by Hazel Parker
“Figured,” Splitter said. “Not the first damn time that people have judged us just because of what we do.”
“But it would not be any easier or harder in terms of whatever happened between us.”
I tried to imagine myself having said something so… so personal, so romantic, just a few days before, and it was laughable. But there was no stopping myself now.
“What happened last night… to be honest with you, Splitter, I should be regretting it. I should be removing myself from your case. But I can’t, because I know what you told me, you probably cannot tell any other lawyer. And furthermore, I do not regret what happened. I may regret what is to come, but I do not regret what I did. I’ll tell you that I’m going to move very slowly with you, and it can fall apart at any second. You’re getting wrapped up with a lawyer who just got a very public divorce. If that’s not the world’s largest red flag, I don’t know what is.”
Splitter gave a laugh that was exaggerated by what I suspected was relief.
“Well, if you saw some of the things that members of this club do, you’d realize that your red flag is basically pink and the size of a napkin,” he said. “I don’t regret it, either, Amber. In fact, I’m the one who initiated it, so I’m the opposite of regret. I’m prideful of it. Maybe not of grabbing your ass, but…”
I didn’t want to say that it wasn’t that I didn’t like it, just that it was too much too soon. Now that I had experienced it and survived, though…
Well, maybe it wasn’t very prudish and polite of me to admit, but I craved Splitter’s touch there. And elsewhere. And oh, yes, so many other places.
I probably would never feel comfortable admitting as much, at least not in the early stages like this, but yeah, what Splitter was embarrassed by was not shameful.
“Don’t worry about it,” I said. “I trust you, as a gentleman, that you will treat me right, go at my pace, and not do anything that would hurt me or my trust.”
“Absolutely,” he said. “My mother would murder me before the DMs if she knew I was mistreating a lady.”
“I’m sure, but let’s stay focused. So, yes, Splitter, I would love to stay on the case with you,” I said. “However, I do need to make clear that we do need a real practice of cross-examination. We need this to actually happen. And we cannot have alcohol.”
“Aw, man, really? You’re taking away my vices one by one.”
“Surprise: it’s my plan to make you into a priest.”
Splitter laughed.
“Not sure there’s a diocese in the world that wouldn’t burn up at the presence of my soul, but hey, good luck with that. I’d be the one drinking all the wine before communion.”
“Oh my God, Splitter!” I said, feeling flustered at what both of us had said. “Enough of that. Look, let’s plan for a meeting tonight, OK? No alcohol. Nothing. Same rules apply; consider no alcohol a fourth rule.”
“Alright, fine,” Splitter grumbled. “At this point, might as well make a ten commandments for me. Thou shalt not swear. Thou shalt not drink. Thou shalt not engage in any pleasures that would make a man feel awesome. Have I listed them all?”
“Don’t forget thou shalt listen to Amber Reynolds completely,” I said with a smirk.
It was amazing how all of the tension, all of the frustration, and all of the disappointment from the night before had just vanished with what was still a very short phone call. Nothing in me regretted what I had done, and I knew that if my gut and my soul didn’t feel bothered by this—if there wasn’t some nagging voice in the back of my head telling me that I had made a mistake—then I had made the right choice.
“Only if thou shalt treat Splitter properly after the trial,” he replied.
“Woah, easy there, bucko, one thing at a time,” I said. “Let’s meet tonight, OK? Nine o’clock?”
“Sure, works for me.”
We chatted a little bit easier and about lighter topics for another minute or so before I promised him that I would see him that evening. He ended the call with the sound of making a kiss, which left me blushing and laughing before saying goodbye.
When I put my phone down, I was struck by how… by how little I cared that what I was doing was something I swore never to do. Yeah, my emotions were a little out of whack from the divorce, but I was well aware of what I was doing. I was conscious of the fact that my actions were not the typical lawyer-client relationship, so I wanted to believe that gave me some leeway.
In any case, I think because we had acted on our emotions, it would be so much easier for us to be professional and distant in public. We could restrain ourselves and not give each other looks until we got to the clubhouse or somewhere else private.
Assuming that it keeps progressing. You know every step is going to be harder and harder to commit to. This is fun right now, kissing a biker. What happens when he wants more? And not just physically.
One step at a time, Amber. One step at a time.
I opened my email to catch up for about an hour before heading to the office. The soccer star had blitzed me, as usual, with more requests to talk. I did my best to brush them off, but dang were they starting to get annoying and overwhelming. I would never end a relationship because a client was obnoxious in communication, but I told myself I had to put him in his place a bit.
There were a few media requests that I deleted, a few invitations to speak at law conventions that I stored away for future reading, and a few requests for work that I all answered with, “Sorry, but I am fully booked. Try these lawyers instead.”
That was true, by the way. I really did need to take a step back, and though I could have probably fit one more client in the schedule, I wasn’t going to add anyone right now with the way my head was.
Just before I closed out my email, though, I got one from Edwin, the DA prosecuting Splitter’s case. The subject was simple. “Evidence.”
“Attached is the evidence we have for this case,” he wrote. “Please review as you need.”
The good news, I realized as I read through everything, was that there was no real smoking gun of hard evidence. There were no fingerprints, there were no casings from a gun specifically linked to him, there was nothing of the sort.
The bad news was that they had so many witnesses listed that it took up more than one page. I didn’t recognize any of the names, but I knew that for the number of people listed, more than a few had heard or seen the Saints rolling into that warehouse location. And more than a few, it seemed, were interested in pegging Splitter for the crime.
I had never seen a list so long in my life. I suspected that not all of these individuals were physical witnesses to the crime, but rather were character witnesses meant to disparage the Saints and Splitter specifically. It was clear the strategy of Edwin and the state—they were going to take down the Saints either by winning the case or by creating such bad PR for them that the case wouldn’t matter.
Cross-examination, then, was no longer just something that was nice to do. It wasn’t staring in the face of a rival gang member and getting him to crack. Oh, no, it was now much, much worse.
We’d have to get creative in figuring out how we would approach this.
Creative? What does that mean?
Are you going to blur ethical lines for the sake of your client? Are you sure you want to do that?
I barely recognized who I was anymore, even though I had not given any thought to what “creative” meant. Instead, I just realized that I was going to do anything—literally, anything—to protect Splitter.
And this is why the Bar doesn’t let lawyers sleep with their clients.
In the end, I decided to do what I always did—I would present all the facts to Splitter and his team at his clubhouse and let them decide what they wanted to do. I would do my job as a lawyer.
What Splitter wanted to do otherwise…
I couldn’t say it wasn’t my concern, because I demanded full honesty from him.
But… well, let’s just say
that things all of a sudden were changing a lot for me in terms of what I valued and believed in.
And though I knew I liked Splitter, I wasn’t sure I liked this part of myself.
Chapter 11: Splitter
I had made the call to Amber in the comfort of the hall, with Trace having given me the opportunity to make the call in privacy. In fact, Trace had given me the entire clubhouse to myself. Everyone else was sent home and told to stay out of touch for a few days.
As for me, I intended to come back here a few times, but that was only because of my legal situation. Trace was going to spend time with his girlfriend. Krispy, Mafia, BK, and Sword would all go to their respective homes. Sensei would probably spend time with his daughter.
But me? I wasn’t leaving, because how could I? Whether I was in the clubhouse or in a penthouse in Las Vegas, the charges were following me. Only by leaving the country could I escape them, that just was not happening. First off, I was not going to abandon the Savage Saints out of some fear that I’d get convicted of all of these crimes; I would find a way to fight them, I would find a way to get off, and I would find a way to return to the club in good standing. Secondly, I would be breaking my bail conditions.
I spent the rest of the day mixing in naps with workouts. I tried to kill the time until nine, and while my workouts and my naps did manage to do a decent job of blocking out the outside noise, the actual time spent doing those things was only about four hours combined; that still left several hours for me to think about things. It was more or less the same goddamn thoughts in my head—thinking about Amber, thinking about my luck, thinking about the goddamn DMs.
Finally, shortly before nine o’clock, I heard Amber’s BMW parking near the shop. I peered out the windows to see if anyone else was coming and took a step outside. I thought about how our first physical interaction would go—a kiss? A hug? Nothing? The conversation this morning suggested that things had gone well enough that I didn’t need to worry about that, that I’d get a kiss, but…
“Hey,” Amber said as she got out of the car, still stunningly attractive.
Today, she had on a button-down, no suit, and some white slacks.
But unlike in previous days, there were a few extra buttons unbuttoned, and her white slacks seemed even more tightly conformed to her body than before. It was definitely a sign that she was trying to show off the goods more than before, and… goddamn, somehow, she looked even finer from my vantage point than she had when I first saw her. And when I first saw her, she was the most fucking beautiful woman I had ever seen.
They said that men eventually became accustomed to a woman’s beauty, but with Amber, I didn’t know how the fuck that would ever happen.
“Let’s go inside,” she said as I tried my best not to stare at her chest.
“OK,” I said, immediately picking up on what she meant. No cameras, no public viewings, nothing outside.
We can’t be taking any risks associated with us. Even just this scene right here—her coming to me at night, me standing by the door in jeans and a t-shirt—is kind of a bad look.
I went back in, held the door for her, and waited until the door had shut completely. I wasn’t sure if she wanted to kiss me, but I did embrace her tightly.
The way she fell into me, I knew that everything would be just fine. She hugged me so close it was like we were merging into one person. I swayed gently with her, scratching her hair as she came close.
When she pulled back, she flipped her hair to the side, stared at me, and gave me a big kiss. It was short, but it was definitely more than just a peck on the lips. She smiled as she pulled back.
“That was nice,” she said. “Unfortunately, what I’m about to go over with you is probably not going to be nice. The state gave me further evidence today.”
“Uh oh.”
I’m fucked, aren’t I?
“I would normally say to be optimistic, but in this case… uh-oh might be the right response. It’s not a smoking gun, but it’s not good.”
Amber had me sit at one of the tall chairs by the bar. She pulled out her laptop, typed in her password, and went to her email. I saw her opening an email from someone named Edwin—the name I immediately recognized as that of the district attorney. Already, I was feeling a swell of anger that wasn’t going to get any better.
She clicked on an attachment and opened a long document that she scrolled through.
“Most of this is either very weak or just meaningless stuff to you,” she said. “I have to go through all of it, but it doesn’t pertain to you, at least in the sense that you have to worry about it. What we do have to worry about, however…”
She came to one of the last pages. On the page was a list of over a dozen names, a couple of whom I recognized as DMs. I knew instantly what this meant.
“Witnesses,” I said.
“Unfortunately, yes,” she said. “It would be one thing if there were only a couple of witnesses. We could easily establish reasonable doubt, and that’s all we need to win this case. We don’t need to be more sure than not. We just need to create enough doubt in the jury’s head to make them declare you innocent. Unfortunately, the number of witnesses here…”
“Not good, huh?”
The list ran over a page long. I didn’t know the first damn thing about witnesses and how many were in a trial, but that seemed like a goddamn lot from my very general knowledge and what I had seen on crime shows and movies.
“I doubt all of these are actual witnesses to the crime,” she said. “More likely than not, many of them are character witnesses who are being called to assassinate your character and the character of the Saints. The idea being that if you are seen as liars with compulsive behaviors, even if the evidence isn’t the greatest in the world, you’ll still be seen as a threat to society at large who needs to be locked away.”
“That’s bullshit,” I blurted out.
Thank God Amber didn’t demand perfection in following her rules.
“Well, to put it bluntly and crudely, Splitter, we live in a world of bullshit, and that’s the world we have to all live in, not the one where everyone is judgment-free and we can all do as we please.”
I’m not sure there was a more damning statement than the fact that Amber had just sworn at me. It was of little solace to me to know that she would be filled with regret at having sworn and would go to her priest to beg for forgiveness.
And if she did not, that was even more telling.
“The odds are stacked against you here, Splitter,” she said. “The state probably recognizes that it can’t beat you on hard evidence. But for a variety of reasons, you’re a thorn in their side. They’re not going to waste an opportunity like this. If they have to parade a hundred witnesses out to make their point, they will. This is character assassination, undoubtedly, but it’s going to be effective if we cannot figure something out.”
“Can we discredit the witnesses?” I asked. “I know some of these names. A few of these are rival gang members. It won’t be hard to make them look bad.”
“A few, maybe, sure,” she said. “We might even be able to go through all of them. But the point remains. To be clear, I don’t think the state is going to call all of these witnesses forward, and some may ask not to testify or may plead the fifth in a few cases. But… yeah. I’m sorry, Splitter.”
I leaned back in my chair. No, I did not know all of the names on there. But I knew enough to know that many of the people on that list had checkered backgrounds—to put it mildly—and were scumbags in their own right. If they weren’t being held accountable by us, then it was some bullshit, because apparently the state was happy to look the other way if we got in trouble.
“So it’s our word against theirs,” I said. “That’s what this case is going to come down to.”
“Afraid so,” Amber said. “And it’s supposed to be a jury of your peers, but your peers definitely won’t be up there. I can press for people with more blue-collar jobs, people who would bet
ter relate to you, but I can’t promise anything. More likely than not, Splitter, as much as I don’t want to believe this will be the case, the jury is going to judge you automatically because of your position and what you do. And that’s assuming that we make you as presentable as possible in court.”
“Damnit!” I roared.
This was too much. I’d had such a good victory this morning getting Amber back on the case, and now, it may not have even mattered? What good was some goddamn distance from the rest of the Saints if I was still going to jail anyway?
“No one gives a fuck about us!” I roared. “We do so much for the community, protecting everyone from the outside, and sure, some people in Green Hills like us. But go outside, and it’s ‘oh my God, look at those bikers! They’re so loud and rude!’ Well fuck ‘em, I say!”
“Splitter,” Amber said, trying to calm me down. It wasn’t doing much good.
“Let’s burn this entire fucking city to the ground! Huh! Or better yet, maybe the Saints can just stop what we’re doing and go somewhere further north, where we’ll be goddamn welcomed! Maybe then, as Green Hills and L.A. descends into further chaos, they’ll realize how goddamn lucky they were to have us. Maybe then, they won’t be so goddamn stupid as to think that we were the bad guys. Fucking hell!”
Amber didn’t say a word as I slammed my first into the wall, creating a dent. I shook my hand, muttering “motherfuckers” as I tried to get rid of the pain in my knuckles and in my head. Neither were doing a good job.
“My job as a lawyer is to tell you what will happen, not what should happen,” she said. “I know you don’t like it, and I’m sorry. But we have to prepare properly.”
Tell you what will happen, not what should happen.
Yeah, I’ve heard that all my damn life.
“No one ever respects me,” I groused.
“Sorry?”
So many memories came back. So many feelings and suppressed rage from well before I had ever joined the Savage Saints came rushing into my head. It wasn’t a very good feeling, going down that particular memory lane. It was more like speeding to a highway accident.