by Jewel Geffen
“You can't compel testimony. He'll just say that he's never seen the drugs before. It's not his car, and he wasn't in it when your sister was arrested. There's nothing tying him to the crime, so why should he throw himself on the sword?”
“Because he loves Tasha. And because I'm not going to give him a choice.” His voice was hard as he spoke, frightening, even.
“It's not that easy. If you threaten him, there are a million ways it could go wrong. If word of it got out to the DA they'd just declare a mistrial and we'd be back at square one. Worse than square one.”
“Then what do you suggest? And don't tell me that she should take a deal. I don't want her going to prison. That's not an option. Tasha deserves better.”
She was saved from having to answer immediately by Millie's return. The waitress came bearing a gigantic platter of foot. Eggs and grits and strips of thick bacon, flapjacks dripping with butter and syrup, the works. Natalie felt her eyes go a bit wide. “This is the usual?”
Jordan just grinned a little. “Dig in,” he said.
“What, are you trying to fatten me up?” She said, laughing slightly. This was more food than she usually ate in a week. She was a small woman, and it didn't take a lot to fill her up. Anyway, she was trying to maintain a slender figure. Soy bars and Pilates, that sort of thing.
“Not exactly,” he said, his voice deep and warm, like a great toasty blanket wrapping itself around her, “you look just fine to me.”
She cast her eyes downward, hoping she wasn't blushing too deeply.
“I just figured you'd be hungry is all. Food is good for the soul. Good for the mind. We need some ideas here.” He shoveled a great quantity of the food onto his plate and dug in with gusto.
She tapped her fingers thoughtfully on the table. “Well... let's just say we play with your idea. If we could get the guy – what's his name, Melvin? – and if he was willing to admit that your sister wasn't involved, there's a chance we could get the DA to drop the case against Tasha. But we're not going to do it by forcing him.”
“What, then?” he asked, crunching into a bite of juicy-looking bacon.
“Well, the way I see it there are two big problems. He needs to want to confess, and the District Attorney needs to buy it. What we need is some kind of deal.”
He frowned. “Deal?”
“He's a member of this gang, right? The Death's Hand?”
“Death-heads.”
“Right. We get him to turn on them. Offer evidence against the higher ups. Turn him over as a witness. They put him in the protection plan instead of prosecuting, so he doesn't have to serve time and he gets his girlfriend off the hook. They get a big stick to whack the gangs with, which is what they really want anyway.”
Jordan leaned back, chewing thoughtfully for a long moment. He was frowning, then he looked up at her, and she had the distinct impression that he was reconsidering his entire conception of who, exactly, he was dealing with.
She couldn't help but grin. Not just a pretty face and a cute butt, Mr. Bishop.
“That's not bad,” he said, tapping his lower lip, “that's not bad at all. I might be able to convince him.”
“It'd be worth a shot, at least.”
“It's complicated, though. Turning on a gang like the Death-heads is a one way ticket. Those sorts of people don't take betrayal lightly, believe me,” his hand strayed unconsciously to his shoulder as he said that, and gave it a squeeze. “And there's another problem.”
“What's that?”
“Melvin is missing.”
“Missing how? In what sense?”
“In the sense that he's not at his home and nobody in his family knows where he is.”
“That is a problem.”
“The way I see it, there are three possibilities.”
Natalie frowned. “Lay it on me.”
He held up his right hand, the last three fingers raised. He counted them off one by one. “One: he ran away. Cut his losses and split. Probably never see him again. Two: the Death-heads decided he was a liability and killed him. Pretty sure they aren't happy about him losing all that dope.”
“I can't imagine they would be,” she said dryly. “What's the third option? Neither of those sounds very hopeful.”
“The third option is the only one which might work out for us. But it'd be tricky. The gang might have seen the heat coming down and decided to stash him some place while they wait to see how it shakes out. Stuff him in a safe house and forget about him until it blows over.”
“What are our chances of finding him if they have done that?”
“Well, there's zero chance of you finding him, or the cops. Too many rat-holes in this city to hide in. I have a few contacts though. Might be able to shake something loose, get on his trail. Wouldn't be easy though. A little legal help might help it along.”
“I'm all yours,” she said, still feeling a little thrill at the words.
He grinned. “Glad to hear it.” He lifted his cup, “Here's to you, Miss Kendall.”
“Please,” she said, clinking her cup against his, “it's Natalie.” She hadn't taken off her wedding ring, but she didn't correct him about that Miss, either.
They finished their enormous breakfast in relative silence, both of them thinking deeply on what lay before them. She primarily on the legal difficulties which lay in store and he, she could only imagine, on the impending conflict with a very nasty-sounding gang. He did most of the eating, but when Millie set the check down on the table she reached for her purse anyway, reflexively. She and Todd didn't go out to eat all that often anymore, but she was used to paying.
Jordan stopped her, however, reaching out a hand to block her from taking the slip of paper. “I got it,” he said.
“Please, I don't mind, I'd be happy to pay.”
He shook his head slowly, “Sorry, Natalie. My mama didn't raise me to let a lady pick up the tab. Where I come from, the man gets the bill.”
“How very patronizing,” she said sarcastically, but inside she was glowing. It felt good not to have to take charge for once.
He smiled at her slightly as he took a money clip out from the pocket of his hoodie and peeled off a pair of twenties and dropped them on the table. “Come on,” he said, sticking the bills back in his pocket.
“Where are we going?”
“For a drive to the penitentiary,” he said, “I think it's time you met your client.”
Chapter Eight
“Nice ride,” he said lightly as he slipped into the seat beside her.
“Thanks,” she said, blushing slightly.
As promised, the car had remained untouched while they'd eaten breakfast. It had been sitting there waiting for her on the side of the road, brazenly gleaming, an absolute magnet for theft in a part of town where it looked like it shouldn't have lasted five minutes, but nobody had touched it. Maybe it had been a coincidence, or maybe it really was due to Jordan.
She glanced over at him as she pulled onto the parkway. He was reclining slightly, his elbow against the door and his cheek rested lightly upon his palm, his eyes gazing through the glass in a contemplative sort of way.
“What's your story, anyway?” she asked.
A ghost of a smile crossed his lips. “What make you think I got a story?”
“Come on, you know what I mean. What do you do?”
“Whatever it takes to get by.”
She frowned slightly. Coming from someone else, that answer might have come off flippant or sarcastic. When he said it, however, the words bore a subtle but profound melancholy, a kind of yearning ache that made her heart hurt just a little. There was pain in his voice, deeply buried but unmistakably there. She wasn't entirely sure how to respond, and for a time they drove in silence.
She tried again after a long moment. “Well, you've got money, so you must have some kind of job.”
“Not in the traditional sense.”
She laughed. “What does that mean?”
“N
o boss. No paycheck. Nothing regular. I never really got down with the nine to five thing, you know? I'm the sort of person who needs his freedom.”
“So what do you do all day?” He wasn't just some bum, was he? It didn't make sense. He'd had that immaculate-looking suit, and then this morning he'd paid for their breakfast without a moment's hesitation. He had means of some kind, and there was too much fire in his person for him to live a life of aimless wandering.
“Ah...” he scratched the back of his neck, looking slightly embarrassed.
“Come on,” she said, grinning at his reticence, “What, is it embarrassing? Are you in porn or something? You look like you'd be good.”
Jesus Christ, Nat, what the hell was that? She felt her cheeks burning. She didn't know which was worse, that she'd asked him if he performed in porn for money, or that she'd said he'd be good at it. Would he take it as an insult, or a sign of her hopeless infatuation? Either way would be a disaster.
He gave no indication of being either offended or embarrassed, however, just shook his head slightly, that little half-smile still in place. “Nothing like that. I'm a... kind of poet, I suppose.”
She blinked. It had been the last answer she'd expected to hear, that was for sure. “A poet?”
“I give a voice to people who can't speak. Or people that don't know how.”
“And... they pay you for that?”
“Sometimes,” he said softly.
She didn't push it any further. Far from providing any sort of enlightenment, the exchange had only made her more confused about exactly who Jordan really was. All she really knew about him was that he cared about his sister, and that she was deeply intrigued by him.
“Are you from around here?” she asked, trying to keep the conversation going despite his obvious reluctance to give up anything about himself.
“All my life. Always been in this city. Feels like a part of me, sometimes.” There was that touch of melancholy again. That ache. “What about you?” he asked, tearing his gaze from the window to glance in her direction.
“I grew up in North Carolina. Kind of a small town. Came here straight out of law school for a job.”
“What do you think of it?”
She gripped the wheel.
The jungle of buildings streamed by through the window, miles and miles of steel and brick and glass, an endless whirlwind of erection and destruction. She'd always found it frightening, or perhaps imposing was a better word. The city contained within it a great and immense cruelty. It was pitiless and absolute, a monument to itself and to the pain and struggle of those who had built it.
At the same time, however, there was undeniable beauty in the chaos. The whole city glittered and pulsed with vibrancy and color. It was like a great beating heart, filled with such a multitude of persons that it was difficult sometimes to wrap her head around it. Seen from afar it showed its majesty and beauty and wealth, but when you got up close you couldn't help but see the dark underbelly.
“I don't really know,” she said, and it was the honest truth.
“Fair enough,” he replied, and the rest of the ride to the penitentiary passed in silence.
It wasn't a long drive. The grim gray edifice of the prison building rose up before them, dark and imposing, ringed with barbed wire. A cold-faced guard stood at the gate. She flashed her ID bag and he waved them through.
Jordan chuckled quietly.
“What's funny?”
“Nothing. I'm just thinking how much easier it is for you to get in here than it was for my mother and I went we came to visit Tasha. Guess they don't think pretty little white lawyers are as dangerous as a scary black man.”
For that, Natalie had no response.
She'd been here before, once or twice to see clients who'd been unlucky enough to find themselves behind bars. They tended to be rich, of course, and were usually kept separated from the general population, stashed away in cushy cells that were well stocked with all the amenities while they awaited trial. Somehow she doubted that Tasha had been afforded the same comforts.
She turned over her purse at the guard's station and duly submitted to the light frisking and pass through the metal detector. Jordan had a harder time of it, she couldn't help but notice, but eventually they were both allowed to pass.
“Visiting room is this way,” one of the guard's grunted, gesturing ahead.
“I need to speak with my client in private,” Natalie said, lifting her chin and giving the man the most intense expression she could manage. “I'm not going to talk with her through glass. Get us a room.”
“You'll talk just like everybody else,” the man said, glancing over at his partner behind the desk.
“Do I need to call Grant Blackburn about this?” she snapped. “I can't imagine he'd be too pleased about having to come down here just to bust your ass...” she glanced at his name badge, “Patrick.”
The guard glowered at her, and looked like he was about to argue further. His companion shook his head however, and the man relented. “Fine, whatever. This way.” He turned and stomped off, muttering to himself as he went.
“Nicely done,” Jordan said, leaning in close, and speaking in a low voice “who's Grant Blackburn?”
“District Attorney's number two guy,” she hissed back.
“Pays to have connections. He'd really do that for you?”
“No chance,” she whispered, “he hates my guts. Probably rather see me in a cell here than help me out.”
Jordan laughed quietly, “In that case, very nicely done.”
She grinned back, glowing at the praise. “I've got a couple tricks up my sleeve.”
“Glad to know my sister is in good hands,” he said, and they continued together deeper into the prison building.
Chapter Nine
“Hey, Jordan,” Tasha Bishop said, apparently quite nonchalant as she slouched into the seat across the table from the two of them. The chains around her wrists and ankles jangled as she sat, and clattered on the hard surface.
Tasha was a tall woman with a build that might have been considered just on the heavier side. She had long kinky hair that curled around her face in a thick curtain. Quick dark eyes looked out, uncertain and untrusting. They focused in on Natalie.
“Who's this?” she said, jutting her chin in Natalie's direction.
“Lawyer,” Jordan said. “She's good.”
Tasha snorted. “She can't be that good, or you wouldn't be able to afford her.”
“I called in a few favors. Got connected.”
“Well, well... look at you, big brother. Always moving up in the world.”
“Come on, girl, don't be like that,” he said, his voice getting softer, “not to me.”
She sighed, her head slowly sinking down until her forehead dropped onto the table. “Sorry,” she mumbled, “I'm losing it in here, Jordan. Place makes me crazy... Dunno how you ever did it.”
He reached out and he clasped her hand, giving it a firm squeeze. “It's gonna be alright. Natalie's gonna help. We got a couple ideas we're putting together. This thing is just getting started.”
She groaned. “God, don't say that. I already just want it over with.”
Natalie decided it was time to assert herself. “I'm going to try and get you out of here, Miss Bishop. The judge should be willing to grant you bail, given the non-violent nature of the crime and your lack of criminal record. I'm confident that we'll have you out of here soon.”
Tasha snorted. “As if we could afford it.”
Jordan frowned. “I'll get the money, Tasha. I want you out of here.”
“You think I might be safer here, though? I'd die if I brought those bastards down on mom.”
Jordan shook his head. “You aren't safe here. Prisons are full of guys working for the gangs. If they want to take you out, you'll be a lot safer at home. At least I can watch out for you there.”
She smiled wearily at him. “I don't think you can protect me from this one, big brother. I
got myself in a real situation, here.”
“It's not your fault, Tasha.”
“Isn't it?” She sighed. “I was so stupid. I should have known there was something up with Melvin from the beginning. I mean, there were signs and stuff, but I just... ignored it, you know? I didn't want to think anything bad about him. I told myself it was all in my head.”
“How long were the two of your together?” Natalie asked quietly, feeling as if she were somehow intruding, but knowing that she needed to familiarize herself with the situation more intimately if she was going to mount a successful defense. It was always a hurdle with a new client, getting them to open up about the thing they least wanted to talk about.
“About six months,” Tasha sniffed. “We met at a party. He wasn't a student, but I just thought he was somebody's friend. He was a little older than the rest of us, but I never suspected... I guess he was probably there to sell.” She pulled a pained and rueful expression. “I'm so dumb...”
“Tasha-” Jordan started, his tone comforting, but she didn't let him finish.
“You don't have to make me feel better, big brother. I know I messed up. One thing about being here, I've had plenty of time to think about everything. I've gone over it again and again in my head, and there are a thousand times I should have realized what was happening. I didn't want to know. I shut my eyes to it all, because he treated me good. Nobody ever treated me as good as he did. But I should have seen it. I should have known he'd be trouble.”
“It's not your fault,” Jordan said stubbornly.
Tasha tried to force a grin, tossing her hair back and making a show of looking around the room. “Don't see nobody else in here.”
“We're gonna get you out, babe. You didn't do anything wrong. You don't deserve this.”
“Yeah,” she said, not sounding particularly convinced. “So what's the big plan? Lawyer lady got some fancy strategy or something? 'Cause I don't see how I'm gonna prove it wasn't my stuff. Don't see how anybody can.”
“There's one person who knows the truth,” Natalie said, glancing at Jordan for confirmation. He nodded. “Melvin can clear you. He can turn himself in and testify that you're innocent of any criminal involvement.”