Bullet Work

by Steve O'Brien

  After scraping himself through more of the forest, he broke out into another clearing. Looking to the left, he could tell he was near the point where the gun was fired. There was a burst of activity to his right where several people congregated around the stall, the targets of the shooting. AJ crouched down and looked for any sign of movement up the hill.

  He scurried up the hill, sometimes on his hands and knees, but he continued to climb. After about thirty feet he reached a plateau. He turned and looked down on the backside. This had to be where the shot came from. AJ looked down on the barn below him.

  Below him, lights were on, and a pickup had been pulled near to illuminate the barn area with its headlights. AJ stood silently and listened. No sound around him. He started to move to the right when he kicked something solid.

  He bent down, and his hand found a rifle. The barrel was warm. He picked it up. He’d never held a gun before, much less a high-powered rifle. As he was examining the gun a flashlight came on and blinded AJ. He put his hand up to shade his eyes and peered into the light.

  “Hold it right there,” a voice shouted.

  Part Three

  Into the Turn

  Humans were wired for justice.

  At least it was comforting to think that.

  The misconception persisted that

  right and wrong were easily discerned.

  Justice was not static. Justice was simply a perspective, a matter of degrees, a sliding scale. Too often justice, like beauty, resided solely in

  the eye of the beholder.

  All lawyers knew that.

  Facts were a tapestry woven to meet the

  buyer’s eye. Good lawyers exploited that.

  In the abstract, doing the right thing

  was simple, an objectively determined fait accompli. Justice, as theory, was casually applied in the absence of issues that confront real life.

  Who was entitled? Who decided?

  One man’s justice was another’s tyranny. Authority cloaked the few as defenders of justice. But authority was manmade; hence, justice was shaped in authority’s image.

  The distance between self-defense and

  murder was one second—a wink, an untimely tic, a frightened gesture. And, of course, it involved delving into the murky minds of the killer

  and the killed.

  Justice became the bedrock of survivors

  and victors. Their personal histories were translated as justice. Just as dead men told no tales, the vanquished were defined by justice—never ones to define it.

  The only test of justice was whether it

  protected those who refused to fight back.

  Justice was never the battle of one man.

  It remained the struggle of all men.

  Chapter 35

  dan’s cell phone chirped as he was driving to work. It was just before seven, and he wanted to get a head start on an appellate brief he was under deadline to file. Dan pressed the button on his wireless earpiece. “Hello?”

  “It’s Jake.”

  He never called this early. “Jake, what’s up? Oh no, don’t tell me. We get hit last night?”

  “No, we’re fine. But two horses from Creighton’s barn got shot last night.”

  “Got shot? Jesus.”

  “Yeah, well, the reason I called is they arrested someone.”

  “About time. Who’d they arrest?” Dan asked as he glanced in his rearview mirror and changed lanes.

  “The kid,” Jake said.

  “The kid? What kid?”

  “Kid from Latimer’s barn.”

  “What?”

  “Thought you’d want to know.”

  “Come on, Jake, that’s insane. That kid wouldn’t hurt a horse in a million years.”

  “Yeah, well, they found him with a rifle. They went through his stuff in the barn and found a syringe, a three-foot length of pipe, and a shit load of cash.”

  “That’s crazy, Jake.”

  “Just telling you what’s going on.”

  “Where’d they take him?”

  “Don’t know. They took him away in a Prince William County sheriff’s car about half an hour ago.”

  “Thanks, Jake.”

  Dan swerved into the center lane, made an illegal U-turn, and punched it. His best guess was they’d take him to the station on Route 28. It was the one nearest the track. AJ won’t last five minutes in lock up.

  Dan torpedoed into the parking lot, jumped from the car, and raced toward the front door. Once inside, he went to the intake desk. The desk officer was a young kid, yakking on the phone. No one else was present.

  “I’m Dan Morgan.” The officer looked at him like Dan was out of his mind. “I represent AJ Kaine. I demand to see him immediately. If he’s being interrogated, I order you to stop.”

  The officer put his hand over the speaker of the phone and said, “Just a minute.”

  Dan reached over the counter and disconnected the call. “Don’t got a minute.”

  “What the—”

  “AJ Kaine. Is he being held here? If so, I want to see him. Right fucking now.”

  The officer put the phone down and stared at him. Dan stared back and gestured with his hands like do something. He began lazily punching buttons on his keyboard. “Might take a while.”

  Dan reached into his pocket and pulled out his pocket dictaphone recorder. “This is Dan Morgan,” He looked at his watch. “It’s 7:28 a.m. on August 9. I’m at the intake desk of the Prince William County sheriff’s department on Route 28. I informed officer—” Dan picked up the nameplate on the counter. “Officer J. Sterling that I represent AJ Kaine. Is all of that correct, Officer?” He held the dictaphone toward Sterling.

  The officer pulled back like Dan was holding a snake. “What the hell are you doing?”

  He put the dictaphone behind his back, leaned toward him, and whispered, “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m making a record of my lawful demand seeking to protect my client’s constitutional rights. This recording will come in damn handy in the civil rights case I’m going to file if you don’t get me in there right now.”

  Dan pulled the dictaphone back toward himself and continued. “At 7:27 I informed Officer Sterling that I wanted to see my client immediately and that any interrogation of my client must cease. Isn’t that correct, Officer Sterling?”

  Sterling reached under the desk, then there was a metallic buzz coming from the door to Dan’s left. The officer cocked his head as if to say go on in.

  The door opened to a hallway with a series of doors on either side. About three-quarters of the way down the hall Dan spotted Tim Belker, talking with two sheriff department officers.

  “Who’s the officer in charge?”

  The taller of the two officers turned. “I am. Who are you?”

  “I’m Dan Morgan, AJ Kaine’s attorney. I want to see him immediately.”

  “He’s being printed now. You can talk to him when they’re done.”

  “I want to see him now.” He glared at Belker as he approached.

  The officer turned and continued down the hall. “Follow me.”

  “I want to know if you’ve interrogated him, and, if so, I want a record of everything he said.”

  “We haven’t interrogated him yet. Security guy from the track did. Kid said the gun was his.”

  “Bullshit.” He’d have to move to quash that statement in court. No way AJ owns a gun. He better not.

  They walked to a booking area. An overweight woman in a blue, tight-fitting sheriff’s uniform was talking quietly with AJ as she was rolling his fingertips on the paper form pinned to the counter.

  “That’s an unusual name. That a family name?”

  “No, ma’am. It’s from the Bible.”

  “Well, isn’t that interesting.”

  “AJ,” Dan interrupted. AJ looked up and appeared relieved that a friendly face had shown up.

  The woman handed AJ a paper towel and squirted some liquid into the palms of
his hands.

  “That’ll clean you up.”

  “AJ, come with me.” He glanced at the officer’s nametag. “I need a room where I can meet with my client, Detective Manning.”

  They moved back into the hallway, and the detective opened a door. AJ and Dan walked in. The boy went over to one of the gray metal chairs behind the scarred metal desk in the center of the room. AJ slumped into the chair and said, “I didn’t do it—I didn’t do nothing.”

  “I know, AJ. I know. I’m going to try and get you out of here, but it might be a few days. Here’s what I need you to do.” Dan pointed a finger at him for emphasis. “Don’t you talk to anyone in here—I don’t care who it is. I don’t care how nice they are to you or what they promise you. Unless I’m here, you don’t talk, okay?”

  The boy nodded.

  “If they put you in lock up, you just keep to yourself.”

  “You mean I can’t leave? Who’s gonna take care of my horses? I can’t stay here.” AJ stood and waved his arms, a reflex to the sudden terror that he couldn’t be around horses today.

  “They aren’t going to let you leave right now.”

  “Why not? I didn’t do nothing.”

  “I know. Look, I need to ask you some questions, and I need you to tell me the truth.”

  “I always tell the truth.”

  “How old are you?”

  “Nineteen.”

  Damn it. Dan was hoping he was still a minor. He could get him assigned to better, safer youth lock down. That idea was blown.

  “Okay. Did you tell Officer Belker—you know, the security guy from the track—did you tell him the gun was yours?”

  “No. I said I found it.”

  “Well, he’s saying you told him it’s your gun.”

  Dan could see AJ getting fidgety. The idea that he couldn’t leave had never occurred to him; now it was beginning to sink in. He wouldn’t see his horses today.

  “No, sir,” AJ said. “He asked me where I got the gun. I said I found it. He never asked me if it was mine.”

  “What else did he ask you?”

  “Nothing. He went through my stuff, then had me sit in his car until the sheriff showed up.”

  “I need to know what happened last night. Everything.” AJ recounted the story about trying to get to the flash of light and finding the rifle.

  “Okay sit right here,” Dan said. “I’ll be right back.”

  He stormed out of the room and up the hallway to where Belker and Manning were standing. Dick Latimer was with them.

  “He never said the gun was his. I don’t know what the hell you’re trying to pull, Belker, but you got an innocent kid in there.”

  “I asked him where he got the gun. He said he found it.”

  “Yeah, like ten fucking seconds before you arrested him. That doesn’t make it his gun; just means he found it. What the hell’s the matter with you?”

  “Hey.” Belker put his hands on his hips and leaned toward him. “I hear a gunshot, I go to the spot, I find the kid holding the rifle, two horses been shot. You do the math.”

  “Where’s a kid like that going to keep a high-powered rifle? He saw the muzzle flash and ran up there. That’s all he did, and you’re trying to pin the whole fucking deal on him.” Dan turned to Manning. “You cannot put that boy in lock up. You can’t. I want him released. Now. You know you don’t have enough to hold him.” Dan knew he had a weak argument. With a firearms incident, they could hold him for forty-eight hours on suspicion without even charging him, but he had to try and get AJ out.

  Belker didn’t back down a bit. “Then I go through his stuff—he’s got a lead pipe, a big fat roll of cash, and a syringe that their lab is going to test.” He pointed a thumb at Manning. Manning nodded.

  “Big fucking deal. The lead pipe doesn’t mean anything. We going to start arresting people for having cash? Jesus, man, think. And a syringe? Are you kidding me? Syringes practically litter the backside. Probably not the greatest thing, but that doesn’t give you shit to hold this kid.” He turned toward Latimer. “Dick, you know it’s not his gun. Heck, you’d know if he was carrying around a damn hunting rifle.”

  “Absolutely.” Latimer turned toward Belker. “Tim, there’s no way the kid did this. No way. Kid couldn’t hurt a horse. Not a chance.”

  “Can’t release him. Kid’s a transient,” Manning said.

  “He’s not a transient. He works for this guy.” Dan pointed at Latimer. “He has a job. His job just moves from town to town a few times a year.”

  The other officer came down the hallway and handed Manning a note. He opened it, read it, and looked at Dan.

  “Listen, Officer Manning,” Dan continued. “Let the kid go; let him work his job. After the work day I’ll pick him up. He can stay with me. I’ll be personally responsible for him. All these horse attacks have been at night. If you honestly believe that this kid hurt those horses, then I’ll take him off the grounds and watch him every night.”

  Belker piped up: “He’ll just start attacking the horses during the day.”

  “You ever see this kid around horses? It’s fucking magical, okay? The idea that he would harm those horses is ludicrous.” Dan pointed at Latimer. “Dick, you have the slightest concern about having this boy around your stock?”

  “Nope. Not a bit.”

  “All I know is I got someone attacking horses on the backside,” Belker said. “It needs to stop. Some forest fairy might have left the gun, and the kid found it. Who knows? But this is the best angle I got to go on, so pardon me for trying to do my job by keeping a suspect off the premises.”

  Manning refolded the paper message and slid it into his shirt pocket. “We’re not going to charge him. For now.” He pointed at Dan. “We’ll consider it an open investigation. If we want to question him, you better have him here pronto, you understand? We need to find him, we’re coming to see you,” he said, gesturing toward Dan. “I don’t know what’s going on over at the racetrack. That’s not my problem. Officer Sterling will have some paperwork for you to fill out. After that, take the kid and go.”

  Chapter 36

  ginny walked across the road toward Jake’s barn. Beth and Jorge were getting ready to hose off Hero’s Echo, who galloped for the first time since returning. Jake was down on his haunches, cupping the left front knee in his hands for signs of heat. When he spotted Ginny, he stood and pointed toward his office. Ginny altered course and moved toward Jake’s office.

  “What do you think?” Jake said to Beth, as if testing her.

  She crouched and cupped the colt’s knee. “Seems fine to me,” she said. “Been off a while.”

  Jake nodded and seemed pleased. “Yeah, he’s fine. We’ll watch him for the next few days. Put some heat on and wrap him. He’ll be okay. We just need to bring him along slower.”

  Beth nodded.

  Jake slapped the horse on the hind quarter, turning to Jorge. “Rinse him off. Walk him out.”

  “You got it, boss.”

  Ginny was leaning against the wall of Jake’s office, studying the condition book.

  “Ginny.”

  “Jake.”

  Jake settled behind his desk and leaned forward on his elbows.

  “Ginny.” He paused for a second. “I need some time.”

  Ginny looked at Jake and nodded. Not a nod of agreement, a nod that said, is that so?

  The silence caused Jake to continue. “I’m a little tight right now—”

  “You were tight when you called me. Nothing’s changed.”

  “Bastard tried to kill my filly, so I got to pay protection money. Will run me dry for about a week.”

  Ginny returned his gaze to the condition book. “What about the juice?”

  “I need a week, Ginny. That’s what I’m saying.”

  “So you don’t even got the juice?”

  “Ginny, I just need a little breathing room here. Got three horses in the next two days—”

  “You’ll be lucky to
hit the board with one,” said Ginny. He stood and moved directly across from Jake, only the desk separated them.

  “Purse money will be available next week,” Jake said. “Got a few owners with checks in the mail.”

  Ginny looked at him sideways. “Checks in the mail? Is that what we’ve come to?”

  “Give me a week. I can get current.”

  “Not good enough.”

  Desperation in Jake required him to keep making offers.

  “You know my filly can win that stake. That’ll clean everything.”

  “If she can win it. She’s good, but she’s no lock.” Ginny tapped the condition book against his open hand. “You know, a guy starts missing payments, even for the juice, it’s liable to make a guy nervous.”

  “Ginny, you know I’m good for it. I’m gonna drop Gentleman Tim down to a nickel. Gotta race next week.”

  Ginny whistled long and low.

  “He’s worth twice that—three times,” said Jake. “I own him outright. I’ll get the purse and the claim price. Between that, the filly stake, and a few owners’ checks, we’re good.”

  “We’re not good, Jake,” he said, tossing the condition book onto Jake’s desk. “But here’s what I’m willing to do. How many horses you got outright?” Ginny leaned forward, pressing his hands against the desktop, getting in Jake’s face.

  “Me alone?” Jake asked, pulling back away from Ginny.

  “Yeah. How many?”

  “Three. On the grounds anyway. Gentleman Tim, Pristine Fiend, and Doxter.

  “What about Devil’s Harp?”

  “I only own half. Along with Chip Dallas.”

  “Okay,” said Ginny. “I want a half interest in all three, plus your half interest in Devil’s Harp.”

  Jake’s mouth dropped open.

  “Hey, you’re the one who can’t pay the juice. Pay my juice, and we don’t need a new deal. But?” Ginny said shrugging. “Guy starts missing payments, a solid lender’s got to secure some collateral. Just business, Jake.”