Never Go Back

by Jewel Geffen

  Tasha leaned back, her eyes going wide. “You kidding me? Why would he do that? You want him to snitch? They'd kill him. Anyway, he's gone, isn't he? I heard nobody had seen him.”

  “Leave that to me,” Jordan said grimly.

  “You ain't gonna hurt him, Jordan, tell me you ain't!”

  “Not if he cooperates. He got you dragged into all this shit, Tasha. Only right that he gets you out again.”

  “He won't say anything. You know better than anyone how they are, Jordan! Guys don't just turn on their gang like that, not to the police. You know how it is.” She turned to Natalie. “Was this your idea? Jordan, you shoulda told her it was never gonna work. There's no way.”

  “Tasha, do you love Melvin?”

  She took a heavy breath. “I thought I did... I guess. Yeah. I love him. The stupid bastard.”

  “Well, if he loves you even one tenth as much as your brother loves you, he'll help us. We're going to find him, and we're going to get you home. For good. I mean that.”

  Tasha gave her a long look, studying her closely, one eyebrow cocked. Then she grinned. “Looks like you found yourself another hot-to-trot white lady, big brother.”

  He snorted. “Come on, it ain't like that.”

  “Sure,” she said, her grin widening, “of course it isn't.”

  They talked for another half hour, discussing the details of the arrest and their strategy at the opening of the trial, which was coming up in just another week. Tasha showed herself to be a smart and savvy woman, quickly understanding and adapting to the plan Natalie laid out for her. Jordan didn't say much, just sat back with his arms folded across his chest and a look of intense and far-off focus on his face, as if he were busily plotting something of his own. How to find where the boyfriend was hiding, perhaps.

  They parted with Natalie giving Tasha her assurance that she'd move the bail proceedings along as quickly as possible, then she and Jordan were ushered by out by the unfriendly guard.

  Coming out of the prison was like surfacing again after behind held underwater. Natalie took a long deep breath of fresh air, grateful even for the gray drizzle that was misting down from a clouded sky.

  She could hardly imagine what it must be like to remained trapped in such a place for an extended period, and to face the possibility of remaining held there for the indefinite future, for years even, and her heart broke a little for the young black woman she'd just met.

  All the same, she felt a strange flush of optimism. It was, perhaps, too early to warrant such a feeling, but the case which had seemed the day before a hopeless waste of time now seemed far less intractable.

  She felt a sensation of something like happiness, and gave Jordan a little nudge as they headed back to the car. “Hot-to-trot white lady, eh?”

  He kept a placid expression on his face, shrugging slight. “No idea what she was talking about.”

  “Sure, you don't.” She looked at him, and she felt a glow. There seemed a profound kinship between herself and Jordan Bishop, a bond which she couldn't explain, but which she could feel intensely.

  He smiled, and opened the car door. “Come on,” he said, “we've got a lot of work to do.”

  Chapter Ten

  That work, as it turned out, meant the two of them separating, as least temporarily. She felt a flash of disappointment, but told herself she was being silly. After spending the day in his company, Natalie had begun to quiet enjoy the feeling of being in the black man's presence.

  Jordan, though he didn't tell her exactly what it entailed, said that he was going to start looking into how they were going to track Melvin down. She tried to get him to elaborate, but he remained stubbornly vague.

  “I've got your number,” he'd said, leaning back in her car window, “I'll be in touch.”

  “Okay... just call me if there's anything I can do.”

  “You're a good woman, Natalie Kendall. Thank you.”

  She'd felt the warmth of that compliment glowing inside of her the entire way back to the firm. She kept thinking back, seeing again in her head the image of him walked casually away down the street, shrinking in the rear-view mirror, then disappearing around a corner.

  She sat in her office, glancing at her phone approximately every thirty seconds to check if he'd sent her a message. Like some schoolgirl waiting for the cute boy to call her back and invite her to the dance.

  God, she felt off balance.

  She tried everything she could to summon up the focused and alert state of mind she usually had, but it kept eluding her. Her attention kept drifting from the papers spread out over her desk. She would catch herself staring off into space, thinking of the color of his eyes or the shape of his mouth, the way his shirt stretched tight over his muscles. The smell of him filled her head, a subtle lavender masculine scent; she kept thinking she detected whiffs of it, and she would lift her head expectantly, hoping to see him there.

  Three days passed, with no more than one or two perfunctory texts between them, and she started to feel pangs of discontent. She was getting far ahead of herself, she knew that. He wasn't her boyfriend; he wasn't even a friend at all, really. He was a client. No, technically not even that! He was the brother of a client.

  She shouldn't expect anything.

  On the fifth day since she'd taken on the Bishop case, she was starting to run out of things to do. They wouldn't be in court for another few days, and she had prepared everything she could, which wasn't much. Her opening statements had been written and re-written a dozen times. She'd readied herself for every motion and counter-motion she could think of.

  She had familiarized herself, as much as possible, with the case – not that there was much to work on. She'd tried to interview the arresting officer, but either the DA or the police department was playing keep-away, and she found her efforts stymied.

  The file in her briefcase got bigger and bigger, and she put more and more hours into her research and preparation.

  Eventually, people started to take note.

  “What in the world have you been up to, Natalie?” Roberta Harring asked her out of the blue. Natalie had looked up to find the older woman – a more senior female lawyer in the corporate arm of the firm – standing in her doorway with an arched eyebrow and a suspicious frown.

  “Huh?” Natalie responded, somewhat less eloquent than usual.

  “What are you doing in here?” Roberta asked again, stalking into the office and sitting down across from Natalie's desk. “You're up to something.”

  Natalie shrugged, shutting the file she'd been looking at – an attempt to research precedent in drug and gang-related cases. She folded her hands and gave Roberta an innocent look. “Nope. Not up to anything.”

  Roberta snorted contemptuously. “Oh, don't. Everyone knows you're pissed that Jack stole Armstrong with that community outreach bullshit, and everyone knows you're planning something big, and everyone knows that you've got a secret up your sleeve.”

  Natalie blinked. “Everyone's wrong.” To be honest, she hadn't even thought about having the Armstrong case poached since it had happened. That wasn't normal. A week ago she'd have been outraged, incensed. She would have tried to come up with some kind of plot or coup that she could bring to the partners to shove in their faces. Now, however, it hadn't even occurred to her.

  What was wrong with her?

  Roberta tapped the tips of her fingers together, her long lacquered nails clicking. “I thought we were friends, Kendall.”

  Natalie laughed. “We are, Robert. Of course we are.” They weren't, but that was beside the point. “I'm just focusing on the case Jack gave me.”

  Roberta laughed again, and this time it was genuine, though more a laugh of a surprise than amusement. “What case? Come on, Natalie, don't try blowing smoke in my face. We've been working together too long for that. That wasn't a case, it was charity. You give them some advice, draw up a few papers, you find them a referral to some cheap law office downtown and you push them out the d
oor. We don't take this sort of thing to court, you know that.”

  She shrugged. “Maybe I want this one.”

  Roberta's frown deepened. “Why? Is there something more here that I'm not seeing?”

  Just a man... “It's a drug arrest, but she's innocent. They belonged to the man she was dating. A gang-member. She had no idea. It's completely political, the DA just wants to put her away to... What?” she trailed off, noticing the look of shocked disbelief that had come over the other woman's face.

  “Are you for real?” Roberta said incredulously. “You can't be serious.”

  “About what?”

  “SSM doesn't defend drug dealing gang members in open court, Natalie.”

  “She not in a gang, Roberta. She's innocent.”

  “Fuck that!” she sneered, “Since when has it ever mattered if somebody was innocent or not? How the fuck is this going to look to our corporate clients? We'd seem like a bunch of thugs!”

  “If Jack didn't want me taking the case, he shouldn't have given it to me. I didn't choose this.”

  “Oh! Is that what's up? You're taking the case just to spite him?” she shook her head. “That's a dangerous fucking game, Kendall, believe me. Take it from another woman, those boys don't like getting shown up, especially not by one of us.”

  “It's not like that, Roberta. I've met her. I want to help her.”

  “She shouldn't have been driving with a trunk full of crack if she didn't want to get tossed in prison, Kendall. It's not your job to play the good guy. We don't solve crimes or rescue people, we just practice the law.”

  Natalie had to fight not to roll her eyes. “It's not a big deal, Roberta.”

  She shook her head. “If this really is all you're doing, Kendall, you'd better get over it fast. You have responsibilities here, and you're letting them slide so you can run off and play guardian angel. Keep it up, and you're going to find yourself in a hard place.”

  “Thanks for the advice, Roberta,” Natalie said coldly. “Now, if you don't mind...?” She opened her folder again and started reading, pointedly ignoring the smoldering coming from across the desk.

  Finally, Roberta shook her head once more and got up to leave. “Don't do something you'll regret, Kendall. I'd hate to see you lose your job over this. You find yourself in the cold here, you might find it difficult to come back later.”

  Chapter Eleven

  “You shouldn't have come here, counselor. Some of the guys around here, well, they don't really like your sort.”

  “What sort is that supposed to be, Tom?”

  “You know what I mean. Defense lawyer. People like you get the people we arrest back on the streets. Lot of these guys think of you as the enemy.” The heavyset policeman wheezed as he slumped into his chair. He brushed crumbs from his mustache and gave her a long look.

  “But you know better, don't you, Tom?” she gave him what she hoped was a charming smile.

  “Yeah, yeah. You're a real peach.” He grabbed his coffee cup and donut off the desk and took a huge bite of the pastry. “You'll 'scuse the cliché,” he grunted, wiping his lips on the back of his sleeve.

  “I helped you out last year, Tom, you know I did. You wouldn't have even had those carjackers on your radar if I hadn't given you that security tape.”

  “Yeah,” he grunted, “kept your CEO client out of prison for that rape charge too, as I remember.”

  She shrugged. “The evidence wasn't there.”

  “Bullshit, it wasn't.”

  “That's in the past, Tom.”

  “Damn right. So don't go thinking you can call in favors for it now.”

  “Fine, fine. Believe it or not, though, what I'm working on right now might just give you something a lot bigger than a couple car thieves.”

  He frowned, mustache bristling slightly. “I'm listening.”

  As long as Natalie had known him Tom had seemed to possess no more than two expressions: frowning, and about to frown. He was a good guy, though, a cop with thirty years' experience, someone who'd grown up on the streets he patrolled now. He'd always struck her as a stand-up guy, someone with his heart in the right place.

  Of all the people on the police force, he was the one she trusted most – which worked out, as he was the only one who'd take her calls. He wasn't wrong about police not liking defense lawyers. All too often, they wound up on opposite sides of the courtroom. It didn't tend to engender much good feeling.

  “Ever hear of the Death-heads?” she asked.

  Tom's ever-present frown deepened significantly. “You talking about the gang?”

  “That's right. What do you know about them?”

  “I know that a nice girl like you shouldn't even think getting herself tangled up with that sort. They're killers, counselor. Put a bullet in your head soon as look at ya. You go playing with them, you're gonna find yourself in over your head real quick.”

  “I know how to watch my back.”

  He shook his head. “Not with this sort, you don't. No way.” He looked her square in the eyes. “I'm serious, Natalie. Pretty white rich girl like you? They'd eat you alive.”

  “Thanks for the patronizing attitude, but I've already got a dad,” she said, as sarcastically as she could manage. The truth was, though, she was a little shaken. She'd never seen the cop looking quite so serious. Nor had he ever called her by name before. She'd hadn't even been aware that he knew it.

  He just folded his arms and gave her a stern look.

  “You want to hear what I've got to say or not?”

  He sighed and shook his head. “I have a feeling that I'm going to regret it, but I suppose you might as well spit it out.”

  “Tasha Bishop.”

  “What about her?”

  “She's my client.”

  “Ah,” he said, and clicked his tongue thoughtfully.

  “She's innocent.”

  “Guess you'll just have to prove that in court, counselor.”

  “Come on, Tom, who are we kidding? I've met her; have you? Sweet young girl. Nursing student. You really think she's some drug runner for a gang of thugs?”

  “She had the drugs, she's got the connections. They wouldn't have picked her if she looked like a drug mule, counselor. They want the ones you'd never suspect. That's how they slip it through. Just luck we caught her with the stuff, or it would all be out there on the streets right now, shot up in some poor kids' veins and lining the pockets of the gang's cartel suppliers. I call getting Tasha Bishop a win.”

  “Even if she was guilty, Tom, it's not much of a win. At best, she's just a courier. That's nothing. They'll have already replaced her. What if I could get you something better?”

  “If you wanna make a deal, you should talk to Blackburn.”

  “I'm talking to you, Tom. I just want your advice before I take it to the DA, okay? You know how Blackburn feels about me.”

  He didn't smile, but his frown flickered a little. “Yeah, I guess I do.”

  “I have it on good authority that the actual dealer would be willing to turn witness.”

  His eyebrows when up. She grinned. It was the first time she'd managed to surprise the cop. “You shittin' me?”

  “They were the boyfriend's drugs, Tom. She didn't even know they were there. We bring him in, get him to offer testimony against the higher ups in the gang. Put him in protection, and withdraw the charges against my client. You'd be able to take some real action against the people who actually matter.”

  “I don't fuckin' believe it.”

  “Please, Tom, language.”

  He snorted. “You got a pair of fucking balls on you, counselor, I'll give you that. Coming in here with a plan like that. Shit.”

  “You think it would work?”

  He brushed his mustache thoughtfully. “If you get the kid to come in, if he testifies on the girl's behalf, if he gives us actionable evidence against the rest of the gang... guess it might work. Not that I think any of that shit's gonna happen, mind you.”


  “Blackburn would go along with it?”

  Tom chuckled, though his frown never wavered. “You bring in a nice little present like that, he'd get kicked out on his ass for not taking it. Blackburn'll play ball. In theory.”

  She grinned broadly. “Thanks, Tom.”

  He spoke again as she rose to go, jabbing a thick finger emphatically at her. “I'm serious though, counselor. Watch yourself. These fuckers don't mess around. You might be playing on the wrong side, but I don't wanna see that pretty face in the fuckin' morgue.”

  She nodded slightly. “I'll be careful, Tom.”

  “Better be. This is some dark shit you're getting into.”

  At the time she actually thought he was exaggerating, just trying to spook her in order to keep her on her toes. She found it rather endearing, actually, that the old cop would be genuinely concerned for her.

  She had no idea just how serious his warning really was, however. Eventually, she would learn. But by then it would be too late.

  Chapter Twelve

  Jordan came to her office the next day. At least, he was on her way there when she ran into him in the parking garage beneath the office.

  It was a large subterranean structure, huge and cavernous, fleets of empty cars waiting silently as terracotta soldiers lined up in an emperor's tomb. You'd hear the scratch of feet on concrete, then the beep of a car unlocking as someone pressed the button on their key-fob. The sound would bounce around, echoing madly, seeming to come from all around. And you would walk on, clutching your bag a little tighter and hoping you could remember where you'd parked.

  It was an unnerving place, especially at night, and she could never help but feel just a touch uneasy going into it. For those reasons, she embarrassed herself rather badly by letting out a full-on scream when Jordan suddenly stepped out from behind a pylon and said her name.

  “Jesus Christ!” she gasped, clutching her chest, “You almost gave me a goddamn heart attack!”

  “Sorry about that,” he said, a touch sardonically, perhaps. “You leaving?”