Total pages in book: 139
Estimated words: 132892 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 664(@200wpm)___ 532(@250wpm)___ 443(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132892 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 664(@200wpm)___ 532(@250wpm)___ 443(@300wpm)
I snorted.
“Do you stand in front of a mirror and practice saying shit like that with a straight face?”
Coales smirked. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Just remember, all we need is a story plausible enough that they won’t suspect we paid off the prosecutors. I’ll admit, it’s a touchy situation, considering an off-duty cop got hurt, but I really do think we’ll be okay. They say that kid—Rome—probably saved the guy’s life. He’s an EMT, did you know that?”
I raised a brow. “No shit?”
Coales grinned at me.
“Yup,” he said. “And he’s well enough known and liked in the EMS community that they’d be covering his ass regardless of our influence, and as of now they’re lumping you in with him, not Jackson. The prosecutor already has his bad guys—patch-holding bikers carrying drugs. He plays that up for the public, nobody will give you another thought. They have bigger fish.”
“And Painter?”
Coales sobered.
“He’s being transported back to Kootenai County,” he said. “They’ll set a hearing, and we expect he’ll be sent back down to California to finish out his term. Not a lot we can do about it at this point.”
Leaning back, I stared at the wall above his head, considering the situation.
“And you said his girl is pregnant? Melanie?”
“Can’t remember her name,” he said. “But yes, apparently she told him yesterday. He left her to come over here, and now he’s going to prison. At least he’s only got a couple years left on the term.”
“Yeah, I’m sure that’s a great comfort,” I said. “What a fuckin’ waste. He’d been here maybe five minutes before shit went down.”
Coales shrugged.
“It is what it is. Ruger and Horse will be waiting for you outside when you get out, along with your bike. None of the Nighthawks have made bail yet—fucking up a cop is a real good way to find yourself in legal limbo. They’ll drag out everything and make it as difficult as possible. We’ll also reach out to the bail bonds community and see if we can’t complicate their situation. Think Pic plans to use that window of opportunity to clean house up in Hallies Falls. They’re expecting you to debrief as soon as you’re back in town. Try not to get yourself arrested again in the process, okay?”
“Thanks,” I told him. “I have a request, if you can help.”
“What’s that?”
“You said it’ll a take a couple more hours for me to get out?”
“Yes. We have to deal with paperwork and bail and some pissed off cops,” he said. “I’m confident it’s settled, but we still have to jump through the hoops.”
“You think you can arrange for me to share a room with Marsh Jackson for a few minutes before I go?”
Coales raised a brow. “Possibly. But think it through first because you’re almost out of here. Why take that risk?”
“Because I owe him,” I replied. “And the club owes me, so can you make it happen?”
“It’s a lot easier to get my clients out on bail when they aren’t picking fights. Something to think about.”
“He just tried to murder a cop. Every person in this station is itching to beat him bloody but they can’t. Let me do the dirty work for them and everyone wins.”
Coales leaned back in the chair, studying me thoughtfully for a minute.
“As your counsel, I need to tell you that this is a bad idea.”
“Noted.”
“Then I’ll see what I can do.”
• • •
They put me in a holding cell at the far end of the hall—enough distance that the deputy supervising could pretend he hadn’t heard anything. According to his uniform, his last name was Graves and he looked nervous, but determined.
“Wait in here,” he said under his breath. “Two transfer officers will bring him in. We’ll give you about ten minutes, then I’ll notice the transfer officers made a mistake and come take you back out again. As far as we’re concerned, they got the wrong door and didn’t realize you were in there. You can’t kill him or cause new damage to his face, and if anyone asks it was self-defense.”
I nodded, wondering how much Coales had paid him. Graves might be doing it for free. He certainly had the motivation—law enforcement was a brotherhood, too. Stretching my neck, I paced the cell until I heard footsteps coming down the hallway, more than one set this time. Then the door opened and Marsh Jackson stumbled through, arms and legs chained for transfer. Nice touch, although I felt a little hurt that they thought I’d need the advantage.
“Hey, Marsh,” I said. He looked like shit, and not just because he’d sobered up. His nose was swollen, with bruising under both eyes. Probably broken. One of his hands was cut up, too, but beyond that he didn’t seem injured. Kind of surprised me—I’d have thought he’d go down fighting, and jacked up like that he’d be tough to take. On the other hand, they were the ones with the Tasers . . .