by A. R. Case
I didn’t see Indy at all.
I did see Walt. He was outside as they hauled me in. He flat out told me, before they made him leave, that I was not to even say my name until a lawyer got there.
When the lawyer did arrive, I was uncuffed and issued a citation with a fine. It was for discharging a weapon within 50 yards of a structure. But considering the house was burned down. I was told I could fight it in court. They could not prove that anyone had been fired upon because Eddie had only called it in, and not come back to press charges. If he did, he’d be arrested on the arson charge.
I asked about Indy, but didn’t get an answer.
Outside, Walt and Fin waited for me.
“Walt, do you, or don’t you have someone getting Indy out?”
“There’s nothing we can do.”
“What do you mean?”
Fin shuffled a bit. “They lifted a print off your gun.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake. Did anyone tell them that he took the gun away from me?”
Both men looked at each other.
“Hun, he can’t touch a gun. He’s a felon.” Fin said.
“What!”
“He’s lawyered up. It will work out.” Walt didn’t exactly look at me when he said that. Fin couldn’t look at me.
“Listen, we shouldn’t be talking about this here. Let’s get you home.” Walt gestured to the parking lot.
“My home is a pile of fucking ash!”
“Edie, not the place.” Fin started walking in the direction of Walt’s truck.
Damn it.
I turned and looked back at the police station. Indy was in there, somewhere. That’s where I needed to be, but it would probably be worse for Indy if I went back in.
“Who’s his lawyer?”
“Leave it be, Edie.” Walt had stayed behind with me.
“But …”
He cut me off. “Not going to help. Drop it.”
But … He needed my help. Moreover, I had to make this right again.
I caught up with them at the truck. Fin held the passenger door open, and Walt walked around to the driver side. “What about Eddie? Isn’t he wanted?”
“They gotta catch him first.”
But if they caught him, his story wouldn’t match ours. Double damn it.
They dropped me off at the rental.
It took a long time for me to do anything but stare out the back window. It was that, or cry. I called Mary to ask her if her firm was the one representing Indy. She promised she’d look into it.
“I’ll get it out of Walt if they’re not.”
“That should be interesting.”
She laughed. “He won’t know what hit him.”
That poor man. “I feel rotten about this.”
“Indy will land on his feet.”
She sounded so certain. I wish I could say the same.
Chapter 17: Property
Indy
They took my rings, my shoelaces, and my belt. I was searched and dumped in a frigid room. It was standard, heavily painted cement and cinder block. This wasn’t my first rodeo. I crossed my feet and waited, keeping my contact with the floor as minimal as possible to conserve body heat and energy. While I waited, I worried like fuck that Edie was sitting somewhere similar.
About two hours later, a lawyer showed up and signed me out. We went back to a conference room to discuss the case. He was a nice guy, but he didn’t like me. I could tell.
“First off, what’s the charge?”
“They didn’t tell you?” He took a note. “Felon in possession of a firearm.”
“How are they figuring that? I didn’t have a gun on me.” I knew how they figured that, but I needed him to figure this out too.
“They took a fingerprint off the gun that they obtained during the investigation.”
I waited.
“Did you handle …” He looked at his notes, “... Edie Krupps’ gun?”
“She handed to me when I told her to stop shooting at that damn possum.”
“You were in possession of a firearm?”
“For about one minute, until I could talk some sense into that fool woman.”
“It says here, they charged her with discharging a firearm within fifty yards of building, is that true?”
“Ain’t no buildings left on that property. Burned down a week ago. She was looking to see if anything was left.”
“Hum…” He flipped the papers back and forth.
“They fine her or book her?” I asked.
“I don’t know. Wait, she was fined and released.”
A weight lifted off me. I could breathe clean again. “About the warrant,”
“Warrant?” The lawyer paused with his thumb stuck between pages.
“Yeah, the one they got to dust her gun.” I prompted.
More paper flipping. “Maybe she gave permission for it to be tested …”
Edie wouldn’t do that to me. At least I hoped she was smart enough not to do that to me.
“Wait here a moment, I’ll be right back.”
The lawyer left the room and I got comfortable. Well, as comfortable as you can when your hands and feet are linked to a loop on the table. For fun, I jiggled the chain, trying to get it to clink in rhythm. Damn thing was cheaper than the ones at Huntsville. It took a bit before I got it clinking in time to the song in my head.
It was just about perfect when the lawyer and a cop came back in. I stopped the noise because most cops hate the shit out of that sound. Maybe it’s a guilty conscience.
“You are free to go.”
“Free, free? Or, I have to come back to face trial free?” I wanted this to be clear.
“Due to procedural issues, they can’t charge you with a crime. You are free to go.”
Before I was unlocked, he had one more word of advice for me. “Don’t touch anymore guns for a few more years, okay? When the waiting period comes to an end, please see me, I’ll file the paperwork for you.”
He packed up his briefcase, including the papers he had about my case, or non-case as it were, and left.
“Asshole.”
The cop looked at me.
“Not you, him.”
That got a smile. Never hurts to get on the good side with the law.
Edie
I finished the suit, and after going back to the cabin rubble, got the shoe lasts I needed. They were damaged, so I was trying to figure out how to fix the problem when the side door opened.
Both Walt and Fin had stayed close, and were in and out, so I thought it was one of them.
I nearly jumped out of my skin when someone moved my hair to the side and kissed my neck.
“Indy!” I knew his smell.
“Hey baby.”
I spun around so quick and jumped in his arms so fast, I nearly knocked him over. “You’re out. I’m so sorry.” Then I kissed him hard.
“Babe, don’t be sorry.”
“But I got you arrested.”
“That wasn’t you, that’s on me. I know better than that.” He pulled me in close and started kissing down the bare skin of my neck.
“It was my fault, so don’t let me off so easy.”
“Was not. And too late.” He kissed some more skin, this time nipping a little bit. It felt really good. He felt good. I ran my hands up and down his body to confirm he was really here. I needed the reassurance.
“I promise to never let you touch my gun, okay?”
He laughed. “Ten years, I’ll show you how well I can shoot.”
“You any good?”
That got a harder laugh. But he didn’t answer. Instead, he started to shuffle me backwards. It was the general direction of the bedroom.
“Did you get a bed delivered?” We were almost to the bathroom.
“Fuck, forgot. Sorry baby. Old lumpy needs another thumpin’ I guess.”
I laughed despite being busy kissing him.
Then I got serious. “I don’t ever want to be apart from you, and
it’s stupid to feel this way.”
“Why is it stupid? Seems natural to me.” His rumble tickled my skin.
“How do you do that?”
“Do what?” He asked.
“Live without worry.” Every day I worried. If I didn’t, I’d call Mom, and she’d give me something new to worry about.
“Do you love me?” He stopped kissing to look me in the eye
“Yes.”
“What are we doing right now?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know what to do.”
“Are you breathing?”
“Yes.”
“Am I breathing?” He asked.
“Yes.”
“I love you.”
He said it. “I think I love you more than breathing.” That was completely silly, and completely honest.
“Ah Hell, Edie, now I’m not breathing so good.”
“Join the club.”
“I guess we don’t ever live apart then. That’s how I figure we deal with this.”
My heart started thumping fast. “I don’t have a home right now.”
He laughed. “Neither do I, but I’ve got a bead on a piece of property Fin is looking to sell. Maybe we’ll build. What do you think?”
“What about the place in Vegas?”
“Do you want to live there?”
“Not really.” To be honest, I don’t think Indy was very happy there.
“Then fuck that place.”
“You could always keep renting it out.” I was a bit distracted by his belt, and getting it unhooked.
“TomTom would appreciate that.” He helped me get it undone. “They gave it right back.” He looked at me with something other than the haze that had built up while we were kissing.
“I’m glad it worked. Hopefully that’s the last time we have to test that.”
Indy
They caught Eddie the next day. Apparently, some concerned citizen called in his location.
Edie wore a really kick ass grey pinstripe suit to testify. The best part of the suit was the shoes. Well, taking off the suit, and leaving the shoes on.
It took the rest of the summer to get the house planned, and another few months to get a crew out to clean up the property in the woods. By the end of the next summer, we were cozied in, and my feet began itching to move. This time, I took Edie with me. We travelled southwest, stopping again at Roswell. Still no aliens. Mother fuckers don’t want me, I guess.
Edie loved the Indian reservations. She sat down with an old Navajo woman to discuss clay pots for about four hours. Her workshop will probably need a kiln when we get back.
TomTom and Vega were our next stop. They were still in Vegas. And I worried a bit, because they were still there. Luckily, Edie was there to soften things out and everyone was happy. I eyed the Mexican border as we kept going, but decided against being an idiot. For her, I’d put a cap on some of those more insane urges. For me, she rode behind me in all sorts of conditions. I got the better deal. All that love at my back, is more than a man can ask for. I was a fool to think I was better off alone.
Preview of Down in Blood
Chapter 1: Release
The holding room that attaches to the visitor section is usually empty on Thursdays. Inmate visitation is Saturdays only, except for approved lawyers, or clergy on Sundays. A fresh 30-day inmate was waiting with me. She still had the unjaded eyes of an innocent. I felt bad for her. She asked me if I was close to release. My internal reaction was “Oh my God, please…” my external reaction, hesitation. A part of me knew that by the fourth shot, it wasn’t about stopping them, and it was about taking the pieces of myself back.
You know what? They don’t come back. The holes where they rip the naive-you out scar. Scars are harder than normal skin. Scars are ugly.
The guard saved me from answering. He led me into the conference room that had a simple table, two chairs, and a lawyer I’d never met before. The door shut behind me with the guard on the other side. He watched through the little window.
I sat down at the table. “I don’t have any money left for an appeal, so I think you are wasting your time.”
“I’ve already been paid, Miss Larson.”
“By who?” I asked.
He smiled. Then he leaned in and said, “You mentioned during one of your interviews you are a history buff.”
“What does that have to do with things?”
“Who said, the enemy of my enemy is my friend?”
I frowned. “You got the phrase wrong.”
He sat back in the chair. “Enlighten me then.”
Smug bastard. “Winston Churchill said, ‘if Hitler invaded Hell, I would make at least a favorable reference to the Devil in the House of Commons’ but before that, the phrase existed in one form or another. I think it actually pre-dated Greece.”
He smiled. “Arthasastra.”
I looked under the table at his shoes, rattling the manacles they’d shackled around my wrists and ankles. The chain that ran between the two sets went slack for a moment as I studied the non-loafer, black Timberland style boots. This wasn’t a glory hound looking to make headlines off my pain. This guy, lawyer, whatever … had credit. In prison, credit was king. I could use some of that right now. “History isn’t why you visited.”
“On the contrary, your history is pretty interesting.”
He got a blank stare from me. I was nothing. Before my spectacular implosion, I worked in a cubicle, complete with one contraband silk plant. My community college degree was in Database Management. I could normalize tables in my sleep. I had a cat. His name was an uninteresting “Morris,” because he was a yellow tabby.
Morris lived with my mom’s sister now and was named a more interesting, Billy Flynn, because she always had a thing for Richard Gere. And since Billy was a criminal’s kind of cat with pinstripes, it fit.
Mom’s sister visited, but didn’t understand me, or children, or her sister for that matter. She understood a 401k and cats. With Flynn, she had three.
The lawyer waited me out.
“You think you can get me out?”
“Out and with no record.”
I couldn’t help it, I laughed. “No thanks. Out is fine.”
He stared at me until the urge to squirm made me flinch. Finally, he said, “Done.”
Four visits later, I was back in front of a judge with the appeal. Attorney Gordon coached me what to say and what to avoid. The craziest claim was I had housing and a job waiting for me.
My former company could have been the one in Office Space. No way would they hire me back. I rented before going in. My overpriced apartment in the suburban sprawl called Columbia was gone. Most of my things were auctioned off for breaking the lease. Heck, Morris, aka Flynn, wasn’t even coming back.
Two days later, I got a visit from the owner of a large parts warehouse in western Maryland. Walt looked like he should be the one behind bars, not me. His tats started just past his fingertips and disappeared under his button-down shirt. They reappeared at his neck. He had the typical biker goatee and shaved head combo that used to turn my head. Unfortunately, victim number two had that same look. Since that guy had been the one who was supposed to be holding me down while the rest took their turn, I was undecided about Walt.
During the visit, we talked about inventory and best software to use. It was something real people would do. The conversation shifted to bikes, the main focus of the warehouse. Before he got up, he warned me that he, or someone else, would be retrieving me when the board notified me of my release.
My release. Like it was a done deal.
Forty-three days later, a little after noon, it was.
The walk was shorter than I imagined. The guy waiting for me on the other end, taller. That was saying something.
I was expecting average height, like Walt. What I saw was tall, beautiful oak with dark edges. My eyes traveled from the black shit kickers, up worn slicks, skipped a bit over a black belt and large, but not shi
ny, belt buckle, over a span of black rock shirt and vest, and up higher yet to deep bronze weather-tan neck, dark razor stubble, goatee, and shoulder-length, wavy, black hair, with just a hint of silver. He was wearing wraparound sunglasses and a frown.
All that distance and I get a frown. Sigh. I no longer wore unflattering prison orange. But my clothes were three years out of fashion. I had on the dark suit I’d worn to my sentencing, one of the few civilian possessions I still owned. The color sucked on me. I’d lost weight in most places and grown a lot more solid in other places, like my arms which were straining the sleeves of the stupid jacket. The rest of my stuff was in the old Nike duffle bag in my hand.
“You don't look like a badass,” he said.
Retreating to a black SUV like he hadn’t just insulted me, he opened the passenger door. “Hop in.”
I stood there. Some part of me must have thought since now I was technically free, I could return to my former self. That maybe I’d be appreciated for who I am, and not judged by what I did. It took a moment to let go of that last shred of naivete. Scar tissue.
He got points for not acting impatient as I gathered my courage. “Walt sent you?”
He nodded.
“You’re Ice?”
“Get in the cage.” He motioned to the truck.
I rooted to the spot I was standing. “What’s Walt’s nickname?”
“Disney.”
Too easy. “What does he ride?” During our last conversation, Walt waxed poetic about his custom softail.
“2008 V-twin Ridgeback with orange paint.”
That matched. “So, you are Ice.”
He walked three steps, picked me up, bag and all, and put me in the passenger seat. “I didn’t sign up for the fucking inquisition, princess, so buckle up.” My feet were barely inside before he slammed the door, rocking the truck. Great. Two minutes on the outside and I’d made an enemy.