry sat as he had for several hours, head tipped back against the chilly wall, eyes half-closed, figuring he was stuck in holding till morning.
Then boots clomped down the hall, and a voice barked, “Palant. Courtroom. Let’s go. ”
He straightened, squinting. “It’s late.”
“Tell me something I didn’t know. What? You got somewhere else to be?” The jailer grinned, clearly amused, and swung the door wide. “Come on.”
Cherry stood, backing up with wrists crossed, a remembered habit from long ago rougher days, but the guy waved him off.
“Naw, no cuffs. IMC’s got my respect, man.
Y’all fixed my Auntie Joan’s roof out in Slidell few years back.
She’d never ask, but after the ‘cane you all just showed up and took care of her. I ain’t forgetting that. ”
Cherry blinked as he turned, surprised, and stepped out as instructed. “Thank you.” The hallway stretched ahead, fluorescent lights buzzing, and he followed, boots heavy. Court this late meant someone pulled strings, Busk, maybe, or the lawyer finally waking up. He didn’t dare hope for more.
***
Denis
Denis paced the defender’s room, a claustrophobic closet of chipped paint and flickering light, flipping through the slim folder they’d handed him at the courthouse door.
Tom Palant, 49, Marine vet, mechanic, IMC Baton Rouge.
No priors worth a damn, a few drunk and disorderly from decades ago.
And the rookie’s flimsy charge from today.
Resisting, my ass. He was scanning for an alias, something to tie it to Cherry when the door creaked open.
He turned, and there he was—Cherry, in the flesh, all ink and striking storm-gray eyes, rocking back on his heels as if he’d been gut-punched. Denis’ heart kicked, but he played it cool, striding over with a hand out. “Hi.”
“Hi,” Cherry echoed, taking it slow, their palms sliding together a beat too long. Warm, rough, familiar.
“Good to see you,” Denis said, pumping twice before letting go.
“You too. Sorry to drag you out so late.” Cherry’s voice was steady, but his eyes flickered with surprise, maybe relief.
“When Judge Cooper calls, I answer. He couldn’t sort your rep, so he tapped me.” Denis shut the door behind the jailer, gesturing to a chair. “Sit, Cherry.” He paused, grinning. “Hmmm. Nope. Can’t bring myself to call you Tom. Simply doesn’t fit.”
Cherry’s smile was small, but real. “Haven’t been Tom in forever, man. You’ve got the real me.”
***
Cherry
The fuck? Cherry stared at Denis, the man he’d connected with on a raw level, and had been fighting to forget.
The man now standing there in a rumpled shirt and a grin that could smack the sense out of him.
Lawyer, yeah, he’d said that, but public defender?
He was sure Denis had said he was in private practice, which made way more sense.
Denis was private money, not living off county scraps.
Cherry rocked back, caught off guard, but the memory of Denis’ hand in his grounded him, that slow slide of skin saying we’re not strangers. Okay. He’d roll with it.
He hooked a boot around the chair, swinging it to straddle the seat, arms crossed over the back.
Denis sat too, close enough to feel, and Cherry let himself breathe.
There was still the trouble he’d landed in, and his bike was still in impound, but just having Denis here, no matter what questions it raised, felt like a stable line back to good.
Denis nodded brusquely, and Cherry had to remind himself of the lawyer/client relationship when he swallowed as if his throat was tight. Denis said, “It matters to me, thanks.” They both pulled in a silent breath before Denis continued, “So, tell me what happened.”
Cherry pointed at the folder. “You’ve got the gist.” He let his smile grow again, Denis seemingly unable to look away. “You gonna stay way over there?”
“Hell no, but first we have business to take care of,” Denis shot back, before sliding his chair closer. “Judge wants this gone, I don’t know why, just that he’s itching to cut you loose. Start at the accident, walk me through.”
Denis’s gaze held his, steady and deep, and Cherry knew, deep in his gut, this wasn’t just a favor anymore. It was personal.
“What judge?” Cherry wracked his memory trying to remember the name spoken of in locked rooms, a man who felt like he owed the IMC. Much like the jailer earlier did over the assistance given to a family member. “Cooper?” He knew he’d hit paydirt as soon as Denis’s eyes widened ever so slightly.
“Yeah, Cooper.” Denis confirmed. “How do you know him?”
Cherry shot a glance at the door, then up at the light and held a finger to his lips.
He stood, suddenly about ninety percent sure there was a recording device in the room.
He wanted to confirm or disprove that before they continued the conversation they needed to have.
“Oh, I know a lotta people.” He kept his voice steady as he knelt to look underneath the table.
Nothing there. When he picked his head up, Denis was staring at him, head cocked inquisitively to one side.
“I bet you do.” Denis’s immediate understanding of the task at hand made Cherry weirdly proud and he grinned broadly at the man. “Like me. I know you and you know me.”
“Yes, I do.” Cherry pulled his chair over underneath the old fashioned overhead light assembly and clambered to stand on the seat.
Balancing himself against the ceiling, he rose to his toes and found himself in front of a tape recorder.
Staring at the wiring set-up, he motioned Denis to turn off the switch at the wall.
The red light on the recorder went out immediately.
Good deal, I don’t have to mess with it.
He climbed down off the chair as he gave Denis a nod. “Recorder up there, wired into the light so it only has power as long as the light is on. No light, no power.” He made a poof-motion with one hand. “I can’t imagine they’d have two devices, so I expect we’re safe to talk about everything now.”
Denis’s chin rose, brow furrowed. “There’s a recorder in this room? In the public defender’s room? That’s illegal.”
Cherry fought a laugh and Denis glared at him.
“You might think you’re hiding your thoughts, but I can assure you that your face is telling me the whole story.” Denis grumbled as he leaned back in his chair. “I mean, it’s not as if I haven’t stretched the definition of legal before, but this is blatant and just wrong.”
“You can tell Judge Cooper you found it, and watch his face. Betcha he knows all about it.” Cherry shifted his chair a little closer to Denis. “If I’m wrong, no harm.”
“He’s a friend.” Denis shook his head. “But that’s neither here nor there. Tell me about the arrest.”
“You don’t wanna know where I’ve been before that?” Cherry had to remind himself they’d been a one-time thing. So far. One time so far. His brain wasn’t helpful in staying on task. “Never mind, but I wanna know all those little things about you soon.”
“Let’s start with the arrest, see where we go from there.”