Brent Marks Legal Thriller Series: Box Set Two

by Kenneth Eade

  BRENT MARKS LEGAL THRILLER SERIES

  BOX SET TWO

  Kenneth Eade

  CONTENTS

  Unreasonable Force

  Afterword

  Killer.com

  Afterword

  Absolute Intolerance

  Afterword

  Other Books by Kenneth Eade

  About the Author

  Copyright Information

  UNREASONABLE FORCE

  KENNETH EADE

  For Gordon

  “Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere.”

  -Martin Luther King

  PROLOGUE

  Two boys walked down the alley behind Vanowen Street, still caught up in the action of “Mortal Kombat,” which they had just watched at the Topanga Theater. All pent up from the excitement, William kicked a can and it ricocheted off a fence, just missed a cat, and landed back in the middle of the alley. The heat from the summer’s day lingered like a thick blanket in the atmosphere and the moon illuminated the otherwise dimly lit back street and its assortment of plastic and zinc-coated metal trash cans. Vanowen was TJ’s street, and it would be easier to sneak in through the back door than to have to ring the front doorbell to get in. He knew his mom would be pissed. It was getting late and he was so excited about the film that he had forgotten to phone her before they left the theater.

  “That movie was awesome!” said William, who flipped around and shot a kick at TJ, like a kickboxer in one of the scenes of the film, then with a kiai screech, jumped into a boxer’s stance, jabbing left, right, right, left.

  “Hey! Watch it!”

  “Whatsa matter? You too chicken to fight?”

  “No, really, man. The movie was great, but that’s not somethin’ you wanna be doin’ in a dark alley.”

  “What do you mean?” asked William.

  “Shit, now you went and done it!” exclaimed TJ.

  “What did I do?”

  “See that helicopter up there?” TJ pointed to a copter buzzing in the distance.

  “Yeah, so?”

  “Man, don’t you know anything? He’s watchin’ us.”

  “That’s bull.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Okay, smarty pants. You wanna race me to my house?”

  “What for?”

  “I’m gonna prove something to you.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  “Right, like it’s against the law to run.”

  “You’re full of it. It’s not against the law to run.”

  “Yes it is. Especially for us. Ready?”

  “Yeah.”

  William bent his right knee, in ready position, and put his knuckles on the pavement, like an Olympic runner in a sprinter’s stance, while TJ did the same.

  “Set.”

  “Go!”

  The boys took off, running as fast as they could. TJ’s house at the end of the alley was the finish line. TJ was sucking in and blowing out air in rhythm to his footfalls. The soles of TJ’s shoes burned the bottom of his feet as he began to gain on William, but William’s long legs proved the advantage as he passed TJ’s backyard gate first, and jumped in the air, holding both his arms high, like a football player who had just scored a touchdown.

  “I won! I won!” he yelled.

  “Keep it down!” said TJ, hands on his knees, panting.

  Suddenly, out of the darkness, a black and white LAPD police car screeched into the alley and came to an abrupt halt. Then it turned from night to day as the entire alley, including TJ’s backyard, was illuminated by the searchlight from the overhead helicopter. It had all the trimmings of a military exercise.

  Two LAPD officers jumped out of the cruiser, perched atop of the roof of the police car, pointed their guns at the boys and shouted, “Hands on your heads!” The boys’ fear paled in comparison to the cops’ aggression.

  “Told you, man!” said TJ, putting his hands on his head.

  “What the hell!” said William, putting his hands on his head, his legs shaking.

  “On your knees, now!” shouted one of the officers.

  The boys dropped to their knees, ignoring the pain of the asphalt grinding into their skin.

  They saw the silhouette of an approaching officer, which was eclipsed by a blinding light from his baton flashlight, fixed directly at their eyes.

  “That hurts!” said William.

  “Shut up!” said the officer.

  They didn’t even see the other cop approach. He snuck up on them from behind like an alley cat after a mouse and slapped their wrists in handcuffs.

  “Man, what’s this about? We didn’t do anything!” William protested, as the Officer picked him off the ground by the collar and slammed his body against the police car.

  “I told you to shut up. You been stealin'?” he asked as he patted William down.

  “No.”

  “Do you realize you could have been shot?”

  “Shot?” William recoiled in fear. He turned to face the Officer, who slammed him back into the car. He felt like crying, but he was a man and he knew that a man had to be brave, so he forged an expression of hardened steel.

  “Your buddy knows you did wrong. Look, he’s pissed his pants.”

  William looked over at TJ, who was also against the car, being searched, his head bent in shame.

  “You got any drugs?” asked the Officer.

  “No, I don’t do drugs.”

  “Don’t mouth off. I’m asking you a question,” the officer said, as he emptied William’s pockets.

  “No, I don’t have any drugs.”

  “I found a weapon!” he called to his fellow officer.

  “That’s no weapon. It’s my pocket knife.”

  The officer slipped William’s Swiss Army Knife into his shirt pocket.

  “My dad gave me that.”

  “He should have known better,” said the cop, his smiling eyes betraying the stern look on his face as he pocketed the knife.

  CHAPTER ONE

  William Thomas was the designated driver that night. It was a great playoff game, and the best part was that the Dodgers had smeared the Cardinals in the bottom of the eighth. The smell of hot dogs and beer lingered in the corridor, which was filled with exited spectators in a slow crawl race to get to their cars. William’s buddies high-fived everyone from the patrons to the janitors on their way out of the stadium and, once they hit the open air, they waved the Dodger towels, that had been given to all at the beginning of the game, like cheerleaders at a high school football game.

  “What a game!” yelled TJ, who raised his arms, sucked in his gut, pushed out his chest and strutted about in a victory dance.

  “I gotta pee,” said Fenton.

  “Man, why didn’t you pee before we left the stadium? William asked.

  “Excuse me, Mr. Designated Driver. But I didn’t have to pee then.” Fenton laughed and slapped William on the back. TJ joined him on the other side, and the two of them started singing ‘Take Me Out to the Ball Game,’ as they staggered along, dragging William with them in a serpentine path through the huge parking lot, whose exit lanes had already filled with a long line of brake lights.

  “Man, you guys can’t sing,” said William. “I’m glad I’m dropping you both off in the valley so I don’t have to listen to your girly wailing all the way to Santa Barbara.”

  “Listen to this mofo, TJ, he lives in Santa Barbara,” said Fenton, who broke away from the huddle, sucked in his ample belly, straightened up his gait, and made a snobbish face, with his nose turned up.

  “Polo anyone?”

  TJ almost fell to the ground laughing.<
br />
  “Very funny,” said William. “I have a right mind to leave you dickwads here. You can take the bus home.”

  “Now don’t go getting all bent outta shape,” said Fenton. "We was just kiddin'.”

  “We were,” William corrected, which only started another round of guffaws.

  TJ laughed. “I thought you WAS a lawyer, not an English teacher.”

  “Alright, alright, I’m gonna cut you guys some slack. But there’s just no reason to speak like an ignorant person, when you’re not one.”

  “There’s no reason to speak like an ignorant person,” mimicked Fenton, his nose high in the air, and swinging his arms like Captain Jack Sparrow.

  “Wait! Wait! I gotta take a picture!” said TJ, grinning with all his teeth. He looked like Mr. Ed, the talking horse. “Smile!”

  “Who couldn’t smile at you and those silly ass glasses?”

  “Say cheese!” TJ chimed in, and, with a goofy wink, took a picture of William with his Google glasses.

  “It’s too dark for that,” William chuckled. “Okay, this is us,” he said, gesturing to his car. Get in,” he said, and clicked open the blue Cadillac Escalade with his remote control.

  “I still gotta take a piss,” said Fenton as he stumbled into the back seat.

  “Don’t piss in my car. We’ll stop on the way home.”

  * * *

  Fenton dozed off in the back seat as William drove north on the 101 freeway. As he exited on the Burbank off ramp and turned right, Fenton popped up his head.

  “I can’t hold it any longer, William. Gotta go, now!”

  “Just let me make it to the gas station, it’s right over here.”

  When they pulled into the gas station, it was closed. Not exactly closed, but it was the kind where a little window was open to take your money but you couldn’t come in to the store, no matter what you wanted to buy or how bad you had to pee. William spun the car around and headed for the relatively desolate area of the Sepulveda dam reservoir.

  “There’s no bathrooms out here,” William replied. “I’m gonna head over to…”

  The voice of reason was eclipsed by the more powerful voice of necessity.

  “Man, the whole world’s a bathroom. Just stop, and let me out now or you’re gonna be sorry.”

  “Okay, okay,” said William.

  William was not as far down the boulevard as he wanted to be, but having his back seat urinated on was a less favorable option, so he brought the car to the curb right away. He had hardly pulled to a stop when Fenton was already out the door, stumbling over to the nearest bushes.

  “I’ve gotta go too,” said TJ, as he flew open the car door.

  “Great!” exclaimed William, putting his hand on his head. “Well hurry up!”

  “Man, what a relief!” exclaimed Fenton, as he began what seemed like an endless stream.

  “You gotta turn that shit off, Bro. You’re gonna flood the whole valley,” said TJ.

  “You know what they say?” asked Fenton.

  “What?”

  “If it’s clear, it’s beer!”

  “Then mine has got to be beer!”

  “Get back in the car, guys; hurry up!” William called out.

  Just as the two staggered back, fumbling with their zippers, and entered the car, a police car pulled up behind them, its red lights on.

  “Now you’ve done it,” said William.

  “Glad we’ve got our lawyer,” said Fenton.

  “Shut up and let me do the talking.”

  William rolled down his window as one patrolman approached the driver’s side and blasted William with an assault of light, which stung his eyes. He blinked and averted his gaze.

  “Look at me, sir,” commanded the Officer. He seemed to be in his 30s, although William could not tell because they all looked alike in their uniforms and matching caps.

  The other cop took a position to the rear of the Escalade, on the passenger’s side, and shone his light into the vehicle, checking the interior.

  “Got an open container!” he called out.

  “License and registration,” demanded the first cop, steadily training the floodlight in William’s face.

  “It’s in the glove box. I’m going to reach over and get it, okay?”

  “Just keep your hands where I can see them,” said the officer.

  William slowly and carefully withdrew his paperwork from the glove compartment and handed it to the policeman, who beamed the flashlight on his license, then back into William’s face.

  “Do you have to shine that thing in my face? I’m sensitive to bright light.”

  The officer didn’t respond. “Step out of the car, please.”

  “What for?”

  “Step out of the car.”

  As William got out of the car, he could see TJ and Fenton exiting also, their hands on their heads. They were directed to the driver’s side, where the second cop put them against the car and was patting them down.

  “Turn around, hands on the vehicle.”

  “Wait a minute, I…”

  “Turn around, hands on the vehicle. I won’t say it again.”

  William turned around and put his hands on the car. He could feel the officer’s hand going up his leg. He turned his head and noticed that the cop’s right hand was on his service pistol. Great – trigger happy.

  “Turn around!”

  William turned around and felt the cop reaching into his pocket, taking out his wallet. He looked to see Fenton and TJ, who were sitting on the ground, handcuffed.

  “Public urination is a misdemeanor offense,” said the police officer to William as he examined the contents of his wallet. “So is having an open container of alcohol.”

  “What open container?”

  “Have you been drinking?”

  “No, no. I’m the designated driver. Look officer, I’m not under the influence of alcohol.”

  “Did I ask you for your opinion, nigger?”

  “Excuse me? Did you say ‘nigger’?”

  “I didn’t say anything. You said it. And isn’t that what you people call each other?”

  “Well, if we people did, that doesn’t give you the right to say it.”

  “You ain’t got any rights here, boy, ‘cept the right to remain silent, and I suggest you use it.”

  “Why? Am I under arrest?”

  “Stand with your legs together, head back, arms out straight. Close your eyes.”

  William complied.

  “Now touch the tip of your nose with your left index finger.” William touched the tip of his nose.

  “I told you I’m not drunk.”

  “Be quiet. Now do the same with the right index finger.”

  William repeated the maneuver. The cop withdrew his baton and forced William’s legs apart with it.

  “You told me to stand with my legs together. I’ll do whatever you say. Just don’t hit me with that.”

  “Shut up. Now I want you to walk a straight line, heel to toe, until I tell you to stop and turn.”

  He pushed William forcefully with the baton in the back, whereupon William pushed it away with his hand.

  “You don’t need to keep hitting me with that stick. I’m doing everything you…”

  In an instant, the cop smacked William in the knee with the baton in a rage. William felt a fire in his knee as he heard it crack, lost his balance, and fell. The cop kicked William in his balls and then his stomach, which made him heave.

  “You barfed on my shoe, nigger!”

  There was nothing after that, only bits and pieces. The only thing William could remember was the deafening pop as the gun went off, and the cop’s partner hitting the ground like a fallen bowling pin.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Everything was blurry, like an impressionist painting, and as it came to focus, William recognized the bland walls and sterile furnishings of a hospital room and smelled the antiseptic atmosphere. His throat was dry. He tried to call out, but his voice wo
uldn’t work. He heard beeping and looked to his right and saw a life signs monitor. He instinctively tried to sit up and felt the pain shoot through his ribs. His arms were frozen. Couldn’t move them. He looked at his right arm and saw an IV connection. He saw the restraints a little lower down and realized that his arms had been strapped down at the wrists. He tried to move his legs, but they were immobilized as well.

  A skinny female nurse came into the room. “I see you’re awake.”

  “C-could I have some water, please?”

  She rolled a tray in front of him that held a bottle of water with a straw sticking out of it. He grasped the straw with his lips and sucked the water from the straw. Nice lady.

  “Can you please take off these restraints?” he asked. “I have to go to the bathroom.”

  “You’ll have to ask the officer that,” she said, as she left the room.

  A uniformed LAPD policeman came in shortly after. He was young, with brown hair, cropped like he had just come out of Marine boot camp.

  “Sir, I understand that you want me to remove your restraints, is that correct?” he asked, in a robotic tone.

  William could see the repulsion in the young man’s face, and he heard it in his voice. It was if his nose had been held to a pile of human feces.

  “Yes, I have to go to the bathroom. How long have I been here?”

  “Five days.”

  “Five days?” William rolled his eyes in disbelief. He struggled to sit up straight, but the shooting pain in his ribs and back, complicated by the weakness and malaise forced him to slump back down.

  “Is the policeman…?”

  “Dead? Yes, he is.”

  William hung his head. He didn’t know the man but he felt sorry for him. He was probably a husband and a father. He thought of his own kids. How one tragedy affects so many others.

  “I can’t remove your restraints, sir. That’s up to the detective. He’s on his way.”

  “What am I supposed to do?”

  “Use the bedpan.” The cop turned and walked out.