by Teagan Kade
Now I eye him. “I thought you were supposed to be the shy, reserved King?”
He laughs. “Even black sheep can have their secrets.”
I roll my eyes. “I don’t want to know what kinky sexual shit you’ve been up to.”
“You know me. I don’t roll like you guys, sleeping with anything within sixty miles. I have principles.”
I laugh so hard I fall into a coughing fit, reaching for my chest to steady myself. “Thank you. I needed that.”
“Glad I could be of service. Now, you going to start talking or should get a car battery and nipple clamps?”
“And there we go again with the kinky sexual shit.”
“Hey,” he fires back, jabbing the remote at me, “at least I’m not turning into Betty Crocker. I’ve seen you in the kitchen. We’ve got a guy for that, you know.”
“I’ve already asked him for a few pointers.”
“Keep it up and your dick’s going to be run back inside your body, leave you with a pussy.”
“Wouldn’t be so bad. I get sick of tucking it into my tube sock as it is.”
He shoves me in the side but I barely budge. “Everyone knows I am packing the biggest—”
I put a finger up to silence him, taking out my cell, Heather’s name on the screen.
“Your boyfriend?” asks Nolan.
“Not quite.”
“Better take it.”
I ignore the call, swiping it away.
“Suit yourself,” he says, placing his feet up on the coffee table and continuing to watch the hockey.
My phone pings to register voicemail has been received. There’s a split second of hesitation before I stand and move down to the front lounge.
I check I’m alone before answering, pacing there on the cream carpet of the lounge. I bring my phone up and listen to Heather’s message.
She sounds panicked. “I don’t have a lot of time, so please listen. I’m in jail downtown. They threw me in here with some bullshit charge and I’ve used my one phone call on you because you’re the only person I know who has an attorney.”
Holy shit. She hasn’t said why she’s in jail, but I have a pretty good inkling.
“Look,” she goes on, and I hear someone wolf whistle in the background, “I hate asking for your help, but I’ve got no other options here. I need you and that’s really all there is to it. I hope you can understand.”
The line goes dead.
I take a seat staring at the phone considering what to do. I’m conscious of a new tension enveloping me, a protectiveness I haven’t felt in a long time, but there’s something else. I probe and pick at it until it reveals itself.
Shame.
That’s what it is. I feel an inch fucking tall that she’s apologizing for asking me to help her. Am I really that much of an asshole?
I go into contacts and pull up Weston’s number, the family attorney. It’s been a while, but he’s on retainer for good reason, for precisely this kind of thing. If Dad wants to argue details, fine, but I’m going to get Heather out no matter what.
Weston answers. “Phoenix, dare I ask?”
I get straight to the point. “I need you to bail out someone, downtown.”
“Which one and what’s he done?”
“None of them, and it’s a she.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
“Give me the details. I’ll see what I can do.”
“And Weston?”
“Yes.”
“Let’s keep my father out of this one.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
I give Weston the details and hang on, slumping deep into the wingback and thinking of Heather there behind bars. Can’t say it’s all bad. She is a badass, probably has a bigger set of balls than the entire basketball team.
Ah, but you know that ain’t true.
I twist at the thought of our previous encounters, the hot iron of her hand around my cock, the way she ground down against me, wet as a summer storm.
An idea occurs to me. It is completely, out-there, batshit crazy, but the smile it’s bringing to my face is telling me I’m going to go through with it.
Dad’s going to freak, of course. It might even raise an eyebrow or two around campus, town even, but it could also bring attention of a different kind. It only takes me five seconds to decide.
I head back into the kitchen and take my keys out of the bowl by the microwave, grabbing my jacket from the hook on the wall.
“Where you off to?” asks Nolan, refusing to turn around.
I pull my jacket into place, looking at myself in the mirror of the oven door. “Destiny.”
I drive downtown and pull into the supermarket, impressed I’m starting to get to know my way around the place. I stop at the pre-made counter up the back, a young kid there with a face like the surface of Mars suddenly standing to attention.
“Hey, I know you,” he says. “You’re Phoenix King.”
“Spot on.”
“What team are you going to sign with?” He’s excited now. “Lakers, Blazers? Bulls? You’d look great in red.” He realizes what he’s said. “Not that I’m saying, like, shit… you know. Ah, what do you want?”
Poor bastard. I point down to the lower shelf between us where there’s a stack of pre-made sandwiches and wraps, salads and sushi boxed up ready to go. “All of it.”
He looks stunned. “All of it?”
I take out my Platinum card, holding it aloft between two fingers. “All of it,” I repeat.
*
I come to a skidding halt by the bridge. I get out and have to admit the Corvette looks a touch out of place around here, but it’s certainly attracting attention. Already the homeless are emerging and making their way over, keen to see what curiosity today has brought.
I pop the trunk and start to unload the stuff from the supermarket. This car wasn’t made for delivery work, but I managed to squeeze it all in.
The young girl with the waxen face from last time is the first to come up to me. “You came back.”
I hand her a sandwich. “Of course.”
She unwraps it immediately, winking at me. “Good. I always like a bit of eye candy with my meal.”
She walks off smiling, the next guy reaching out to shake my hand first. “Bless you, my boy, but you know they took Heather, don’t you, the police? Two of them that looked like god damn Terminators.”
I hand him a boxed meal. “Sure do, and I’m going to give them hell.”
He laughs through crooked teeth. “Thadda boy!”
It takes less than five minutes before Crestfall’s finest arrive, Teddy nowhere to be seen leaving only the aforementioned Terminator twins.
I continue to hand out food blatantly as they approach, hands on weapons.
“Sir,” one of them says, “I’m going to have to ask you to stop”.
I ignore him. “Now why the hell would I do that?” I roll out the classic. “You know who I am right?”
The one on the left gives a slight snigger, takes a grip of his belt. “I know you can’t be down here doing what you’re doing, and I think you know that.”
I keep handing stuff out, refusing to make eye contact. “Maybe I do. Maybe I don’t.”
“Enough of this shit,” says the one of the right, spitting to the ground. “Read him his rights.”
I offer him a sandwich. “Hungry, officer? I didn’t bring any donuts, sorry.”
That does it nicely.
He slaps the sandwich from my hand, taking my arm and trying to bend it behind my back without success.
I yawn. “I could do this all day.”
He’s getting red-faced from the effort, hasn’t moved my arm more than an inch. He shoves himself away and draws his weapon. “Turn around. Hands behind your fucking back, asshole.”
I do so slowly, laughing. “Try lifting…. or laying off the sweets.”
“Hands behind your fucking back!” he shouts, stamping to make his point.
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I can see some of the homeless getting edgy, a guy near me looking to make a move. I gently shake my head, winking. He backs off, winking back.
The cop tightens the cuffs extra hard. It fucking hurts, but I’m not giving him the satisfaction of seeing me squirm.
I let them put me into the back of the patrol car to applause and hollering from the homeless, shouts of approval.
“Give ’em hell!” one yells, a rock slamming against the door panel. Soon one rock becomes twenty, the patrol car under attack.
The cop driving slams his foot down and we snake out of there. And all the while I don’t think anyone’s ever been so happy to be arrested.
*
The main precinct in Crestfall is small, used to be the courthouse back in the olden days.
“Easy,” I tell the cop leading me inside, “these hands are worth more than you’d make in a year.”
“Shut up, pretty boy,” he spits back.
Heather’s on her way out, almost misses me completely before her head lifts.
There’s a moment of shock before she registers. “Phoenix? What are…?” Her eyes falling to my cuffed hands. “What the hell did you do?”
I stop, the cop behind me shoving to move forward but again failing miserably.
“You look great,” I tell her. “Kind of sexy for a jailbird.”
“What did you do?” she asks again.
The cop gives me another shove, but I ain’t budging… yet.
I grin. “The right thing.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
HEATHER
My wrists are still red from the damn handcuffs. I rub at them as I watch the police precinct from the other side of the road.
I can’t believe they arrested Phoenix. He must have gone back, must have known what was going to happen, surely.
I smile secretly at the thought.
Question is, what are you going to do about it? I ask myself.
I look around. It’s quiet on Main Street.
I get an idea. But not for much longer.
I take out my cell and scroll to Alissa’s number. I’ve still got it from helping Phoenix organize the auction. He said she was good with PR, that she’d missed her calling to instead play the handbag housewife to his father. Well, have I got a job for her.
It starts to ring. Please answer, I plead.
“Hello?”
“Alissa, it’s Heather, Phoenix’s,” I stumble, “girlfriend.”
“Heather! Hi. Is this about the auction?”
I eye the precinct. “Actually, I need your help with something else.”
I detail what happened to me and Phoenix, tell her what I was thinking. I expected mild resistance, but she’s all for it.
“Are you sure?” I ask. “I don’t know how Phoenix’s dad would react.”
She laughs. “Leave him to me. You stay put and enjoy the show.”
“Thank you.”
“It’s just good to be doing something constructive.”
I end the call and slide the cell into my back pocket. A cop emerges from the front doors, smiles and stretches. I recognize him from earlier.
Let’s see how much you’re smiling soon.
Half an hour passes, the sun moving behind the far buildings and casting the street into shadow—a high noon showdown.
I expected Weston, the King’s attorney, to show up again and get Phoenix out nice and quick like he did with me, but he’s nowhere to be seen. You can imagine my surprise when he showed up, briefcase in hand and smiling away like he owned the place.
“How?” I asked him as I was being uncuffed, dumbfounded.
“It’s all been taken care of,” he told me. “Phoenix will explain.”
Maybe they haven’t given Phoenix his call, I wonder. Probably beating him to death in the back.
I know that’s not how things work these days, but it still sends a cold shiver down my spine. The thought of Phoenix being hurt because of me is distressing enough as it is, even his reputation taking a hit.
He’s a grown-ass man, I remind myself. He can make his own decisions.
Five minutes later the first van arrives. I think it’s an ice-cream truck at first before I notice the satellite gear on top. A reporter gets out with cameraman in tow heading into the precinct.
Holy shit. Alissa did it.
A second van shows up and then a third, all local, rushing towards the precinct. The first reporter and cameraman exit the precinct—not by choice, it seems given the way the reporter is getting in the cop’s face. He’s got his hands up as the others swarm around him, cameras rolling.
At the same time I see Weston pushing through them, a quick word with the cop before he’s ushered inside.
I decide to get a closer look, heading over to the steps where the press is gathered.
People passing by have stopped to notice. A car pulls over. A woman stops pushing a stroller to get her phone out.
It’s working.
The reporters start to do their takes in front of the precinct. I catch bits and pieces, hear Phoenix’s name, ‘homeless’, ‘injustice’. I can’t wait to see what comes of this. It’s dangerous, inflammatory, yes, but there’s no way the mayor’s going to be able to avoid the issue now, to sweep it under the rug like he did the soup kitchen.
Not on my watch.
I stay back.
The precinct doors open ten minutes later, and Phoenix emerges rubbing his wrists just like I did. He doesn’t look like he’s been worked over, but he does have that smug King smirk the world, and admittedly myself, seems to love.
Weston whispers something into his ear, Phoenix suddenly becoming serious and putting his hands down to quiet the questions from the reporters. He could be a politician up there.
There’s quite a crowd now, a solid mass of people gathered on the steps. I’m right at the back on my toes to see and hear.
“I’d like to make a statement,” starts Phoenix, Weston nodding his approval.
It’s completely silent, only the sound of camera shutters firing filling it.
“Earlier today I was arrested,” be begins, “arrested for something I believe is protected by our First Amendment. Since when did feeding the homeless in this town become a crime? Since when does selflessness and helping your fellow man earn you a place behind bars? It’s injustice in the extreme and it needs to stop.”
Reporters start blasting him with questions, but he raises his hands again and they ease.
I’m so proud he’s taking a stand, want to jump up to the world and announce we’re a thing, not like that would make a damn bit of difference. This is his show. No one would care if it was me up there. I don’t have the pull the King name does in this town.
Phoenix shakes his finger. “The mayor is behind this crackdown. Just like he shut down the soup kitchen, he wants to sweep away all those nasty bums and beggars, pretend they don’t exist.” He stabs his chest. “But I, Phoenix King, am here to tell you they do exist, and they are real people with real emotions and real hunger. You can’t pretend they aren’t there. You can’t enforce these bullshits laws, and I for one won’t stand for it a second longer. Questions?”
They come thick and fast. The crowd’s grown twice as big, swelling onto the street. The doors to the precinct remain closed.
Halfway through the questions, Phoenix finally spots me. “Excuse me,” he says, pushing through the crowd and sweeping me into his arms. Before I know what’s happening, he’s kissing me, the cameras firing and this overt public display of affection sure to be part of every newscast going out to the greater area.
“You wanted awareness,” he whispers to me. “You got it.” A little louder, the taste of his lips lingering. “Were you behind this?”
“Alissa did the legwork.”
He shakes his head, pressing his cheek out with his tongue. “And all this time I thought she was nothing more than an ornament.”
Phoenix turns to the throng. “We’re going home.”
He claps Weston on the shoulder. “Please direct any further questions to my attorney here.”
I hadn’t even noticed Weston still standing there.
Weston shakes his head. “Thanks for that, buddy.”
Phoenix is still smiling and waving, speaking through his teeth. “You’re sure earning your money today, aren’t you?”
The questions continue.
“Phoenix, is she your girlfriend?”
“Phoenix, have you decided on a team?”
“Phoenix, are your brothers involved?”
“Phoenix, do you have any comment on…”
The questions are endless, but Phoenix ignores them, tucking me under his arm and leading us along with Weston to what I assume is Weston’s car given the KNG LWYR plates.
Weston gets in front while Phoenix opens the back door for me, helping me inside before climbing in himself and closing the door.
It’s plush in here, black leather and dark trim, the greater world outside silenced.
Weston takes a deep breath from the front seat, placing his briefcase on the passenger seat. He looks into the rear-view. “A bit of warning about your circus there would have been nice.”
Phoenix places his arm around me. “But where would be the fun in that?”
“Boy,” he replies, “I haven’t had fun since ’69.”
“The year you signed on to represent my family?”
“You betcha. Given I’m running attorney and chauffeur services today, where to?”
“I left my car down near the bridge, need to pick it up.”
“You think there will be anything left of it?” Weston asks, quite serious.
Phoenix laughs. “Were you not listening to a word I said out there?”
“Yeah, yeah, homeless rights etcetera, etcetera. I’m just here to preserve the family name… and drive people around, apparently.”
“We do appreciate it,” I add, “and everything you did at the precinct.”
“That stuff’s easy, but the shitstorm you guys just brewed up?” He shakes his head. “You sure know how to pick a fight.”
“We,” corrects Phoenix, pulling me closer.
*
It’s sunset by the time we arrive back at the bridge, a dark peach band across the sky. Most of the homeless are holing up for the night, working out how to keep warm and safe. Weston looks through the windshield nervously. “You want me to stick around?”