by David Achord
“Can you at least tell me where my vehicle was towed?” I asked.
“Memphis PD impound lot,” he answered and then walked out, closing the door behind him.
My cuffs were tight and I was starting to ache both in my wrists and shoulders. Back in the day, I had a suspect manage to slip his cuffs from the back to his front. Of course, he was a skinny crackhead. I tried to do the same, but there was no way.
So, I sat there, pondering the situation and looked around. It was a typical interview room; dull green walls, which psychologists claimed was the best color to subtly soothe a hostile person, three folding chairs, and a solitary government-issued table. I spotted the hidden camera immediately. It was hidden in the smoke alarm, which instead of being mounted on the ceiling, like most smoke detectors, it was mounted on the wall.
Cop mentality always amazed me; they thought they were smarter than everyone and every criminal they encountered was stupid. I’m sure whoever mounted the camera thought the same way. But it also surprised me. The FBI’s protocol is to not record interviews. Instead, one agent would conduct the interview while another agent took notes. It went without saying those notes were always slanted to make the Fibbies look good.
It took an hour before the other FBI agent stuck his head in the door. He was an unremarkable looking sort, about my age, under six feet, male-pattern baldness, and probably weighed a buck eighty. Like I said, a plain-looking guy who would never stand out in a crowd.
“If you don’t want us to destroy that lockbox in your console, you’re going to need to give us the code.”
“I’d like to take a look at that search warrant first,” I said. “For that matter, how about the arrest warrant? Why don’t you let me take a look at that too?”
“Are you sure that’s how you want to play it?” he asked with a pointed stare.
“You never have identified yourself.”
He gave a slight, unfriendly smile. “Mister Ironcutter, my name is Special Agent Avery Pollard, and I’m going to see to it that you spend a long time in prison.”
“Oh, dear,” I replied.
He stared at me a moment longer before leaving me with an ominous threat. “I’ll be back.”
“You said it wrong. You don’t sound anything like a Terminator.”
I was once again alone. Don’t think it escaped my attention that Agent Pollard did not bother removing my cuffs. I guess he thought my discomfort would increase my stress, keep me off balance. It was true, at the moment I was in a pickle. Oh, I’d eventually get out of all of it; they’d committed too many errors to make a case, even if they had a case. But, in the meantime, they weren’t going to make things easy for me.
Special Agent Pollard made good on his threat and returned thirty minutes later. Agent Stainback was with him. I breathed a feigned sigh of relief.
“Oh, thank God, I thought you’d never come back,” I said.
They didn’t laugh and sat in the two seats on the opposite side of the table. Agent Stainback had a manila folder stuffed with papers. She opened it and slid a few of the papers to me.
“Here is your copy of the search warrant,” she said.
I looked down at the front page, which had the FBI emblem as a watermark.
“Nice cover page. Are you going to uncuff me so I can read the rest?”
“We’ve delivered your copy of the search warrant, we’re under no obligation to read it to you, and no, you will not be uncuffed,” Pollard said.
They were both giving me the hard-ass police look, which was amusing, in spite of the discomfort of the cuffs.
“So, since I’m unable to read this nonsense, let’s move on to the charges. What are they?” I asked.
“The three of you will be charged with obstructing an FBI investigation,” he said.
“I’ve never heard of that law, are you sure it exists?” I asked.
“I can assure you it exists, Ironcutter,” Pollard said.
“Well then, what are we doing here? Carry us down to the federal magistrate and charge us. I don’t have all night.”
The two of them exchanged a glance. I happened to know federal magistrates kept banker’s hours; feds don’t normally arrest people in the middle of the night. I wondered if they were aware that I knew this little factoid.
“Alright, Ironcutter, we will do so, but first let’s have a little chat,” Pollard said.
“I haven’t been able to feel my hands for the past hour. Why should I chat with you?”
There was another exchange of glances before he stood and fished a key out of his pocket. Agent Stainback stood to one side as Agent Pollard opened the cuffs and placed my hands in front before reattaching them. I waited for the two of them to sit before speaking.
“So, what kind of chat are we about to have?” I asked as I rubbed my wrists. “Wait, let me guess. You two want to know what I spoke to those gypsies about, correct?”
“We can start with that, if you like,” Agent Pollard said.
“Hmm, I don’t think I want to start with that,” I said.
“Alright, smartass, what are we going to start with?” Agent Stainback asked.
I leaned forward and started reading the search warrant. After a moment, I looked up suspiciously.
“Your affidavit is filled with vague innuendo. There’s no credible PC here whatsoever. How in the hell did you get a judge to sign it? Oh wait, let me guess, it’s one of those judges who will sign anything a Fibbie sticks in front of him, am I right?”
Stainback could not keep from allowing a smirk to cross her face, like I had walked right into their trap. “Well then, let’s talk about our probable cause, shall we?”
I shrugged. “If you want. I’ll have to tell you though; a good cup of coffee makes me loquacious.”
Her eyes narrowed. “A what?”
“Chatty, talkative, an affable raconteur.”
“You like to use big words, don’t you, Ironcutter.” She said it like it was an insult.
“I feel like I need to do my best,” I said. “After all, the mental perspicacity of the FBI is legendary, wouldn’t you agree?”
She gave a somber nod of agreement. I doubted she knew the definition of the word and my sarcasm attached to it.
“It’s good you’re aware of this, so any attempt to lie to us will only have negative consequences for you and your friends.”
“I’ll state for the record right now, my friends have done nothing wrong and as far as they knew, we only came down here to watch the fights.”
“Why did you come down here, Mister Ironcutter?” Agent Pollard asked.
“To watch the fights,” I replied.
Pollard stared daggers at me and slowly leaned forward. “Do you think this is a game, Ironcutter?”
I leaned forward as well until we were inches apart and locked eyes with him. “On the contrary, I’m taking this extremely seriously. You conducted an illegal traffic stop, you obtained a search warrant under nefarious circumstances, and you have charged not only me but my friends as well on absolute bullshit. And now, the two of you are attempting to interrogate me without benefit of obtaining a waiver of my constitutional right to an attorney. Yes, Special Agent Pollard, I am taking this extremely seriously. The question you two should be asking yourselves is how is this going to stand up under the scrutiny of a jury?”
Agent Pollard broke eye contact and leaned back. After a couple of seconds, he regained his composure, fixed me with a glare, and smirked.
“You can be certain of one thing, Ironcutter: you will be spending a long time in federal prison. Cops don’t do well in prison, but you already know that, don’t you?” He thought he was scoring points and the smirk intensified. “I couldn’t help but notice you sitting a little funny. The boys had a good time with you that time you were locked up recently, didn’t they?”
I gave him a withering stare. “You’re an idiot, Pollard. Do you think your insults are accomplishing anything?” I then turned to Agent Stainb
ack. “Oh, wait. This is the bad cop, good cop routine. Am I right? Juanita, are you supposed to be the good cop?”
She responded with her own withering stare, but then she remembered her role and tried for a worried and concerned demeanor.
“Ironcutter, you just don’t get it, do you? You are in serious trouble here. Your only chance is to get in front of this immediately. If you cooperate, I’ll do what I can for you, but if you keep playing these games, there will be no chance for you.” She then leaned forward, putting more concern in her expression. “I can tell you this: one of your friends is already talking. I won’t snitch out which one it is, but they have a lot to say.”
I kept myself from laughing. Neither Bull nor Flaky knew the details of my investigation. The only thing they knew was we were going to watch some fights and I was hoping to talk to one of the fighters. The two agents stared expectantly.
“That really hurts,” I said. “You just wait and see if I give either of them a ride home. That’ll show them.”
The expectant stares turned angry. The tension was broken by an abrupt knock on the door. The two agents glared a few seconds longer, reluctant to break eye contact. Whoever it was on the other side of the door knocked again.
“Whatever you do, don’t open that door,” I warned. My sarcasm was on fire tonight.
Pollard gave yet another withering stare, stood, and walked the three steps to the door. When he opened it, a civilian security guard in need of a shave was standing there. He motioned for Pollard to join him in the hall. Agent Pollard shut the door and there was a brief, muffled conversation before he walked back in.
“Who is your attorney?” he asked.
“I have the Goldman Law Firm on retainer. It’s a prestigious firm in Nashville with several attorneys on staff. Why do you ask?”
Pollard said nothing. Instead, he motioned for Agent Stainback to join him in the hall and shut the door behind them. I tried to listen but the door was too thick or they were whispering. After a couple of minutes, they came back in the room.
“There’s a young man here who looks like he’s a snot-nosed teenager, but he claims to be your attorney,” Pollard said.
My first thought was William Goldman was here, but I was a little confused. William was a handsome man who was in his late twenties and a little on the slender side. I suppose one might say he looked younger than he actually was, but I didn’t think a reasonable person would ever think of him as a teenager. Plus, I had no idea how he knew I was sitting here in handcuffs. I hid my confusion and went on the offensive.
“Well, are you going to allow me access to my attorney or is that yet another one of my constitutional rights you’re going to trample on?”
They exchanged another glance before shutting the door. This time only a few seconds elapsed before the door once again opened and Ronald walked in.
Chapter 22
To say I was surprised was an understatement, but I kept the best poker face the world had ever seen as the two FBI agents appraised the young man standing in the doorway. My little buddy Ronald Hardison, all five feet six inches, one hundred and thirty pounds of him, strode in with his shoulders squared and his pale face fixed in a harsh, somber expression, like a man with a sense of purpose.
He was wearing the same suit he wore during my murder hearing, the tie slightly crooked, and his horn-rimmed glasses perhaps a little too large for his face. Nevertheless, he stopped across the table from me, stared a moment, and then braced the two agents.
“What is my client being charged with?” he asked.
“Thomas Ironcutter is your client?” Agent Stainback asked.
“Why else would I be here this early on a Sunday morning,” Ronald said. “Should I repeat my question?”
“Obstructing an FBI investigation,” Stainback replied. “How were you notified of his arrest?”
That’s something I wanted to know as well, but Ronald ignored the question. Instead, he nodded somberly, pushed his glasses back up on his nose, and gave Stainback an appraising stare.
“You are Special Agent Stainback, correct?” he asked.
“I don’t recall throwing out my name,” Agent Stainback retorted.
Ronald appeared unfazed and faced Pollard, giving him an appraising stare.
“And Special Agent Pollard, I presume. I have already received a briefing about the two of you.”
“From whom?” Agent Pollard asked.
“From an individual with the DOJ whose pay grade is much higher than yours. The two of you intend to charge Thomas Ironcutter with Title Eighteen of the United States Code, section fifteen-zero-five, am I correct?”
“You would be correct,” Agent Pollard said and looked at the business card. “Mister Hardison, is it?”
“Yes, I am. Sherman Goldman, the founder of the Goldman law firm, is the personal attorney for Mister Ironcutter. Under any other circumstances, he’d be present, but unfortunately, he is out of town at a funeral. So, I will be acting in his stead. Now, let’s proceed, shall we? Have you taken Mister Ironcutter and his associates before the federal magistrate?”
“We were about to, before you interrupted,” Agent Stainback replied.
Ronald nodded, as if he already knew the answer. “Yes, very good. I got here just in time.”
“Just in time for what?” she asked. The two agents were now on the defense. I marveled at Ronald’s bravado.
“Just in time to save the two of you an enormous amount of embarrassment,” he said. He then opened his briefcase and pulled out a stack of papers held together by one of those springy binder clips. He made a show of holding it out in his hand.
“Agent Stainback, I have been advised you are the more impetuous, but you are also more intelligent than Agent Pollard. Therefore, I urge you to look over this document before you proceed any further.”
Agent Pollard grabbed it out of Ronald’s hand and eyed it with undisguised suspicion. “What kind of lawyer nonsense do you think you’re pulling?” he demanded.
“I assure you it is not nonsense, Agent Pollard,” Ronald replied. “The pages you are holding are a printout of an appellate case out of the western district of Kentucky heretofore known as United States versus Higgins.”
“And why would I waste my time looking at this?” Agent Pollard asked. He was staring at Ronald with undisguised disdain, but I also caught a small hint of uncertainty.
I saw Ronald gulp and his pale color turned a little more ashen. I thought he was going to lose it, so I spoke up.
“I’d listen to him, if I were you, Pollard. He may not look like much, but the Goldman Law Firm only has the best and brightest on their staff.”
Agent Pollard cast a baleful frown at me a moment before focusing back on Ronald.
“Why don’t you give us a summation of this case you feel is so important, counselor?”
“Please, call, me Ronald,” he said and managed to flash a polite, yet nervous smile.
I’ll have to admit, he had not yet actually claimed to be an attorney, which was a crime, but he was walking a tight rope and he knew it.
“Alright, Ronald, explain.”
“I’d be glad to,” Ronald said. “It’s a rather old case, I’m sure they teach it at the academy.” Ronald paused to look at them, but neither of them responded.
“Yes, well, in the early eighties a Kentucky police chief allegedly alerted certain nefarious individuals about an undercover FBI investigation in which they were the targets of said investigation. He was charged under 1505, but the indictment was dismissed by the appellate court. In the ensuing opinion, the court defined the threshold that must be breached before an individual can be charged with this offense. The Supreme Court of the United States declined to hear the case so the precedent set in the appellate court has stood to this day. I have highlighted, in yellow, the pertinent information.”
Ronald paused and let it sink in a moment. Agent Stainback was about to speak, but Ronald cut her off. “From what I have be
en advised, neither Thomas Ironcutter nor his two friends have interfered in any way with your ongoing investigation, which is, how to put it delicately, about a group of so-called gypsies and their possible involvement human trafficking?”
Special Agent Juanita Stainback would be well advised to never play poker. When Ronald divulged that information, she inhaled sharply. Her co-worker gave her a sharp look. I have no idea how my diminutive friend discovered that information. For that matter, I had no idea how he determined I was in trouble. I’d ask him about it later. Right now, I was rolling with it. Ronald continued his ploy.
“Agents, I have no doubt the two of you and the bureau are doing good work, but I’ll not allow the rights of these three men be trampled upon any further. I am prepared to file an emergency writ of habeas corpus, if need be. And, if I do that, I will be holding a press conference in which I will expose not only the violation of my clients’ civil rights, I will also make public your investigation, and perhaps even divulge certain tidbits of information that you would probably want to remain secret. Agents, if I have to do that, it’s going to get rather unpleasant.”
I sat back and watched the reactions of the agents. Stainback was so livid I thought she was going reach out and throttle Ronald. Pollard looked downright confused. Well, let me clarify, Ronald had confused the hell out of both of them, and yeah, add me to the list. Pollard slowly stood.
“Excuse us a moment,” he said and nodded to Stainback. The two agents gruffly left the room, Pollard tightly clutching the papers Ronald had handed to him.
Ronald started to speak, but I gave him a subtle shake of the head. Yet another thirty minutes passed before Special Agent Stainback reentered the interview room.
“All of you are free to go, but if I was you, I’d be expecting an indictment to be lodged against you any day now.”
The handcuffs were removed and we were led to the front entrance. Stainback used her security card to activate the lock and let us out.
“The other two will be joining you shortly,” she said, did not wait for a response, and pulled the glass door closed. As an afterthought, she opened the door again and tossed my cellphone out. It clattered to the sidewalk. I glared at her, but she did not even acknowledge the act. I picked up my phone and inspected it. The screen now had multiple cracks.