Here Comes the Night

by Linda McDonald

  “Ma’am, a phone call for you,” an apologetic Juanita said.

  Angie realized the condolence calls would start coming in, but she wasn’t ready for them. Not yet. “What time is it?” she asked softly.

  Juanita almost whispered to her, as though there were others around. “Still early, you’ve only been asleep a few minutes. But he says it’s important. It’s a Mr. Hackman?”

  Angie shook her head. She didn’t know anyone by that name.

  “He says he is lawyer for Mr. Dearmore?”

  Angie snapped to attention. “I’ll take it in the study. Thanks,” she said, getting up and moving in there. She stared at the phone a few moments. Finally, she picked up. “Hello.”

  “Mrs. Wesner, this is Terrence Hackman with Fisher, Hackman, and Gilbert. First, I’m very sorry for your loss, ma’am. And I’m extremely sorry to be calling you today of all days.”

  “That’s alright. What can I do for you?”

  “I’m now representing Buck Dearmore. Indigo asked me to appear at your request.”

  Angie was cautious. “Well, since Mr. Dearmore is part of the bank family, I thought that’s what Gordon would have wanted.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Hackman agreed. “I’ve taken care of a number of bank employees when situations arose.”

  “Is he alright?”

  “Not really. He has some serious injuries that need attention. I’ve been working all morning arranging to post bail.”

  “You can get him out?” Angie blurted it out in spite of herself.

  “We’ve got a shot. It’s not clear yet if they’re charging him. The police aren’t far enough along in their investigation. Technically, they can hold him for 24 hours, but on a Saturday, that would mean the entire weekend. And I don’t want to see Mr. Dearmore suffer in lockup until Monday while they take their sweet time.”

  “I have to agree.”

  “So, I was fortunate enough to locate a judge who knows Mr. Dearmore’s reputation and, I believe, will feel he represents no flight risk.”

  “That’s good news, isn’t it?”

  “Yes. But we have a hearing in an hour to set bail. Not much notice, I’m afraid, but it’s the best I could do given the timing.” Hackman sounded rightfully pleased with himself.

  “Sounds like you’ve jumped on things, Mr. Hackman. What do you need from me?”

  “I’m calling you, Mrs. Wesner, because Indigo suggested you might help out with the bail money.”

  She immediately realized it would connect her with Buck, but then Gordon had bailed out DUI’s and everything else for employees over the years, anything to avoid scandal. It was worth a shot.

  She kept it businesslike. “Doesn’t someone like Mr. Dearmore have ready money?”

  “Under normal circumstances, yes, but it’s gotten complicated. Long story short, when his office was broken into last night, they stole the cash from his safe. At the moment, his liquid assets are nil.”

  Angie’s breathing quickened.“Wait a minute. Someone broke into Mr. Dearmore’s office?”

  “Whoever killed your husband not only broke into his safe, but apparently robbed Mr. Dearmore’s as well.”

  “I see,” Angie said, although she didn’t see at all. “Exactly why are they holding him then?”

  “His Mustang was the car involved in the Candy Myers incident.”

  Angie thought back to seeing the Mustang outside the bar on Exchange Avenue, with a young woman in the passenger seat. So it had not been Buck. Angie had been so sure.

  “That’s why I’m doing everything I can to get him out,” Hackman continued. “Now we’ve got this Judge Collier coming in on a Saturday to help him post bail. But we need to act quickly.”

  “Who was driving his car?”

  “Nobody knows. Mr. Dearmore was carjacked yesterday afternoon right after leaving work. They roughed him up pretty bad.”

  A total sense of relief surged through Angie. This explained almost everything. She asked, “Is it the same people who broke into his office?”

  Hackman told Angie the events of the night as he understood them. When he finished, she was speechless. Hackman ended with, “So you can see Mr. Dearmore needs some immediate help or else he could be stuck here.”

  “Yes, of course. I’ll be glad to.”

  Hackman told her the hearing was set for an hour later, and that he could send a bonded messenger for the money if she wished. The fastest way, however, would be for her to show up with the cash personally.

  After she hung up, Angie got a welcome second wind. At last something to do that might help. There was still a chance they could make it out of this.

  There was over sixty thousand in Gordon’s home safe. Angie took it all out, put it in a bank bag, and moved everything into a roomy purse. She checked herself in the mirror, still in her jeans and sweater. It would probably look better if she was in her blue funeral home suit, but she couldn’t waste time changing.

  As she was heading to Cowtown, out of the blue, she remembered the little waitress who had her grandmother’s cameo. She had given it to Buck the night of the poker game, for luck. She kicked herself for not realizing earlier how important that was. If Buck’s car had been stolen, then that was how the waitress had come by it. So she had to know about the accident.

  The name on the girl’s uniform tag would not come back to her. Maybe it started with an “E”? She had been right there outside the bank, too, under Angie’s nose, and Angie hadn’t been quick enough to realize what was happening. The girl had been as stunned as she at the t.v. news.

  After they got Buck bailed out, Angie would head back to the diner and not leave until she knew how to find her.

  Chapter 78

  Tony lay dazed on his back, looking up at a barbed wire fence. The Kawasaki had wobbled into it and then fallen on its side after the bitch had shot his tire out. He was lucky the bike hadn’t plowed through the fence, cutting him up with its little razor-edge snags.

  Other than pressure on his pinned leg, he didn’t feel like he was that hurt. As soon as he could pull his leg out from under the Ninja, he could assess the damage.

  Amazingly, the Ninja’s engine was still running. With an effort he reached up and found the kill switch. In the prickly silence that followed, he became aware of a thick presence behind him.

  The hair on his neck stood up. He wasn’t sure if he could get to his gun. He thought he still felt it against the small of his back.

  Just as he slid his hand toward his weapon, angry moo’s assaulted the air. He twisted his head around and saw a half dozen heifers, disrupted from a peaceful breakfast, now standing behind the fence, looking at him with dark bee-bee eyes. It was so ridiculous, he couldn’t help but laugh.

  “Go on, chew your fucking cud.” He was still snickering as he concentrated on freeing himself.

  There wasn’t as much pain as he expected when he finally pulled his trapped leg free. All that weight lifting in prison was paying off. It sure came in handy today, when, from an awkward position, he had to hoist the Ninja up to twist his leg free. While he grunted with the exertion, the cows tilted their heads toward him in a quizzical look.

  Finally out from under the bike, he tried out the hurt leg. It was sore and already bruising up, but nothing broken. He felt lightheaded, but that would pass as soon as he got moving. No way that sick old couple was going to get the best of Tony Bonner.

  He stood the bike up with its ruined tire, and had a cigarette as he thought about the rich pervs, rolling their way along in that bronze Sherman tank. At least he’d left some holes in the side for them to cry over.

  This was not even close to over. A new tire and he could catch up with them long before they caught sight of the city. He hadn’t lost his bite yet.

  He started the engine and limped the Kawasaki along the road, back tire wobbling. But he had a good feeling about this. Something was going to come along. He had a sixth sense about this shit.

  Tony had already see
n a surprising number of little businesses along the way. They often looked desolate, but in fact, they were strung out along the state highways because that was still the main artery for the small towns up and down these roads. A guy could find damn near anything for sale along Highway 152. From an old used car in back of a garage to a toolbox traded in by some hapless traveler for gas. Or a motorcycle tire.

  Tony would get back on the road, one way or the other, and find the old farts. And then he was going to fuck them up until they bawled for mercy.

  Chapter 79

  Even though the courthouse halls were practically deserted, Buck wanted to avoid the curious gazes of cops or court officials who would want a glimpse of the celebrity defendant. He kept his eyes down and straight ahead as they headed to the hearing early Saturday morning. An assistant of Hackman’s had brought him a clean set of clothes, so at least he didn’t have to look like some slob from the drunk tank. Of course, that couldn’t hide his bruised face, black eye, cuts, and generally swollen appearance.

  Buck knew how to keep his head down, ever since his college days, when statewide fame had made him highly recognizable. Even drinking in a bar with his buddies always seemed to turn out badly. Anytime he wasn’t in line, cultivating an All-American image, there were repercussions. Either the coach would get wind of the drunken party, or more damaging, a reporter would slip an acid comment into his Oklahoman column. Even the high-powered alums couldn’t completely insulate you from that.

  His college marriage to Sissy Spivey, gorgeous Gamma Phi queen, had sunk right along with his football career. A small town shit kicker, he would never have made the cut with her Bartlesville old rich family without his football reputation. As a result, he always felt like an imposter around his wife and her family.

  The day they married he watched Sissy come down the aisle in her pearl-infused designer dress and for a second didn’t know who she was. It was like seeing her for the first time, awash in her bridal glory, flashing the engagement ring Daddy had financed. It struck him at that moment that he would never live up. Standing there, a smile pasted on his face, he had experienced an anxiety attack that nearly took him to his knees.

  They did stick it out, however, through the Dallas fiasco and long term knee rehabilitation, even though by then they were bored to tears with one another. Her focus lay in her nails and hair, and, of course, how well Buck fit into Daddy’s oil lease business, which wasn’t well at all.

  A family was out of the question. It would only ruin her figure, Sissy concluded, so their life revolved around painful family gatherings where Buck was treated like the former trophy husband who’d failed them all when he lost his million dollar knee to a flagrant, vicious tackle.

  After they’d been together ten years beyond any feeling for one another, he’d finally just walked out one day, unable to say why or even talk to her. Sissy hadn’t been particularly perturbed. She told him later, after the door closed behind him, she turned over in bed and called one of her friends for lunch. The only thing he felt was relief. He swore off permanent relationships.

  Buck had been, if not thrilled, quite content with his single life. He traveled to sports events and even got into snow skiing with the help of an obscenely expensive knee brace. He and some friends had learned to scuba dive at the same time, and that yielded a list of must-dive islands to go to. There was never a shortage of women if he needed a lay or a date to an event. If not meaningful, his life was at least fun, as long as he made enough money to go where he wanted.

  Then he had met Angie at the Christmas party. It was one of those moments when, if the people around them didn’t catch the crackle in the air between them, they had to be brain dead. He had been so embarrassed by his immediate turn-on that he avoided her gaze for the remainder of the evening. Didn’t even ask her to dance for fear he’d come on to her. She was the boss’s wife, strictly off limits.

  A couple of weeks later, out of the blue, she’d knocked on his apartment door. When he let her in, she just stood there like a nervous kid. At first neither of them seemed sure what to do.

  Then he had finally said, “Mrs. Wesner, do you…?” He was going to finish, “…think this is a good idea?” But he didn’t get the chance.

  She moved to him and gave him a long, hungry kiss. And they did it right there on his carpet the first time.

  Now, walking down a courthouse hall with his lawyer, their footsteps ricocheting off the tiles and onto the walls, Buck prayed he might get a glimpse of her. Hackman had explained that Angie would be bringing the money, so he might see her afterwards. That prospect kept him going. He just didn’t want to fall apart. She could have that effect on him.

  The impromptu court proceedings were casual by usual standards. The bail hearing room had only a Court Reporter and Bailiff to officiate for Judge Collier. Hackman had told Buck it shouldn’t take but a few minutes, unless the D.A. wanted to be a dick about it.

  The prosecutor was not a dick, but only because she was female. Rebecca Stiles, a brunette with a short, compact body, entered with files falling from her arms. The silent scorn in her look at Dearmore promised as much trouble as she could stir up.

  Judge Collier entered and called the proceeding to order. It looked like he still had on golfing shoes under his robes.

  The prosecution seemed anxious to show the judge that this slick, high profile personality was basically pulling a fast one on him. Rebecca Stiles probably saw this as her chance to come on hard and strong, keeping this jock celebrity in jail where anybody lesser known would surely be.

  “We have only been apprised of this case in the last couple of hours, Your Honor.” Stiles’ voice was a deep purr. “The District Attorney’s office has barely had time to even peruse the investigation, much less decide what charges might be brought.”

  Hackman jumped in. “We are aware of the circumstances in which this has played out, Your Honor. If this were in the course of a regular work week, we would not be standing before you asking for bond. But since it is the beginning of the weekend, the defendant, who is injured himself, could be looking at two days behind bars before the prosecution even considers the case.”

  Stiles jumped back in. “Which perhaps the defendant should have considered before his Friday night revelries, Your Honor.”

  Hackman puffed up. “That is grossly unfair to characterize Mr. Dearmore’s activities in that light, Your Honor.”

  Judge Collier put both of his hands up in a settle down gesture. “Relax, Counsels, take a breath. I must admit, Mr. Dearmore, you do look like you got the wrong end of it.”

  Buck managed, “Yes, sir, I’m afraid so.”

  The Judge leaned forward. “While the prosecution’s concern is noted, there are other considerations which also weigh upon the court. It seems the defendant himself has sustained injuries which will require further attention and…”

  “He can receive additional care while in custody…” Then Stiles ground to a stop under the withering look from the Judge. She stepped back. “Sorry to interrupt, Your Honor.”

  “As well you should be,” Collier said in a congenial manner. “I am also mildly concerned that if any harm should come to him while in custody, that would fall heavily on my shoulders.”

  Stiles couldn’t help herself. “What harm would come to a famous football player, Your Honor? Wouldn’t he be more likely to be asked for an autograph?”

  Collier fixed her with a curious gaze. “Well, I see your knowledge of incarceration is incomplete.”

  Buck could see a thin smile on his lawyer’s lips. Hackman had explained beforehand that his celebrity alone would keep him from the general population. No one wanted to take responsibility on the off chance that some asshole couldn’t resist the notoriety of knifing someone with a name. It could help them if the judge believed he was safer out of jail than in.

  “What does the defense say on the subject of bond?”

  Hackman cleared his throat and spoke with a soft, respectful tone.
“Your Honor, we would ask that Mr. Dearmore be released on his own recognizance until the prosecution has had an opportunity to review possible charges. His ties to the community and his reputation guarantee that Mr. Dearmore will dutifully return to the court when and if any charges are filed, although the defense believes that once the facts are known, that is a highly unlikely scenario. We contend that the defendant is himself a victim in this complicated matter.”

  The Judge nodded and turned to Ms. Stiles. “And what does the prosecution have to say on this matter?”

  “Your Honor, the defendant’s car was in an accident involving another celebrity last night, Miss Candy Myers. This incident could well turn into vehicular homicide. Under such a serious charge, we contend that Mr. Dearmore’s ties to the community would pale in comparison to a murder charge. He has the means to flee, and, if out on bond, he will have the opportunity. We ask remand.”

  “What bond amount would satisfy the D.A.?” the Judge asked.

  “Prosecution asks 100,000 dollars,” Stiles said in defeat.

  “Your Honor,” Hackman jumped in, “that is outrageous.”

  Before Hackman could say more, the judge raised his hand in a silencing motion. “It seems to me that the defendant’s passport can be surrendered to the court as a gesture of good faith. I would also admonish Mr. Dearmore that he is not to leave the area. Are you in agreement with these stipulations?” Collier looked down at Dearmore with his eyebrows raised in a question.

  Hackman nudged Buck, who jumped in, “Yes, Your Honor.”

  “Very well, the defendant will be released on a 50 thousand dollar cash bond until the matter of charges is resolved one way or the other.”

  Stiles looked like she wanted to argue the point, but the Judge was swift.

  “Court is adjourned,” he said and whisked himself off to finish his tennis game.

  Stiles gathered her folders, glared at them one last time. “You’ll be hearing from us, Gentlemen.”

  After she was gone, Buck sighed with relief and turned to Hackman. “So, now what?”