Absolute Power (Southern Justice #1

by Cayce Poponea

  Miss Georgia of course wanted to know if I had enough fabric, as if I were sewing them myself. Again, not tempting fate with a needle in my hand. Carson was honestly a little overexcited at the prospect of coming over, almost like he had been waiting on an invitation.

  My basking in the sunlight was cut short as the front door opened and a cheerful voice announced her arrival. “Oh, I was hoping you would want to do something with these windows.” Georgia pushed past my bed and rounded the corner, taking me in a hug, which left me breathless and happy. Noticing the bags in the corner, Georgia jumps in, completely in her element. Her verbal thoughts were running a mile a minute about swags and cornice boards.

  “Hey, how about when I finish helping you ladies, you allow me to take the two of you to a nice dinner?” Carson had crept into the room, ladder in hand and a tool bag around his hips. I don’t recall a time I’d ever seen him with a scowl on his face. He didn’t disappoint as he set the ladder against the wall, and then leaned over to kiss my cheek.

  “You, my love, have a deal,” Georgia answered with no input from me.

  That’s how I found myself in the middle of downtown, a glass of wine in my hand, a belly full of food and tears of laughter falling down my face.

  Carson looked at me, his eyes gleaming from the joke he’d shared. “Claire, I’m glad you called today, there’s something I wanted to discuss with you.”

  You know the feeling you get when you just know you’re in trouble, that sinking, uneasy feeling of dread? That feeling immediately took up residence in my belly. “Sure, Carson. What’s up?”

  “Dylan.” He said pointedly, leaning back in his chair, a wide open invitation to spill my guts on his face.

  “Sure, I’ve heard of him.” Teasing back, trying to bring back the laughter we had surrounding us just moments ago.

  “I know you’ve been seeing quite a lot of him and wanted to make sure he is treating you well.”

  With Carson being a father figure to me and one of Dylan’s best friends, I would have assumed he would’ve already known the answer.

  “Sweetheart, listen, I know Dylan, more than he knows himself. He has the ability to be a great man. One who will stand behind his word and cherish the strong woman who breaks through his bullshit exterior. You have done just that.” He tapped his glass against mine, a large grin on his face. “Now don’t think for a second he isn’t going to screw up, he was born with a short fuse and foul mouth. But his daddy and granddaddy instilled values in him which he will use and not even realize it.”

  “Can I say something?” Miss Georgia sobered; she had been very quiet through most of our meal. “Claire, honey, I don’t mean to pry.” She glanced down at her fingers, her nervousness untouched by the wine she drank.

  “Earlier when you went to hang one of your curtains, I noticed your shirt rode up and there was a scar…” She pointed to her own back, her face sad and apologetic.

  The first time I had coffee with Carson, when he’d asked me to give Dylan a chance, he had added a side note. “Don’t sleep with him right off. If you give him what he’s used to, he may fall back into a pattern.”

  Carson had nothing to worry about, sex with Shane was always the same, quick and with most of our clothing on. When I was eleven, my dad came home from a late night brewing and sampling session, to find Gigi wasn’t home. She had gone off to visit one of her friends who was passing through town. Dad came in, staggering drunk, most likely horny, and looking for his wife.

  He woke me and Cheyenne up demanding we tell him where she was. I told him the truth; I had no idea, only that she was with her friend. Dad didn’t like my answer, so he’d pulled his belt off, reared his hand back and started hitting me across my back with it. It wasn’t the first time he had done it, but it was, however, the first time he’d hit me with the metal end of it.

  After he’d passed out, Cheyenne helped me over to Miss Greenwood’s place, the closest thing we had to a doctor. She put herbs and oils on the cut, told me to let the moonlight hit it and I would be fine. The next day, I’d gone to the school library and read a book about bacteria and mold. Scared, I had slipped into the locker room showers and cleaned the junk out with soap and water. I now have a scar about the width of my pinky that runs from one side of my back to the other.

  “So you see, where Cheyenne and Gigi used sex as an escape, my dad used fear to rule us. He could cut you with his words alone.” Georgia being, well Miss Georgia, took me into a hug, silently telling me she loved me and always would.

  On our way home, Carson had to pull over as red and blue lights came up the street behind him. Four police cars raced past us, headed for the Bridge. I prayed there hadn’t been an accident. Miss Georgia gave Carson a look when he reached for his phone. She had explained a long time ago when he was off duty, he wasn’t allowed to talk shop, that included following up on what we had just witnessed.

  The next morning, I was enjoying the darkness my new curtains provided. Snuggling into my favorite sheets, I attempted to drift back to sleep. Dylan had called me right before I’d gone to bed. He wanted to know if I was upset with him, as he’d found out from Carson I had not contacted him about the need for male assistance. I reminded him his family was in town and I didn’t want to interrupt.

  When my cell began ringing, I assumed it was him. He mentioned something about getting together with his brothers and wanting me to join them.

  “Hello?”

  “Claire, are you watching the news.” Lainie spoke so fast, which annoyed the heck out of me. Combined with her excitement and volume of her voice, I nearly ended the call and turned my phone off.

  “Fuck, no! I was sleeping.”

  “Well wake up, and turn on channel six.”

  I begrudgingly tossed back my blankets and stomped into the living room. “There had better be a platoon of naked Marines…” I grumbled as I pressed the remote bringing the black box to life.

  “Just hurry up, they’re about to do an update.”

  Standing in what looked to be one of the parking lots adjacent to the Bridge was a female reporter. “Are you watching?” Lainie questioned as I turned up the volume.

  “Yes, now hush.”

  “If you’re just now joining us. We are here at Memorial Park on the South end of the Bridge, where early this morning the body of a suspected jumper was pulled from the marsh along the bank of the river. As some of you may recall, a report of a possible jumper was phoned into authorities from an unidentified caller. Coast Guard and River Patrol authorities responded, but found no body floating in the water. Divers were called in yesterday when a fisherman reported what he thought was blood on the rocks. Investigators confirmed the evidence they collected from the area around the support pillars was indeed human blood.”

  The screen flashed to a pre-recorded segment where several boats were circling one of the support pillars. The camera panned out and the bridge was full of red and blue lights. This had to be where the cops were headed last night when they passed us.

  “Veronica, I believe we have a positive identification on the blood found on the rocks as belonging to a…Frances Greyson.,” said the suited man who sat behind the anchor desk. His tanned face and white smile beamed into the camera with the same expression he would use to tell you about the spelling bee which was won by a word we have never heard of.

  “That is correct, Gavin. Police released the name of the possible victim in hopes one of his relatives could be located and his whereabouts confirmed. Mr. Greyson, who has a very lengthy criminal history, was recently released from jail, but failed to report to his probation officer.”

  The camera panned back to the girl in the park, her hand going up to her ear. She looked to be listening to something as her head bobbed up and down quickly.

  “Gavin, I’m sorry to interrupt, but the medical examiner has just confirmed the body found early this morning is indeed that of Frances Greyson.”

  I tuned out the remainder of what she had t
o say, disbelief paralyzing me when I stood. He’s dead. The man who’d caused so much pain to my best friend is dead. He couldn’t hurt her, or any other woman, ever again.

  “Claire, the son of a bitch is dead.” There were tears in her voice, of sadness, joy, and pain, all of the above I am sure.

  “Yes, he is,” I responded, my emotions still on hold. After assuring her we would get together later in the week, I hung up the phone and switched off the television, the reporter still reciting the same words over and over. It was all too much, too strange and made no sense. Frances Greyson left his jail cell a free man. He had just won his case and was able to return to the life he’d had before. According to reports, the night before last, after an altercation with me, he’d decided to end his life by jumping from a bridge.

  What the hell was I missing? What could have possibly happened in the time he’d left me and spent a night in jail, to cause him to walk over a mile uphill in the middle of the night just to jump to his death?

  The bigger question…did I really want to know the answer?

  A lie gets halfway around the world before the truth can gets its pants on.

  -Winston Churchill

  “You look good, Dylan. Happy.”

  Carson had stopped by the shop after his shift, bringing a six pack and an inquisitive mind with him.

  “That’s because I am happy,” I replied as I continued to work on the bike in front of me. I turned to the side, flashing him a smile as I continued to turn my wrench.

  “I had dinner with Claire the other night.”

  A small pang of jealousy hit me in the chest. I hadn’t been able to see her much, as she’d picked up an extra shift at the hospital.

  “She said you two were getting to know one another.”

  I knew what the cocky fucker wanted. I tossed the wrench on the lift, wiping my hands on the rag from my back pocket. “I told you, Claire is different. No, I haven’t tried anything, including kiss her.”

  Carson started to cough and spit his beer onto the concrete floor. “Are you serious?” His face turned red from the liquid going down his windpipe. “You don’t fucking kiss.” He wheezed, pounding on the center of his chest as he tried to recover.

  I leaned back against the lift, a fresh beer to my lips. I relaxed into the feel of the cold liquid flowing down my throat, the carbonation stinging slightly as it traveled to my stomach, “I know, but I want to,” I admitted.

  “And that scares you?”

  I looked at him, seeing the true concern he has not only for me, but for Claire as well. “No, not really. It’s the thought of her waking up one day and realizing she can do so much better than my sorry ass that scares me.”

  Carson placed his beer on the bench and held out his left hand, a smile that would warm a dead witch’s heart on his face. “It’s about time.”

  A loud roar of the roll up door from behind me effectively shut down the oh so comfortable conversation that was about to continue. Austin stood in the center of the bay door, his car parked in the drive behind him. After moving back home, he’d traded his suits for jeans and t-shirts. “Hey fuck nuts,” he said as he passed through the opening, turning back and pulling the door back down.

  “You know, we have a perfectly good front door that is a hell of a lot quieter.” I tossed the dirty towel at him, missing by a mile.

  “I do, but I like to make a grand entrance.” He picked up my stray towel, tossing it back to me and hit me in the side of my face.

  Austin made an appearance nearly every evening. We’d sit back, have a few beers and he would join in helping me repair one of the bikes.

  “Mr. Carson, how are you this evening?” He asked as he reached for a cold bottle.

  “Actually, I’m glad you’re here, I have a few questions I need to ask.”

  Austin twisted the cap off his beer, took a look around for an empty chair, and then pulled it closer to where Carson is sitting. “What’s up, boss?” he poses, taking a long drink from the bottle.

  “Well actually, its for the both of you.” Nodding his head in both of our directions. Tossing the rag to the side, I took my beer and grabbed a seat of my own.

  “Well, I think pretty much everyone in town has heard the news about the jumper. I was out with my wife and your girl the night it happened.” He looked at me, his face unreadable.

  “Georgia doesn’t like for me to bring shit home these days, I think she is tired of the bad news constantly flowing in the house. Anyway, once Georgia went to bed, I made some calls.” His attention was in Austin’s direction.

  “This Greyson guy wasn’t the first one to jump from the side of that damn Bridge. But he was the first one who didn’t have a history of depression.” Carson’s calm features revealed nothing.

  “So I asked myself; why would a man like Cash, a man who’d just completed a stretch in jail, a man who was last seen getting picked up in a beautiful car, suddenly decide to end it all?” Standing up, he tossed his empty beer bottle into the trash and retrieved another. “Something didn’t add up.” He shrugged his shoulders.

  “So I went to work, read the reports…” His forearms rested on his thighs, his attention moving back and forth between us. “…and I started digging around. I found it interesting our IT people were talking about a power surge about three in the morning, causing the system to reboot and making every camera on the bridge shut off for three minutes around the time the medical examiner estimates Cash took his last breath. So I pulled up the weather report, saw how it was a clear night, so no chance of lightning. So I thought, maybe an accident on the bridge could have caused the disruption, but there were no reports of any cars on the bridge for a full fifteen minutes. Then I thought, who would have the technology to pull something like this off? But, according to the IT folks, their security system is too advanced for that. It’s some fancy-shmancy product from a company out of New York, Adams…something.” A tiny smirk tried to form on Austin’s face, his bottle helped to control it.

  “So then I happen to stop off at McGuire’s for lunch. Low and behold, Megan O’Leary, new bride of old doc O’Leary, was standing in the middle of the bar, cursing the poor man in a language I couldn’t understand, but the fellas who were sitting around the place sure did. So I asked one of them what in the hell was going on with her. Imagine my surprise when I learned a certain nurse had gone into the ER where he worked, found him in one of the rooms where he was talking with his sister in law on the phone, in a way no married man should be speaking. The nurse called everyone on the floor to listen to what she had to say. The sister in law pretends to be the wife, but lucky for her, or rather not so lucky, a new doctor who was starting that night, apparently has a parent who was from Ireland and he speaks Irish as well. He listened to the doc’s call after the nurse left, who was disgusted the wife didn’t seem to care about the man having a girl on the side. So he goes home and tells his Irish mother, who calls her Irish friend, who happens to be the mother of the new bride. When Megan found out a few days later, she finds him talking with his father and the conversation goes on from there.”

  I shook my head, trying hard to keep up with his story; I went to open my mouth only to have him show me the palm of his hand, telling me he wasn’t finished. “But that ain’t all. It seems the good doctor has issues keeping his shillelagh in his knickers. His sister in law’s baby is his. They’ve been carrying around since she was sixteen. So I asked the guy in the bar when all of this happened? He tells me it’s the same night Cash took his life.” He looked down at the floor quickly and gulps about half of his beer, before continuing.

  “I then asked myself, who do I know with enough fire in her belly to confront a man like that. Only one person stood out, so I go over and ask around, thinking it could only be one gal. But when I talk with a young lady by the name of Shayla, I find out the girl is none other than Claire!” The way he exclaims her name, voice riddled with shock, body language confirming the disbelief.

  “So
I ask around, see if anyone saw anything? Since it was so late in the evening, nobody noticed anything.” He shrugged his shoulders while poking out his bottom lip.

  “As I walked out of the ER, I recalled an attack which happened in the parking lot at the end of the block. So I went back inside and asked to see the security footage.”

  My pulse quickened, I had forgotten about the hospital cameras. “Turns out the hospital had the same type of power surge as the city.” Each word is said as he grimaces in Austin’s direction. “So, as I’m leaving again, I see the convenience store across the street and head over. Just as I was about to go in to see if they had any outside cameras, I overhear two old guys talking about watching a girl pounding the shit out of some guy the other night. I’m about to tune them out, thinking they are talking about one of the hookers on the street, when one of the guys starts talking about how he’d seen this girl leaving the hospital in a uniform. I backed up, asked them to tell me the story, and what wouldn’t you know, they describe my Claire to a fucking tee.” His hand slapped his thigh, and then pointed in my direction.

  “Then they tell me about some hot shot who came out of nowhere and started kicking the shit out of the guy, tells the pretty lady to get out of there, only she turned around and kicked the fucker in the balls. The dude who showed up punched him a few more times and then places him under arrest, tossed him in the back of a very expensive looking sports car, and hauls ass toward the police station. Only problem is, between eleven fifteen and four twenty three in the morning, not a single male is arrested in Charleston County.” He downed the remainder of his beer and tossed the empty perfectly into the trash behind him.

  “So then I asked myself, if I were Cash, and I’d just had my balls handed to me by a girl half my weight, would the first thing I did once I bonded out be to jump off a bridge?” He paused for a second, then looked back to me. “Fuck no I wouldn’t! I’d find out where the fuck the bitch lived and I’d make sure she never spoke about it to nobody.”