Southern Harm

by Travis Casey

  "Right. Who were you covering for again? Me or you?"

  "Me? Why do I need cover?"

  "Let me see. Because of Louie? Because Melanie Harper found a truckload of dirt on you and your dad? Does the detective know what you got up to in LA?"

  Stacey pressed her hand against her chest. "You think I killed Louie Gomez?"

  He hesitated. "I'm not saying you did it, I'm saying you had motive. And a roll in the hay with yours truly would help take you off the suspect list, would it not?"

  "Of course it would, but that's not why I did it."

  Oscar cocked an eyebrow.

  "Protect you, I mean." She sighed. "I know how detectives and prosecutors work, and your alibi sucks. Whether you did it or not is irrelevant. If they want to come after you, they'll get you, because Jim Beam is the worst kind of character witness you can have. So I threw you a lifeline. You should be thanking me, not having a freaking go at me."

  "Okay, thanks. But there's still the scandal aspect for you and the governor. What about your dad? How's he going to stay away from the muddy limelight?"

  Stacey smiled. "You're not going to believe this. He hired Melanie Harper as his press secretary. That presents a huge conflict of interest if she wants to chase the story, and a position like that tends to inspire loyalty."

  Oscar's jaw dropped. "Wow."

  "I told you he was good."

  "I'll say."

  Oscar looked at her from the corner of his eye, reluctant to make full eye contact. "I was there when Louie tried to cut the deal with your dad. Would you have found a technicality that would have got Louie's case thrown out?"

  "I think I'll have that drink now."

  He didn't move.

  Her eyes roamed the apartment, eventually landing back on Oscar—she realized he wouldn't be moving anytime soon. "If you need to go to the liquor store to get something, fine. I'll wait."

  Oscar left her and went to the kitchen, returning a few minutes later with some Pappy Van Winkle.

  Stacey gulped the whiskey. "Thanks. I needed that." She looked content to let his question die with that swig.

  He wasn't. "So—would you have sent him to jail?"

  She didn't answer.

  He accepted defeat. "You know, since you told the cops we had fantastic, amazing, mind-blowing sex, perhaps we should have a dress rehearsal. You know, in case they want to match our stories."

  "Actually, that would be an un-dress rehearsal."

  Oscar laughed. "Good point. Maybe you have a hidden tattoo I should know about."

  "Me, with a tramp stamp? You must be joking."

  "Joke or not"—Oscar cast his eyes toward her glass—"have you had enough whiskey to bring out the vixen yet?"

  She smiled. "Perhaps." She broke the engagement of their eyes, reaching to her side and rummaging in her purse. "Let me call Conrad and tell him to go on."

  While Stacey phoned Conrad, Oscar went to his iPod docking station and loaded up his "Music to Love By" playlist. A little romantic music in the background always heightened his drive to find that magic moment—and the magic spot.

  Stacey lowered her hand and undid her top button. Her lips pressed against one another, doing their own sexy little rumba, inviting Oscar to taste her desire.

  Oscar snuggled beside her. His hand stroked her face as his mouth moved toward hers. As soon as their lips met, a fire lit inside him. His hands moved over her body. He was determined to take it slow, savoring every moment, until the reality of what was happening took them into the stratosphere of sexual contentment. This was the moment he had been craving from the first time he set eyes on her—despite her random outbursts. He hoped her unpredictability spilled over into her bedroom antics. Anticipation seized him as he unbuttoned her blouse.

  He positioned himself over her, undoing the buttons one-by-one. Stacey let out a whimper of eagerness with every button he undid. He finally reached the stage where her flat stomach and black lace bra were on display for his visual delight. His eyes traveled her body, taking in her beauty and impending nakedness. The moment was upon them.

  Ding-dong.

  Stacey threw her arms across her chest. "Oscar, the doorbell."

  "Damn Jehovah's Witnesses. They'll go away."

  "Jehovah's Witnesses in a secure building? Go see who it is."

  Oscar unstraddled her and walked to the door.

  "And for God's sake, get rid of them. This was just getting good."

  Loud banging erupted on the door. "Police! Open up!"

  Before Oscar could get there, the door burst open. Wood particles erupted in a spray. A chunk flew past Oscar's face, just missing him. Three cops holding a battering ram stepped aside as three more police officers charged into the condo.

  "Hands in the air!" a cop shouted.

  Oscar stood in the middle of the room, lacing his fingers behind his head. The front of his shirt lay open, displaying his chest and showing he was undoubtedly unarmed.

  Stacey lay against the armrest of the sofa—ignoring the instruction to raise her hands, instead opting to close the front of her shirt and hold it that way.

  Emmitt met Oscar in the middle of the room. The two of them stood toe-to-toe.

  "Hello, Mr. Escalade. So we meet again."

  Stacey flew off the couch, racing to where the two men stood. "Emmitt, what the hell are you doing here? And with half the Louisville Police Department with you."

  Emmitt side-stepped to stand in front of Stacey. "Hello, Stace. I'm following up on leads. What do you know about the Louie Gomez murder?"

  "Why are you asking me? You don't think—"

  Oscar moved, repositioning himself in front of Stacey.

  That simple move brought an immediate response from Emmitt, who charged Oscar and drove him into the wall, face first.

  "Oscar Novak-Chambers, I'm arresting you for the murder of Louie Gomez."

  Chapter 46

  "What?" Stacey screeched. "Are you insane?"

  "I'm glad you were here to see this, Stace," Emmitt announced. "See what a lowlife I saved you from? This guy's a murderer." He slapped the cuffs on Oscar and wheeled him around.

  Stacey searched Oscar's demeanor for a clue. "Oscar? Is this true?"

  "Of course not." He nodded toward Emmitt. "This is a setup. What kind of proof do you have that would possess you to invent such a ridiculous allegation?"

  "Witnesses. Four of 'em. All willing to testify that they saw you on Front Street at the time of the murder. Their ID on you is as good as a smoking gun."

  "I'd like to see you prove it," Oscar said.

  "Then your wish is about to come true, Escalade."

  Stacey gazed at him. "Oscar?"

  Oscar leaned forward, nestling his mouth next to Stacey's ear and whispered, "I think this is where I invoke my right to remain silent."

  "But you're not a—" Her voice broke. A tear welled in the corner of her eye.

  "Don't worry. I have a good lawyer."

  Emmitt stood next to Stacey, smiling. "Looks like Mr. Escalade is going to be tied up for a lifetime or more. I think you and me need to arrange that date you owe me. It's our destiny."

  Two cops each grabbed an arm, holding Oscar by the biceps as they led him to the elevator.

  "Can you call my dad and tell him to get me a new door fitted?" Oscar called out over his shoulder.

  Stacey stood in the doorway as Oscar was led away. She fought back a flood of emotion that could easily have released itself if she let it.

  Damn that Emmitt.

  ***

  A seasoned cop pressed Oscar's fingers onto the screen taking digital fingerprints. Each finger was assigned to its own outlined block. Then they moved over to a camera and backdrop with height markers, where Oscar briefly held up a black placard with the number 357660.

  After refusing to talk to the police during his interview, insisting on a lawyer, Oscar was placed in a holding cell. Charlie Ford showed up a short time later, and they were given a private room.
They sat across from one another at a solitary table. Charlie opened his briefcase and produced a yellow legal pad, then pulled a black and gold Mont Blanc ballpoint pen from his top pocket, placing it at the ready, hovering over the pad.

  "Thanks for coming down so quick, Mr. Ford," Oscar offered. "My grandfather says you're the best."

  The white-haired gentleman gave a subtle smile. His expensive suit made him a vision of attainment—not to mention his robust frame showed as a tribute, and contributor, to Kentucky's most successful businessman, Colonel Sanders. "Not at all. Roscoe Novak and I go back a long way. In fact, he was my very first client. I love the man."

  Oscar gave a nod of satisfaction. "Good. Now, if you can get me out of here, I'd be grateful."

  "Yeah, about that. I've read the police report." Charlie reached into his briefcase and pulled out an official-looking piece of paper. He slipped on a pair of gold-framed glasses and examined the report. "What we need is a Caucasian male, about six-foot-two or three, one hundred eighty pounds or so, who drives a silver Escalade pickup truck, and happened to be on the west side of Louisville—Front Street, specifically—around seven o'clock on the evening of June 16. And if his name is anything other than Oscar Novak-Chambers, you're off the hook."

  "That doesn't sound good. What if I said I was banging the assistant to the district attorney at that time?"

  A smile crossed Ford's lips. "I'd say 'Lucky you,' but you should have had an orgy."

  "What?" Oscar couldn't keep the puzzlement off his face. "What the hell kind of defense is that?"

  "As it stands, I need to convince a jury that four—not one, but four—youths walking on Front Street at the time of the murder are all lying." Charlie tutted. "That's unlikely. I could convince a jury that one, perhaps two, were drug-crazed lunatics, high on hallucinogenic drugs at the time. But four?" He shook his head. "No chance."

  "Don't you want to know if I did it or not?"

  "Not really. Some things are best left unsaid."

  "But I have a witness. Miss Davenport is my alibi."

  Charlie looked Oscar in the eyes. "And it was just you and her?"

  Oscar nodded. "Yes."

  "Then it's two words against four. We'd need five or six witnesses to offset the four for the prosecution."

  Oscar sighed with despair. Maybe he did drive down to the west side and plug Louie. He honestly couldn't remember what happened that night. All he was sure about was that he didn't plug Stacey. "So what's the best way to make this go away?"

  Ford leaned back in his chair, nibbling the end of the earpiece of his glasses. "I'm still working on our defense."

  Oscar felt a burning sensation in his gut, and it suddenly dawned on him—Stacey. Why would she lie for him? There was nothing in it for her to commit perjury. She wouldn't do it. She's the one who needed an alibi. Her and her violent temper. Plus, she needed to protect her father. Oh my God. Stacey did it. Oscar laid his head on the table for a moment while he took it all in.

  Charlie rested a hand on his shoulder. "Are you okay, son?"

  Oscar lifted his head. "What about pleading insanity?"

  Charlie wiggled his finger, pointing to Oscar's chin. "Yes, start dribbling and mumbling incoherently." He shook his head. "Insanity is a clever ploy they dream up for TV ratings. If I did successfully argue that you were a nut job, then you'd spend twenty to thirty years in a lunatic asylum with real crazy people. And if you weren't nuts when you went in, you certainly would be by the time you got out. Is that what you want?"

  "Perhaps not."

  The lawyer leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. "Someone else I go back a long way with is Judd Davenport."

  Oscar felt a stirring of hope.

  "I've spoken with him and had to fill in some of my own blanks. If I were the prosecutor, here's what I would submit: the security guard told Judd that Louie Gomez went to the mansion on your behalf to ask the governor if you could have his daughter's hand in marriage."

  "What? I never asked any such thing."

  Charlie didn't flinch. "So what? It doesn't matter. That's what a secret service officer is willing to testify to. At any rate, it's common knowledge you had designs on Stacey. Then you witnessed firsthand Louie Gomez blackmailing the governor and his daughter, and you discovered secrets that could destroy the whole administration, along with Stacey and her reputation. What's a guy going to do?"

  Oscar sat still.

  "So you protect Stacey and the governor, and rid Louisville of one of its biggest menaces."

  Oscar leaned forward. "But I didn't—"

  Charlie interrupted him. "You know as well as I do, if the whole dynamic between you, Stacey, and the governor comes under the scrutiny of a trial, you will all be serving time—if not for this crime, then for crimes past."

  Oscar closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "So where does that leave me?"

  "Protecting a romantic prospect from having her reputation damaged and facing criminal charges herself is hardly grounds for justifiable homicide. I suggest we plead guilty and go in with a plea bargain."

  "What will that get me?"

  "I think I could get you off with five to seven."

  "Years?" Oscar swallowed hard. He wished he could remember that night, but Jim Beam did a good job of introducing him to a night of amnesia. "What if I want to fight it?"

  "Then we can fight it. Just bear in mind, if the purpose of Louie Gomez being taken out of the equation was to protect Miss Davenport, then that goal will be destroyed. As your defense counsel, I would stop at nothing to get you acquitted, even if that means Stacey Davenport has to go to prison. If this goes to trial, then everything has to come out, and the reason behind the killing becomes academic. And there would be implications for the governor as well." He shrugged submissively. "And if we lose, you would be looking at twenty-five to life—minimum."

  A hangover would be a state of euphoria compared to how Oscar felt at Charlie Ford's revelations. He never felt so ill—but would sending Stacey to prison make him feel any better? He mulled things over for several moments. "But do you think we can keep Stacey and the governor out of it if I go down for five years?"

  "If we can convince the prosecutor that Louie Gomez was scum, and that his death saved the state a lot of future legal trouble—and the judge is in a lenient mood—then yes. I think we can keep the numbers in the single digits."

  "Single digits?"

  "If everyone plays ball."

  Oscar wasn't so sure what Granddad Roscoe saw in this guy. With his vague and non-committal answers, he sounded more like a politician. But one thing was for sure—Charlie wanted Oscar to take the fall. If he did, the governor would stay in office, and the Novak-Chambers' special relationship with the governor would not only remain intact, but the governor would be more indebted to the family than ever before. And Stacey would remain free to visit Oscar in jail.

  "Okay," Oscar conceded. "Let's do this. Maybe the judge will think a year in minimum security will teach me a lesson."

  Charlie looked at him from over the top of his glasses. "It's okay to be optimistic, son, but let's not be delusional."

  ***

  "Will the defendant please rise."

  Oscar stood up from behind the defense table. Charlie Ford rose with him, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with his client.

  Judge Harbaugh sat at his mahogany throne, going through the papers before him and eyeing Oscar and the members of the gallery sitting in the courtroom.

  Darcy sat next to Tyler, clutching his hand. He tapped her hand to get her to loosen her squeeze. With the cruise postponed in favor of supporting Oscar, Miriam had her arm wrapped tightly around Roscoe's upper arm, praying her grandson would receive probation, or better yet, community service. Stacey sat staring at her hands clasped tightly in her lap, thankful that her name was never mentioned during the hearings. She also hoped Oscar would get the lightest sentence possible.

  The judge cleared his throat. "Mr. Novak-Chambers,
you have worked with the prosecution and admitted your guilt in exchange for a reduced sentence. Nevertheless, you have confessed to taking a man's life. As part of the plea deal, your motives were never under the scrutiny of the court. However, this court does indeed believe your actions were premeditated. Nevertheless, the prosecution has lessened the charge to involuntary manslaughter. That said, this court finds your actions unacceptable."

  An unsettling feeling invaded Oscar's stomach. The judge wasn't following the script. He wasn't playing ball.

  "You come from a wealthy family, Mr. Novak-Chambers. You've had advantages most people can't even dream of, yet you've failed to use your education and privileged upbringing wisely. If you had issues with Mr. Gomez, you should have had the foresight and wisdom to use the legal system or business practices to reconcile your differences, and not taken the matter into your own hands. A man with your background and upbringing could only have been in that part of town for an ill-gotten purpose. This court finds your actions reprehensible." He looked at the prosecutor with disdain. "The prosecution should never have agreed to accept this charge of involuntary manslaughter, and this court rejects your plea for leniency."

  Murmurs ran through the courtroom.

  "Unfortunately, my hands are tied by law as to the sentence I can issue. But I shall stretch that tie to the maximum. I hereby sentence you to ten years in Pillager Maximum Security Correctional Facility —without the possibility of parole."

  The gavel fell, crushing Oscar under it.

  Chapter 47

  Oscar forced himself to make eye contact with his family—and Stacey.

  Tyler held Darcy in his arms as she sobbed. Miriam wiped a tear from the corner of her eye with a lacey handkerchief. Roscoe wiped at the corner of his eye with his finger. Stacey sat stone-faced and staring straight ahead unblinking and unmoving. Oscar's glance wasn't enough to grab her attention.

  The bailiff led him away through a side door of the courtroom, escorting him to begin his new life with guys named Cueball, Chilly Will, Fat Tony, and the like.