Broken By A King: The King Brothers #3

by Lang Blakeney, Lisa

  He painfully clears his throat again.

  "Nate, are you getting sick?"

  "Eh...baby girl said I'm coming down with the flu and she's taking no mercy on me, because I wouldn't get that stinking flu shot last month. Thing made me sick as a dog last time I got it. Not doing that crap again no matter how much she yells at me."

  We ride in silence for another few moments.

  "So, you drove all the way to pick me up sick with the flu?"

  "It's just a cold."

  "I could have made other arrangements."

  Nate turns and gives me a look as if I've insulted him.

  "Your father was like a brother to me, and you just got out of the pen. Of course, I was going to pick you up. Sick or not."

  I can see a layer of sheen starting to form on his forehead. He probably has a fever. I should be driving, not him, but we're stuck with him at the wheel because of my record. My license expired while I was inside, so I have to reapply and take the whole test over again in order to get it back.

  "So, Stone, we need to talk about something."

  "Sure."

  "You realize that part of your release agreement is securing permanent employment, right?"

  "Yeah."

  "Any leads on something?"

  "Yeah," I assure him. "I have something lined up over in Camden."

  He turns his head while he continues to drive. "Camden, New Jersey?"

  "Yeah," I say nonchalantly. "Keep your eyes on the road please, Nate."

  Last thing I need is to have survived five years of being incarcerated only to be killed by a distracted drug dealer with the flu.

  "You and I both know that you're not supposed to be leaving the state, son. The parole board won't accept a job in Jersey as legal employment."

  "It's only over the bridge, and my new employer says he has a way around that technicality."

  Nate tightens his face in a way that I faintly remember. The way a father would if he's annoyed but trying to be patient with a child.

  "That's not going to work. If you're staying under my roof then you're going to do everything by the book."

  "Don't really have the luxury of picking and choosing where I work, Nate. I'm lucky if I find anything at all. Every basic application asks if I've ever been convicted of a felony. No one wants to hire someone who's done time."

  "There's one place that won't ask you that."

  "I know," I say to reiterate my point. "My guy in Camden won't ask."

  "There's another option." Nate coughs. "A better one. You'll work with me in the shop."

  I exhale sharply. I forgot about that. Nate owns a bike shop. If there's money, I bet it's tied up some kind of way in that shop. I've got to play it cool though. Can't look too eager to get in there.

  "I'm not sure if that's the best place for me."

  "I'm responsible for you for however long the probationary office says I am. So, while you are under my roof, you won't be breaking any laws or any rules by working in New Jersey."

  "Can you actually afford to have me working at the shop? I'm going to need a real pay stub. You can't just pay me in room and boarding."

  "I've been on this earth a lot longer than you, son. I think I know what you need to show them parole officers, and I definitely know how to make money in my shop. So yeah, I will be paying you a wage. It ain't a fortune, but it'll be fair."

  I wish he'd stop calling me son. He's not my de facto father. If he was, I'd like to know where the fuck he was after Jack died. I didn't hear two peeps out of him.

  "You're doing too much for me. I made a big mistake, and I want to turn my life around, but I need to be the one to do it. You giving me room and board is enough."

  And the Oscar goes to...

  "You know, son–"

  I lean my body a little bit more into the passenger side door. Damn near cringing at his use of the word son for the zillionth time today. If he says it one more time I might punch a fucking hole through the window. How easily he lets that word fly out of his mouth when I haven't seen or spoken to him for more than five minutes since Jack's funeral.

  "We've only been in this car for an hour, but I'm starting to get a handle on you. I'm thinking that things have been a lot tougher on you than I ever imagined ever since Jack died."

  You think, Captain Obvious?

  "I'm thinking that you were about to sell them drugs, because if you didn't you were going to end up on the streets alone and afraid. But I'm also thinking that you're in the position that you're in now, because you don't know how to ask for help or graciously accept any help. That's a mistake. Real men know how to recognize a hand up and not a hand out."

  I sit and stew in my own whirlpool of fury. I hate it when people think that they have me all figured out. They don't. Especially Nate. I know I've got six months to get this money, but I may not last that long if I've got to sit around and listen to this drivel all day.

  Nate's cell phone rings distracting him from our conversation.

  Good.

  I just need for him to be quiet for ten damn minutes. Talking is overrated. One thing I learned about my life as a thief as well as my time in prison.

  Silence is golden.

  * * *

  Eight

  TINY

  When we arrive to the building called central booking, my evening gets even crazier. I am searched, fingerprinted, and then brought into a room with two female officers who don't touch me but ask me to squat and cough while they go through my purse. They don't explain why, but I've watched enough drug documentaries to know what they're looking for. They're checking to see if I'm carrying drugs in my vagina.

  It's degrading.

  Demoralizing.

  And frightening.

  They don't even know if I'm guilty of anything yet, and they're treating me like a common criminal, yet there's nothing I can do about it. I'm under their mercy. I have to play by their rules.

  It makes me think about all of the people who live on the fringes of society who this happens to on a regular basis. I feel for them. The only solace I find during this entire process is that the two officers conducting the search apologize the entire time while they're doing it. They know that this is way over the line of good policing.

  After the search, Detective Ricky approaches me.

  "So, Nurse Carter, I see you live near the art museum." He grins in a smarmy way. "Nice neighborhood over there."

  His comment is so inappropriate on so many levels. Where's my right to privacy. And is he giving me the googly eyes?

  Creepy Cop hands me off to a female officer who places me into a holding cell with the three other women I was chained to and five other women as well. There are several long wooden benches in and around the perimeter of the room, a pay phone on the wall, and a metal toilet in the corner. There's no way I'm peeing in that thing.

  I sit on a bench in the middle of the room, and do my best to act as if I'm not frightened out of my mind. I don't think I'm fooling Glitter one bit though as she decides to talk to me about everyone in the cell.

  "See that girl over there in the corner. Look at her. She's coming down. You probably see that shit all the time though, huh?"

  I wasn't one hundred percent sure about that girl when I first noticed her, but Glitter confirmed it. I can tell by the size of her pupils and how agitated that she is, that she seems to be coming down off of a high. Probably some sort of opioid addiction. It's an epidemic in our city.

  "What'd you do to get in here, young girl?" she asks a different young woman with beautiful cocoa skin and short curly hair looking as totally out of place in here as I do.

  I can't hear everything the girl is saying to Glitter, because the girl is mumbling through her tears, but I can surmise what was said based upon Glitter's responses.

  "Damn, that's fucked up. Your old man ain't shit."

  She mumbles something else.

  "Listen, young girl, your dude is going to save his self. Trust me when I tell
you. So, you better look out for yourself. Say whatever you have to say, so that you don't get sent to Riverside. That ain't no place for a girl like you."

  Glitter turns to me and reports back their conversation.

  "She said she went to the store with her boyfriend to get a hoagie. Boyfriend held up the cashier while he was in there. Dummy did everything wrong. They both got pinched. She's sitting here all worried about him when she should be worried about herself. I told her that kid is going to roll on her, and she's going to end up at Riverside. I've seen it a million times."

  I bet.

  "Can I ask you something, Glitter?"

  "Sure."

  "Why do you do what you do for a living?"

  "Why?" she laughs. "Because I could never do what you do. You squares give everything away for free. Your bodies, your hearts, your minds. Especially when it comes to men. When a man wants any part of me, he has to pay for the right."

  What a refreshing concept. Charging someone like Bill Rappaport for an hour of my time in the sack. I should have. It was such a waste of my time I should have gotten something out of it.

  After about an hour in the holding cell, I finally unclench every muscle in my body. Now that I'm relieved to see that it's highly unlikely that I'm going to be shanked, and that seeing the judge takes a really long time on a Friday night, I should probably call my house and break it to my father where I am.

  Things aren't like they are on television where you get to make the one call at a police detective's desk while he types up an arrest report. Thankfully times have changed. There's a pay phone in the cell, which any of us can use to make a call at our discretion. We just have to call collect.

  This is a collect call from the Philadelphia Police Department Central Booking. Will you accept the charges?

  "Yes. Hello?"

  I've never been so happy to hear my father's voice in my life.

  "Dad!"

  "BABY GIRL!"

  My father bursts into a fit of coughing. I can hear that his flu is progressing. He needs fluids, some Motrin, a pot of my chicken soup, and some sleep. I regret that I couldn't talk him out of driving upstate to pick up our new house guest, but there was no changing his mind.

  "Dad...I can't hog the phone, so let me explain what's going on. One of the taillights of my car is out. I didn't know. I was pulled over and then arrested, because my license is expired."

  "That's ridiculous. I never heard of someone being arrested for a paperwork problem."

  "I know, Dad, but there's some sort of new quality of life laws on the books. That's what they're calling them. I have to see the judge before I can get out of here."

  "I'm coming down there."

  "No, Daddy, please. You sound awful. I don't want you running around in this damp weather with a fever. Plus, there's nothing you can do. Glitter told me that the longest part of this whole ordeal is that they have to run my fingerprints through the system in Harrisburg, and that it's going to take a long time because I don't have a record. But once that's done I'll see the judge and be released."

  "Who the heck is Glitter?"

  "One of my cell mates."

  "Is she a whore?!"

  "Shhh...yes, Dad."

  *Silence*

  "Flu or no flu, I'll be there in under twenty minutes."

  * * *

  Nine

  STONE

  "You think I'm going to let you break the law two seconds fresh out of prison?"

  "I have a driver's license on me, Nate."

  "An expired one."

  "Not going to argue about this."

  "Even if I order you not do it?"

  "Don't take orders anymore. Even from you. I'm fine and you're getting sicker by the minute. I'm pulling over and driving us the rest of the way."

  "I wouldn't be able to live with myself if we get stopped, son."

  "Did Ariana sound okay to you?"

  His head eyes drop.

  "She was trying to be strong, but no. I know my daughter. She's never been in trouble a day in her life. She's scared."

  "Then I think it's safe to say that we have extenuating circumstances. She's not okay. You're not okay. And I'm fine to drive."

  "Nobody's going to care that my daughter was just released from prison and that I've got the flu if we get stopped."

  "I didn't know you were such a law abiding citizen."

  "You become a lot of things when you get old, son. I used to take a lot of risks. Now I play by the rules. It's just easier that way."

  Interesting choice of words. Too bad they're all starting to sound like he has a mouth of marbles.

  "Well, I'll risk it. Pull over. Your throat sounds like it's closing up on you."

  "Fine," he huffs. "You can drive, but first thing tomorrow you're going to see about applying for a new driver's license."

  "Uh-huh."

  "First thing, Stone."

  "Understood."

  The last thing I feel like doing after getting out of my five year cage is running right back into another one, but Ariana is going to be released soon and Nate is sick as a dog. Me doing this will probably go a long way in gaining Nate's trust. Slow and steady wins the race.

  "I'm going to pull an up-to-date picture of her on my phone. Just so you know who to look for when you get inside the building."

  "I'm going to have to wait for her outside."

  "Why?"

  "You need a valid state ID to enter a police building like central booking."

  "Oh, yeah right. I didn't think of that. Let's agree that you can drive to the house and drop yourself off, but I'm going to need to go get her myself. Just in case she's going to be longer than we think. I can go inside."

  "Fine."

  We pull over on the shoulder of the turnpike. After we switch sides, Nate hands me his phone with his photo app open.

  "Take a look at her anyway. This picture was taken two months ago."

  Nate bursts into a coughing fit.

  "Adjust the seat back, Nate, and take a nap. I'll use your navigation to get us to your house."

  "I'll lie back, but I'm not going to be able to sleep. Too wound up."

  "Just try and catch some z's at least. I'm not pulling off until you lean back."

  "Just like your father. So damn combative. Wait a minute before you pull off. I've never had to put my own passenger seat back before. Let me just find the lever."

  While Nate spends the next few minutes trying to figure out how to adjust his seat, I click on one of the pictures on his phone of Ariana, and I almost shit my pants.

  She's dressed in a sea blue colored dress. The kind of dress that has one sleeve and leaves her other arm bare. You can tell it's a dress that isn't meant to be purposely provocative. It's tasteful. Kind of expensive. It doesn't display any great amount of cleavage or slit up the leg. But it doesn't have to. The way the dress skims along the curves of Ariana's body is damn near pornographic.

  Breasts that sit high.

  An ass that looks so round and firm that I could bounce a quarter off of it.

  A small waist that makes both those breasts and ass look even more pronounced and mouthwatering.

  A smile that could stop traffic.

  Sultry umber colored eyes that are so expressive that they seem as if they are searing straight into my soul through the photograph.

  This is not the little dork with a towel tied around her neck pretending to save the world like a Powerpuff Girl in her bedroom anymore.

  This picture is of a grown ass woman who I'd pay to see with that tiny pink Powerpuff Girl towel wrapped around her curvaceous body. And the only thing she'd need to be worried about saving was her sweet curvy ass from the likes of me.

  I'm so transfixed by the picture that I don't notice at first that Nate has finished adjusting his seat and is staring curiously at me.

  "You ready?" he asks.

  Hell no, I think to myself.

  I'm not even close to being ready.

  I'm
nowhere ready to live in the same house as the woman in this photograph for one day much less six fucking months.

  * * *

  Ten

  TINY

  My time in front of the judge is about the only thing that's happening quickly tonight. The judge seems to be pushing through his pile of cases in record breaking speed.

  "Who's next?" he asks his clerk.

  My public defender is a young woman who seems to care quite deeply about women's rights, and seems utterly outraged by my arrest.

  "This is ridiculous." She leans over and speaks quietly in my ear. "Do you want me to fight this or do you want to plead and pay the ticket."

  "Will it be on my permanent record if I plead? I just want to get this over with."

  She shuffles a couple of papers in her hand then speaks again.

  "If you plead guilty, I could probably get it expunged. In fact, I know I can."

  "Okay, then I'll take a plea."

  "Are you sure? Because this arrest was a colossal waste of everyone's time and taxpayer's money."

  I know. I know. I should probably fight this whole thing, but I just don't have the energy. I want to get out of here, climb into my bed, and forget this whole day ever happened.

  "I'm sure. I'll take the plea."

  I sign about a thousand pieces of paper including one to agree to the deal and one to get my belongings out of lock up. When I exit the building, tears of relief flood my eyes. It's been a long night and according to Glitter, I was lucky to get out of there when I did.

  "Some squares have to stay locked up all weekend, because they don't have any prints in Harrisburg. Takes them longer to process."

  None of the arresting officers gave me a second to turn off my phone when it was confiscated, so now it's dead. There's no way for me to call my father to see if he made it back to Philly yet. I just hope and pray that he's made it here already. I won't be able to drive my own car.