Tough Love (The Nighthawks MC Book 6)

by Bella Knight

  Wraith bled, from scratches on her shoulder across her clavicle, and her right cheek began to swell. Skuld had bruises on both arms, and her lip was bleeding. Her right wrist was tender.

  “Should have brought my vambraces,” said Skuld, working to steady her breathing.

  “That was awesome,” said Tom. “Talk about using what’s in your environment!” He took the Jamaican away.

  They ignored him, grabbing each other’s necks, and touching foreheads. “With your shield,” said Wraith.

  “Or on it,” said Skuld.

  Wraith turned with a slight limp. “Ice,” she said.

  “Should be some around here somewhere,” said Skuld. They laughed.

  “A real friend will help you see the truth even if you refuse to see it.”

  5

  Full Court Press

  “If you can’t change your own behavior, you’re destined for pain, grief, and loss, and the loss of the trust of others.”

  They were up early, Ivy staring stonily into the distance as Callie fed her two breakfast sandwiches, one sausage, one bacon, and gave her orange juice to drink. She sighed, and gave her the magic can of caffeine-free Coke.

  “I swear, you’re as bad as Grace.”

  “Mmfh,” said Ivy, and waddled to the bathroom. Callie cleaned up, took out a medium-sized cooler, threw in two blue frozen packs, put in four bottles of water, two cans of caffeine-free Coke, and two bento boxes of healthy snacks of fruit, veggies, and nuts. She also packed stadium cushions, and tennis balls in a sock. Then, she added two more icy blue packs. She loaded up her little car, now a much safer, used Honda Civic with a rear-view camera. She looked sadly at the bike garage, missing her Harley. She took a bathroom break, and found Ivy slumped over a kitchen chair.

  She half-dragged Ivy to the car, waved goodbye to the girls who were giggling in Bao’s window, and drove away. She put on a parenting podcast that had her screaming with laughter at the antics of a woman’s toddler, as Ivy slept. She awoke for a water and a bathroom break, and snacked on a bento box while Callie switched to Ivy’s rock. Ivy was awake enough to feed Callie some cheese and crackers and grapes as well.

  The wind was up, so they both waddled into the courthouse as quickly as possible. Callie carried in the cooler, which was dutifully scanned and let through.

  The guard, a black female with short hair and a huge smile said, “Ya’ll keep hydrated, you hear?”

  “Yes, Ma’am,” said Callie.

  They took the elevator to the second floor. Nye County Sheriff Xenia Poloulakis met them at the door to the courtroom.

  “You ladies sit at the back,” she said. “I’ve explained to the judge, and she understands you’ll be slipping out a lot.”

  Ivy nodded. “I’ll go one more time, but I gotta see this.”

  “Me too,” said Callie. “This guy sounds like someone who needs to understand what he did.”

  “I doubt he understands a damn thing,” said Xenia. “Thinks we have a vendetta.” Her face was closed. Callie knew she was truly angry.

  Pahrump Sheriff, Robin “Bob” Hunter came around the corner. He was strong, an obvious bodybuilder, with arms that showed clear definition under his uniform. He liked kickboxing, as evidenced by his twice-broken nose and a bruised hand. He had whiskey-brown hair and eyes, and his look was sad compared to Xenia’s thunder.

  “Bob,” said Xenia.

  “Xenia,” he said. “Ladies.”

  Ivy waddled up to join them. “Xenia!” They did the Valkyrie hand clasp.

  “Still want you for the Valkyries,” said Xenia.

  “Screw you,” said Ivy. “Nighthawks all the way.”

  “Still cranky,” said Callie. “A long car ride did not improve her disposition.”

  “Ladies,” said Bob, and he opened the door for them.

  They sat behind the deceased beagle’s owner, Jeremy Bear. He was seventy-one years old, with a shock of white hair, and piercing brown eyes. His daughter, Amelia Bear, was sitting next to him, hands folded in her lap. She looked beat down by life. She wore a shapeless dress, unlike her father, who dressed in jeans and a crisp shirt, a leather jacket on the seat beside him.

  “Thanks for coming,” Jeremy said. “Surprised that boy hasn’t killed a human yet.”

  “I was pregnant when he drew a gun on me in a hospital hallway,” said Ivy.

  “I can see that,” said Jeremy. “Congratulations.” He looked down at Callie’s protruding belly. “Both of you.”

  “Due at the same time,” said Ivy, rubbing her back. Callie took two cushions out of the bag, and put them on the hard seats of the courtroom gallery.

  “I should have thought of that,” said Jeremy.

  “Have mine,” said Callie.

  “No,” he said. “I testify first.”

  Callie gave Ivy a sock with two tennis balls in it, and Ivy put it in the small of her back, and groaned. Callie took out one for herself, handed Ivy a caffeine-free Coke and took a water, to sip. She settled back for the show.

  “All rise,” said the bailiff. “Court is in session, come forth to be heard. The Honorable Sheila Stone is presiding.”

  “Sit down,” said Sheila, waving her hand. “Ivy, Callie, you are released from having to stand up and sit down when I enter or leave a room, you hear?” she said.

  “Yes Ma’am,” they both said, in unison.”

  “Are the attorneys present?” asked the judge.

  “Ignatious Fowler for the defense,” said a reedy man, wearing a blue, three-piece suit, accentuated by gold, wire-rimmed glasses that made his blue eyes look huge.

  “Eduardo Flores for the prosecution,” said a tall, thin man, with jet-back hair and shrewd eyes, wearing a sharp suit.

  “Are you ready to proceed?” asked the judge.

  Fowler stood. “Motion to dismiss, your honor. This is obviously a vendetta from the Pahrump and Nye County Sheriff’s Department against my client.”

  “Denied,” said the judge. “Are you certain you want a judge and not a jury?” asked the judge.

  “We do,” said Fowler. “We are certain you can see through frothy emotional appeal, your honor.”

  Judge Stone sighed. “Proceed. Mr. Flores, you may call your first witness.”

  Jeremy testified that his forty-nine-year-old daughter, fleeing an abusive marriage, had moved in with him. She had run up parking tickets she didn’t have the money to pay, and Jeremy was not aware of them.

  “Would have paid them,” he said, “and found her somewhere else to park. She needed to park by the clothing store, though. Too dangerous at night not to.”

  “Did you have any idea there was a bench warrant out for her arrest?”

  “No,” he said. “Like I said, I would have paid them myself.”

  “Please, tell us what happened the evening of September third.”

  “Of course,” he said. “We were both watchin’ TV, with Primmie, our dog. She was thirteen when she died, a beagle. Gettin’ hard for her to walk too far. There was some awful hammering at the door, ‘round ten at night. Rosie started barking. I got up to answer the door. Primmie was barkin’ too, and she went out the door and stood on the porch, and barked some more.”

  “Who was at the door?” asked Mr. Flores.

  Jeremy pointed. “That guy at the table. I later found out his name was Officer Marcel Avery.”

  “Was he in uniform?”

  “Yes,” said Jeremy.

  “Can you describe the uniform?”

  “He was wearing the brown uniform, covered by a bulletproof vest, and a black cap pulled low, and lots of things around his waist, and sunglasses! At ten o’clock at night! Mirrored ones. And black, steel-toed boots. And he had this big gun, and he had it out.”

  “What did he do next?” asked Mr. Flores.

  “He shot my dog. He shot Primmie. Before I could even get a word out, ask who he was, ask why he was there. He shot my dog.” Tears streamed down his face. Mr. Flores handed him a box of t
issues, and he took one.

  “You didn’t have time to ask Primmie to stop barking, or get her into the house?”

  “No,” said Jeremy.

  “Did Primmie ever bite anyone?”

  “She did when I brought her home, at eight weeks, after Myrna died. To keep me company. I taught her to chew toys, not people or shoes. She hadn’t even been chewing toys for… about two years now.”

  “Did he identify himself as a police officer?” asked Mr. Flores.

  “No, he did not,” said Jeremy.

  Mr. Flores entered pictures into evidence of the dead dog, the gun, and several pictures of what Avery was wearing that night.

  Mr. Fowler was not kind to Jeremy. He tried to get him to say the dog was dangerous, and that he was lying about Avery not identifying himself, but Jeremy was unshakable. Fowler was nearly held in contempt for badgering the witness.

  “Move along,” said the judge, several times. Finally, Mr. Fowler ran out of steam.

  Amelia Bear came up next. In a tired voice, she laid out exactly the same story. She had come up behind her father to see what was going on, and had seen and heard the whole thing. She sobbed piteously. Mr. Fowler tried to shake her, but she kept saying the same thing over and over in her small, sad voice.

  Sheriff Hunter was next on the stand. Mr. Flores walked him through his time in the army, his training in the military police, and his training to become an officer, then as sheriff when the previous one retired.

  “Did you train Officer Avery?” he asked.

  “I did, once it became clear he wasn’t listening to his training officer, Lydia Kan.”

  “How did you know he wasn’t listening to her?” asked Mr. Flores.

  “She told me so, so I observed the dashcam, which also records conversation inside the car. He was rude, disrespectful, and refused to do as she asked. So, I took over his training.”

  “How did you get him to listen?”

  “I made him repeat what I said, verbatim. I gave him tests on what he learned that day, which he often failed, both written and verbal. I explained to him about community policing, and about listening to the needs of the community.”

  “Can you give an example of this community policing?”

  “Well, Myrna Hofsteder (and I did get her permission to tell this story) was getting drunk and causing a disturbance about once a week at the casino, gambling what little she got from Social Security. She was about to be kicked out of her apartment. So, I got with a social worker, and the high school, and the church ladies. The high school started a coding class for seniors at the library. Some rich guy from California heard about it and donated some cheap computers from Wal-Mart. So, now Myrna and lots of the ladies and gents code for non-profits that work with seniors. They all get paid, too, one dollar less than what Social Security says they can make. No more senior gambling problem, and lots of nice organizations for seniors get the help they need.”

  “Thank you, Sheriff. Now, did you teach Officer Avery to serve warrants at ten at night?”

  “No, Ma’am. He was also supposed to have another officer with him, at all times.”

  “Did you tell him to wear sunglasses at night and steel-toed boots?”

  “No, Sir, I did not.”

  Mr. Flores showed him a blowup picture of Officer Avery that night. “Can you show us what he was supposed to be wearing on his duty belt?” The sheriff pointed out the baton, flashlight, cuffs, taser, gun, radio pouch, keys, window punch, pen and pencil, and pepper spray on the belt.

  “Was he supposed to be wearing a sap?”

  “No, Sir.”

  “What about the bulletproof vest?”

  “We rarely have call to use them. There are registered medical cannabis patients; pot farmers who grow over the legal limit, which is up to twelve plants per household if they live over twenty-five miles from a legal cannabis shop. The amount of power and water needed to grow pot in the desert is staggering, so that isn’t too much of a problem. Raiding a meth house, or dealing with a distraught person with a gun, then yes. Going to serve a warrant for a parking ticket, no.”

  “How should he have approached this situation, the way that you taught him?”

  “Objection!” said Mr. Fowler. “Speculation.”

  “Overruled,” said the judge. “As the man’s training officer, the sheriff here should be able to tell us what he taught Officer Avery.”

  “He should have had someone with him. He should have gone during daylight hours. He should have not been wearing glasses at night that would impede vision. He should have identified himself, and asked if the person on the warrant was there. He had no business being there that late. During the day, the woman could have been given the opportunity and gone down and paid the tickets. This, rather than spending a wasteful night in jail that costs the city money, unnecessarily. He should have asked the dog owner to restrain the dog. If the dog actually ran at him, he had pepper spray and a baton. Neither one would have killed the dog. Since the dog was low to the ground and elderly, and since Officer Avery was wearing steel-toed boots, there was no way the dog could have harmed Officer Avery. He may have had his hand on his gun, but pulling it out of its holster was neither indicated nor warranted.”

  “So, he had multiple opportunities to do things differently,” asked Mr. Flores.

  “Very differently,” said the sheriff.

  Cross-examination was equally fruitless. Mr. Fowler tried to impugn Officer Avery’s training. Finally, in frustration, he asked, “If you were so unhappy with his performance, why didn’t you just fire him?”

  “I was in the process of doing so,” said Sheriff Hunter. “I was afraid he would harm himself, or others.”

  Mr. Fowler was clearly upset that he had opened the door on Avery’s poor performance. On redirect, Mr. Flores showed the sheaf of papers Sheriff Hunter filed to get rid of Avery, and he walked the sheriff step-by-step through the process.

  After a short recess, when Ivy and Callie made tracks to the bathroom and stuffed their faces with carrots and grapes, Ivy came up to testify. The full tape was shown with her moving her smaller gun to her pocket, and the carry permit she had for it, as well as her leaning against the wall. She’d been waiting to find out if her friends, Ace and Lily, would live or die.

  “Why did you move your gun?” he asked.

  “I had been shot at twice that day. Lily’s brother was dead, her husband Ace, my best friend other than my wife, shot. Lily had just been shot. I feared for my friend’s life and my own. I knew I would have to give up the gun I used to shoot the cartel shooter as soon as the police showed up.”

  “And why didn’t you stay in the emergency room where you were shot?”

  “My friend Lily was shot in the belly, and she was pregnant at the time. I carried her to the operating room.”

  “So, you were leaning against the wall, waiting on the police to take one of your guns.”

  “Yes.”

  “Did Officer Avery introduce himself?”

  “No.”

  “Did he ask for the gun?”

  “No.”

  “Did he ask you to tell him what happened in the emergency room?”

  “No.”

  “You had blood on your clothes from carrying Lily down the hall. Did Officer Avery ask if you were injured?”

  “No.”

  “Did he take out his pepper spray or baton?”

  “No.”

  “Did you have a medical condition at the time?”

  “I was pregnant.”

  “Objection!” shouted Mr. Fowler. “Officer Avery had no way of ascertaining that.”

  “Overruled,” said Judge Stone. “Sit down, Mr. Fowler.” He sat down, fuming. “The point has been made to this court that he could have ascertained that,” said Judge Stone. “He could have asked.”

  On redirect, Mr. Fowler tried to make her tie in the Nighthawks seem like she was a drug-dealing, gun-running psychopath.

  “That would s
urprise all the Iron Knights we work with all the time.”

  “Who are the Iron Knights? Another gang?”

  “Another motorcycle club, mostly populated by those in law enforcement, ex-military, firefighters, EMTs, and the like. They’re the adrenaline junkies,” she said, grinning.

  On redirect again, Mr. Flores asked Ivy about the times the Nighthawks members had helped law enforcement people do their jobs. Ivy was dismissed. She headed to the bathroom, then came back and chugged water.

  Sheriff Xenia testified that she told Officer Avery repeatedly to holster his weapon, and that he had been pointing it at both Ivy and herself when she was getting the weapon used in the shooting and bagging it.

  “Why didn’t you draw your gun on him?” asked Mr. Flores.

  “I was in a hospital corridor, with medical personnel and patients in the hallway, and doctors and nurses clearly operating on patients behind closed doors. I was terrified of losing civilians. I also did not want to be in the position of having to shoot a fellow officer, even an incompetent one.”

  “Objection! Argumentative!”

  “Overruled,” said Judge Stone. “Sheriff Poloulakis is also in the position of judging whether or not an officer is competent. Since he pulled a gun on someone not pointing a gun at him in a hospital corridor, and repeatedly ignored orders by another Nye County superior official, he did demonstrate incompetence. And a willful disregard for human life. The fact that he pulled a gun on the victim of a crime who was guarding her friend, and who was also pregnant, and he made no move to ascertain these facts, also points to incompetence.” She turned to the other attorney. “Mr. Flores, you may proceed.” He asked a few more questions, then Mr. Flores said, “The prosecution rests, your honor.”

  The judge called a lunch recess, and they all filed out of the courtroom. “Let me treat all of you to lunch,” said Xenia. “I know a great waffle place.”

  “Lead me to the food,” said Ivy. Everyone laughed.

  After a huge lunch of waffles, bacon, sausages, eggs, pancakes, and waffles, they all filed into the courtroom.

  Officer Avery came up to testify in his defense. He talked at length about the vendetta against him by both Nye County sheriffs, Sheriff Hunter based in Pahrump, and Sheriff Poloulakis in the surrounding county. He offered up the numerous complaints in his jacket as proof, and that he was working with his union rep to be reinstated. He refuted that he was incompetent.