by Zahra Girard
After a few minutes of sitting around, reading documents, and feeling frustratingly helpless, I storm out into the hallway. The one staffer in that I manage to catch out there just tucks her head down and barrels right past me as I try to question her.
It takes everything I have not to give her a piece of my mind.
Instead, I pace.
I can feel the time slipping away. In my heart, I know that today is the day. If my client is still even alive, I have to act now. I have to be ready to break with my principles and steer a criminal, in order to protect other criminals.
“What the hell is going on?” I say to Ryan as I come back into the conference room they’ve set aside for us.
There’s this gnawing fear in the pit of my stomach that grows with every minute that ticks by. Did Ozzy and Preacher get involved? Can I really trust them? Or did someone else — another of David’s former business partners — get through to him?
Ryan’s got his phone to his ear and a frown on his face. He holds up a finger for me to wait. When he ends the call, he’s silent for a while, brooding.
“David’s in the prison infirmary. They’re patching him up, now. Someone stabbed him — repeatedly — in the back. The only thing that saved his life was the fact that the shank they were using wasn’t too durable and broke when it impacted on his shoulder blade.”
“Jesus Christ,” I swear. “What a fucking shitshow.”
“He’ll live. He’s lucky, considering,” Ryan says, looking down at the files spread out on the table in front of him. “To be honest, this might be a good break for us.”
I raise an eyebrow. “How so?”
“Because maybe he’ll finally stop dicking us around and be ready to talk. This could be a wakeup call.”
“Maybe,” I say, trying to sound hopeful while at the same time feeling my hope disappearing in the ever-growing pit that seems to be forming in my stomach.
Wakeup calls don’t seem applicable to an unrepentant bastard like David Ardoin.
Hours go by.
Ryan and I spend the time talking about the case, planning just how to persuade our client to talk, and how we’ll use the information to get him a better bargaining position with the US Attorney.
I spend half the time ducking out to hang out at the coffee shop across the street under the pretext of needing some caffeine after a bad night’s sleep. Every minute that passes, anxiety creeps over me at the thought of having to confront David and try to mislead both him and Ryan in order to protect the club.
It’s the right thing to do, it’ll save lives, but it still makes me feel sick. If I succeed, I’m a liar and I betray my principles; if I fail, people will die and their deaths will rest right on my shoulders.
I wish I didn’t care so much about Ozzy.
I wish I weren’t tied to that club.
I wish things were simple.
I’ve never felt this lost.
I’m in a booth at the cafe, sipping my third latte and overloading myself on caffeine when David’s police escort arrives. He slithers his way up the steps and into the building. Even injured, he evokes no sympathy in me. He truly is a reprehensible human being.
He pauses for a moment and looks over his shoulder towards the cafe. There’s a second where I swear he’s looking right at me. His eyes violate me and a shiver suffuses my body along with a rolling wave of nausea.
This is the man I’m staking my career on.
I loathe him with all that I am.
If it wouldn’t ruin everything I’ve worked so hard for, I wouldn’t mind seeing him dead.
I watch him until he’s all the way inside, and then I wait a while just to minimize the chances that I’ll bump into him in the hallway. Whatever I can do to avoid the pawing and the leering.
Five minutes later, latte finished, I head inside.
He’s waiting in the conference room, sitting stiffly at the table, looking noticeably paler and with bruises and bandages on his face.
He smiles at me. He’s missing several teeth that he wasn’t missing yesterday.
“Hey there, sweetheart. You miss me?” he says.
I ignore him. Ryan ignores him.
“Let’s get down to business,” Ryan says.
I take my seat, putting Ryan between David and myself.
“Mr. Ardoin, I hope you might have had a change of heart regarding your cooperation,” I say.
He rolls his head from side to side, still looking directly at me. I don’t think I’ve yet seen him blink. “I have,” he says. “I think the suggestion you two have about offering up a little something as proof of my good faith is the way to go. First time in my life that I’m agreeing with a cunt.”
Ryan frowns. “Cut the bullshit. What exactly are you prepared to offer? If it’s substantial enough, at the very least we can negotiate for better accommodations. In my experience — and I’ve worked a few cases like this — once you demonstrate your value as a cooperating witness, it puts you in a much better negotiating position.”
While Ryan rattles on, I find myself unable to take my eyes off David even though looking at the man makes me nauseous. Silently, I’m willing him to not be such a piece of shit. To show some common sense and humanity.
“Anything you can tell us about your former associates in the Dixie Mafia would be helpful,” I say. Take it. They tried to kill you — you owe them no loyalty.
He grins at me. I hate his busted smile.
“You going to say ‘please’?”
“Just keep to the useful information,” Ryan says.
“Oh, I’m not so stupid as to go right for my old buddies. Especially since I’m pretty damn sure that it was them that got to me this morning,” he says. “It’d be like giving it all up on the first date, wouldn’t it, Ms. Houlihan? As sweet as it might be to get right down to it, there’s nothing quite like teasing before you get to the climax.”
“What kind of information can you give me?” I say.
“Plenty of things that you’d enjoy, I’m sure. I could tell you about some of the Eastern European women we’d bring over in shipping containers by way of Savannah,” he says, his drawling voice oozing over me like slime, his eyes never leaving me, never blinking, always probing. “Or I could tell you about the meth trafficking operation we have going on in some of the choicer parts of Alabama, Mississippi, and Louisiana. Oh, and then there’s the gun buying we partake in with some West Coast operations.”
Something in the room changes the second he says those last words. Something puts heat in his voice. Whether it’s some flash of doubt in my eye or some shift in my expression, he sees something I’m so desperately fighting to hide.
He smiles, licks his lips.
I clear my throat.
“I think it’d be best to keep to information pertinent to your arrest, Mr. Ardoin,” I say. “Stick to facts about the women or the drugs you were bringing in: where they were headed and where you got them.”
Ryan nods his head in agreement. “Make life easier for the people who arrested you. Do them that favor, and they’ll be more inclined to help you out.”
The creep shakes his head and a slimy grin splits his putrid lips.
“No. I don’t want to mess with my boys until I’m in a safe spot. Tell the US Attorney that, in exchange for better and safer accommodations, I’ll give him information that can take down one of the larger gun-running operations on the West Coast. He’ll be interested. Trust me.”
My stomach knots itself around and around inside me and it takes every last bit of willpower I have to not excuse myself right then and there. Instead, I stiffen my spine and meet David’s relentless stare. I won’t let him break me.
David looks from me over to Ryan, who resignedly nods.
“If that’s your choice, Mr. Ardoin, then we’ll see what we can do for you. I’ll head over to the attorneys office right now and see what he’s willing to offer. Maria, if you’ll be so kind as to start documenting some of the basics of Mr. Ardoin’s experienc
es with this gun-running group, then we can finally start making some progress. We’ve lost a lot of time already, so we need to move on this.”
I want to scream. I nod instead. “Sure thing.”
Ryan leaves.
It’s just David and me, alone.
He’s still smiling that same shit-stirring grin that makes my stomach want to empty itself of everything I’ve eaten in the last ten years.
“You know, I don’t have to talk about that particular subject,” he says.
“Whatever information you provide will be helpful. Though, as Mr. Deering and I have advised you, some information is more helpful than others. If you want my honest opinion as your lawyer and as someone who wants for you to get the best deal, cooperating with the investigation into the activities that got you arrested is your best bet.”
He rolls his head from side to side. “You know, sweetheart, it wouldn’t take much to convince me to change my mind. There’s plenty of other things I could talk about.”
“Convince you?” I say.
His words practically drip with his intent. “Yeah. Convince me.”
I frown. Every instinct of mine is telling me to leave this alone, to step away, to stay professional. But I can’t keep my mouth shut. I have to know what his price is. I have to know what he wants to keep the club out of it. “What exactly are you asking for?”
“It’s easy. Nothing you ain’t done before. I want you to get on your knees, and I want you to swallow my cock. All you need to do is suck me off, and I’ll never say a word about a certain biker organization.”
Revulsion so strong I nearly vomit rises up in my throat.
I swallow the burning bile and shake my head.
I have my limits. I have shame. I have standards.
“No. No fucking way.”
Even for all the trouble it would save, even if David Ardoin weren’t as much of a disgusting rodent as he is, I can’t do that. I don’t think I ever could. The only man that I want in my life right now is Ozzy.
And now I’m about to make Ozzy my enemy.
I asked him to take a chance on me, to trust me, and I’m staring failure straight in the face.
“Then get ready to take some notes, sweetheart. Get your sweet ass comfortable, and get ready for me to tell you about this little old motorcycle club called the Wayward Kings.”
* * * * *
Though it’s hardly an hour, I’m alone with David for far too long.
Every detail that spews from the putrid mouth of his turns my stomach and has me questioning whether I’m doing the right thing even trying to help Ozzy keep his club out of this mess.
The scope of their criminality is frighteningly overwhelming and current.
David’s testimony is damning stuff. Stuff I’d rather not know. Stuff more recent than I’d realized.
Doubt surfaces in my mind.
Should I help them?
Maybe the world would be a better place with them in jail.
I’m just glad Ryan is out of the room while David is making his statement. At least I can keep this from him for now. I have time to figure this out.
When he does come back — bringing with him an assurances from the US Attorney that cooperation will significantly improve David Ardoin’s circumstances — I’ve taken down notes regarding multiple gun buys involving Ozzy’s club and several crime groups that David Ardoin is associated with.
Ryan settles back into his chair and goes over the guidelines of what David can expect tomorrow and, David, mercifully, keeps his mouth shut about every damning detail he’s told me about the Wayward Kings.
As I’m close to finishing rearranging David’s statement into a more formal document that we can approach the US Attorney with and use as bargaining material, there’s a heavy knock at the door.
An officer pokes his head in.
“Sorry y’all. Hate to interrupt the conversation,” he says. “But it’s time to go. We need to get our guest here back to lockup before the sun goes down.”
Ryan and I nod — though our permission really means nothing in this case — and the officer comes in to remove David and take him back to prison.
The two of us collect our things and linger in the hall a moment.
Ryan’s got a look of accomplishment on his face and I don’t blame him for feeling that way. After all this time of dealing with this frustrating, dick-swinging criminal of a client, it’s got to feel good for him to make some progress. I wish I could feel the same. David’s statement is hurting me every bit as much as he’d hoped; my heart aches for Ozzy’s crimes, my conscience screams at me for still thinking about helping them.
Why does the man I care so much about have to be a killer?
Why is his family — why is my best friend — mixed up in all this shit?
I’ve never felt so alone.
And try as I might, I can’t see a way this ends well.
“Are you alright, Maria?” Ryan says, giving me a concerned look.
I shrug and clear my throat, trying to dislodge the pain that’s sticking like a bone in my throat. “I spent an hour alone with our client — how do you think I feel?”
“I don’t blame you. But it’s going to be worth it. There’s a lot of good that’s going to come from his information.”
I nod, but don’t say anything in return.
“Hold on to those documents. Finish polishing them up tonight, so we can have them ready for tomorrow,” Ryan says to me. “We’ll meet here earlier than usual — say, half an hour — and we’ll arrange a full sit down with the US attorney and see about formalizing this cooperation arrangement.”
“Sounds good,” I say.
“Good work, today. I see bright things in your future,” he says. “It feels great to finally be making some headway with this bastard.”
We exchange ‘goodnights’ and I step outside, fear and anxiety growing inside me while the papers that might put an end to the Kings burn a hole in my briefcase. I’ve got my promotion right there, and all I have to do to seize it is do my job.
I wish life were simple.
I feel so lost right now. So alone.
My eyes hunt through the evening light, looking for the man who means so much to me: safety, pain, happiness, conflict, trust, betrayal, love.
He’s there. Waiting for me across the street. Dressed in a simple outfit — t-shirt, jeans, leather jacket — with his back against the brick wall of the cafe and two to-go cups of coffee in his hands, still steaming-fresh.
He smiles at the sight of me. That smile is honest, genuine, inviting. Everything that I don’t deserve.
It strikes me right in my heart. He doesn’t have the slightest idea that tomorrow, there’s a good chance I’ll be betraying his confidence and his family.
How can I defend the club, knowing the things they’ve done?
I want to scream. I want to run.
Instead, I slip my arm in his and let him lead me down the sidewalk. A comfortable kiss hits my cheek.
I force a smile.
This might be the last night we spend together.
Chapter Fourteen
Ozzy
We make it a few steps before my curiosity gets the better of me.
“What the hell happened?” I say the second we get to her rental car.
She’s still gorgeous — a beauty lit by the setting sun that casts orange beams in her radiant red hair; more pretty than I can even wrap my head around, but the glow she usually has is dimmer, now.
Maria shrugs, sighs, and shakes her head.
“It’s nothing. This guy is just… he’s a total piece of shit. Like, irredeemable shit. Being in a room with him just kind of sucks the life out of me.”
“And this is the guy you’re so intent on getting a good deal for? Wouldn’t the world be better off with him dead?” I say. “I know, I know, I still trust you to figure this whole mess out, but, if being around him while he’s in handcuffs does such a number on you, what’s going t
o happen to the next person he runs across when he’s free? Dangerous people like him shouldn’t be out in society.”
She gives me this look like I’ve struck her.
“What’s the point of sacrificing my career just so one despicable piece of shit, out of the countless pieces of shit out in the world, dies? That doesn’t seem like a fair trade to me. I get violence. There’s plenty of times I want to hurt people, but this seems like a raw fucking deal to me,” she says, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Look, can we just not talk about murder right now?”
“Fine. Did you make any progress with him about that whole deal we talked about?”
She shrugs in a frustratingly casual way.
“Still working on it. The guy’s an asshole and likes to push my buttons.”
“Time’s getting short on this one, and there’s only so much I can do,” I say. I hate seeing this look on her — distant, mournful, like she’s saying goodbye at a funeral — it rips me up inside. “I think I’ve got an idea. Can I borrow your phone? The burner phone I’ve got is kind of a brick.”
She pauses. “What are you up to?”
“Just trust me, eh? I’m not going to do anything illegal. I just hate seeing this frown on the face of the woman I care about. So stop having a stick up your ass and let me do something for you.”
There’s a flash of a smile and she hands over her phone.
I turn a little, so my back is to her and she can’t see the screen, and fiddle with the phone a bit. Hers is fancier than I’m used to — my personal phone isn’t much less of a brick than the burner phone — and it takes me a while to pull up the AirBnB website. I step out of earshot, keeping my eyes on her, and a quick call later and a promise of some extra cash for a last minute booking, and I have us a place for the night.
“Let’s go,” I tell her, taking her hand.
“Where? What are we doing?”
“We’re going to a grocery store.”
“Why?”
I give her a look. “Because that’s where you buy food. Come on.”
She’s reluctant, but I think it’s partly for show — there’s still a smile on her face and, I know that if she wanted to, she could plant her feet and argue for hours until I give up on trying to be nice to her and just go back to her hotel with her. She’s a lawyer, after all, and a damned good one.