by Brook Wilder
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
This is a work of fiction. Any names, characters, places, events, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons—living or dead—is entirely coincidental.
Get Me Off copyright @ 2017 by Brook Wilder. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embedded in critical articles or reviews.
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Chapter 1
It was a quarter to eight as I drove down Main Street in my beat up, old pickup truck. The temperature was already at least eighty and climbing, and my poor car’s engine was starting to hitch from the heat. It sputtered and died just a block from the courthouse, and I swiftly popped it into neutral and coasted smoothly into a nearby parking spot. As I killed the engine, I thought back to the first time this truck had died on me. I’d panicked and almost swerved into a pedestrian trying to cross the road. That was on my way to my second day at work and here I was, two weeks later, already an old pro at dealing with stalled engines.
I sighed as I threw open the door and hopped out onto the sidewalk. I desperately needed a new car, but my salary as a defense attorney in this tiny desert town wouldn’t allow for a luxury like that. You would think an Ivy League girl like myself would be driving something a little more high end, but, unlike the rest of my classmates who relied on their parent’s wealth, I had to make my own way in life. After four years of undergrad and three years at law school, what little was left of my pay check after bills and groceries went to paying off student loans. With a sigh, I reached into the bed of my car, grasping for the bottle of antifreeze. I found it and hoisted it out, noticing it felt light. Shit. I’d run out last Friday and had completely forgotten to pick up more. I threw the empty bottle back into the bed and jumped back into the cab, hoping I had a bottle of water to cool the engine. I found nothing, cursing and slamming my hand on the steering wheel. It could take all day for the engine to cool off now, especially since there was no shade to speak of on the street. I’d be surprised if I’d even be able to drive home at the end of the work day.
My only choice was to walk now, but thankfully it was only a block. I grabbed my purse from the front seat and tied my long, black hair back into a ponytail before slamming the car door shut. It was a windy day, as well as a hot one, and I kept my eyes trained on the pavement as the breeze kicked up the dust and sand that seemed to be ever-present in Black Rock, Arizona.
“Hey, you! Yeah you, girlie! You're a pretty one,” a harsh voice called out. “What’s your name, sweetheart?”
I looked up and saw two surly looking men sitting on the run down porch of the bar that the bikers in town used as their hangout. It was an eyesore of a building that sat close to the courthouse, so I was forced to walk past it almost every day. I ignored the one catcalling me and kept walking. This apparently pissed him off, judging by the torrent of obscenities he started hurling at my back.
“Shut up, Tex, she’s not interested,” another voice said, presumably the other man on the porch. I wasn’t about to turn around to find out.
I heard the sounds of a fight breaking out between the two men and started walking faster. It was far too early in the day to be witness to a crime, and, besides, I already knew how it would all turn out. The owner of the bar, whose name I didn’t know and didn’t care to ask, would do his best to calm the boys down, and no one would call the cops. No one ever called the cops for anything less than a murder here, and it was a fifty-fifty chance even then. People seemed to like handling things on their own terms here, which made my job as a defense attorney a challenge.
I did my best to wipe the morning’s events out of my mind as I climbed the courthouse steps, but it was no use. I’d come into work with a plan today, and what had happened to me on the way here only seemed to galvanize my course. I stopped by the break room first for a cup of coffee. It was sludge at best, but it was free and available. I longed for the luxury of just swinging by a coffee house, but unless I opened one myself, that was not an option in this town. I then headed to my office to get settled for the day. The room was tiny, barely big enough for my desk, but at least I could say that I had an office all to myself. I stood in the threshold for a moment, trying to get as much coffee into me as I could before I headed off to the main task of the morning. I needed all the caffeine and strength I could get.
After I finished my cup, I threw it in the trash and started to march down the hall. The offices that comprised the Fulbright Firm took up a small section of a hallway on the second floor of the courthouse, and I only had to pass two other doors before I arrived at my destination. After taking a deep breath, I knocked on the door and entered after the voice inside invited me in.
“Mr. Fulbright,” I said, willing my voice to stay even as I stepped into his office. He was the owner of the firm and, therefore, the closest thing I had to a supervisor. He was an unassuming looking man with dishwater brown hair and a mild face. His appearance caused a lot of people to underestimate him, something that he used to his advantage in the courtroom.
“As I said before, Olivia, Jon or Jonathon, please,” he replied without looking up from the file in his hands.
“Look, uh, Jon. This isn’t meant to be a slight on you or this town but…”
“You want a recommendation to another firm somewhere else?” he asked, still reading.
“Yeah, exactly that,” I replied.
“Let me ask you this. After you graduated law school and passed the bar, what did you expect? A partnership position in a big name firm and a six-figure salary?”
“Of course not, but I did expect to at least find a job in a city that wasn’t two days’ drive from the nearest airport.”
“You have two big things working against you, Olivia,” he said. The file was face down on the desk, and he looked at me with a fire in his eyes. “First, you’re young and you’ve got no practical experience. A degree can mean a lot but, these days, most firms aren’t going to take a risk someone as green as you. Second, our industry is saturated right now. Too many kids packed up and headed off to law school with dreams of easy money and afternoons spent on golf courses.
I can give you a recommendation if that’s what you really want, but I don’t want to. You have a nice opportunity here, Olivia. I hired you because I saw promise in you, and we’re desperate enough here to take risks on green attorneys. If you leave here, I guarantee you’ll spend the next five to ten years working as an office manager for a defender’
s office in a town as small as this one before you get another crack at an associate attorney position. I'm telling you, as your mentor and friend, stay here and pay your dues.”
“How many times have you given this speech before?” I asked.
“Five times now. The last four were two young attorneys like you. One of them managed to land a decent job in Phoenix, but that’s mostly due to the fact he’d been here for over a year before he asked to leave. The other three aren’t practicing law anymore, for what it’s worth.”
His gaze was back on his work now, and I stood in front of his desk in silence, listening to the clock on the wall as it ticked off the seconds. When I’d stepped into this office I’d been so sure of what I wanted, but now I was floundering. What Jon said was true. I’d had a hard enough time finding this job in the first place, and I couldn’t expect another opportunity to just fall into my lap. Still, the thought of spending another day in this dusty, boring town made me want to retch.
“Have you made up your mind yet?” Jon asked, interrupting my thoughts.
“I don’t need a recommendation,” I said, “for now, at least.”
“Good! I put a couple of new case files in your in-box this morning that will need your immediate attention. Nothing exciting, I’m afraid. Mostly traffic disputes and one shoplifting charge. Spend the morning on those, then we’ll head to the diner for lunch.”
“Sure thing, Jon,” I said as I turned to leave his office.
I walked through the halls and back into my office, my head spinning with ideas. Even the large pile of files on my desk couldn’t fully distract me from the thoughts my conversation with Jon had stirred up. Jon had convinced me to stay and prove myself here, but only for the time being. I was going to get out of here, one way or another, and if it meant slogging through traffic ticket disputes, then that’s what I would do.
Chapter 2
I spent the entire morning working on those files, and they were just as boring as I had suspected. It was page after page of people who knew they’d been caught speeding or parked in front of a fire hydrant, but still seemed determined to fight the charges. I’d chosen to focus my time on the most interesting in the pile, one that involved a resident who was disputing a speeding ticket. The state trooper who’d issued the ticket reported that the man had been going over 100 miles an hour on his way out of town. I didn’t blame the guy. If I had a chance of leaving this backwater town, I’d be speeding too. From the looks of it, the speeder in question wasn’t going to win his case, but I could at least get the fine knocked down for him a little. One of the first things I’d learned in school was that winning a case wasn’t always about an acquittal. Sometimes, you just had to try to make your client’s lives a little easier.
I had just gotten up from my chair to take a break from reading and copy a few documents when Jon slammed the door open and rushed in. I thought back to my first day when he’d reamed me out for walking through the open door to his office without knocking and was instantly wary of the papers he was shaking at me wildly. He threw the stack on my desk and looked at me expectantly. His eyes were shining with excitement, and I wished he’d just tell me what was so thrilling that he felt the need to barge into my office.
“Good news,” he said. “On two accounts at least. The first is that I found a solid case for you to cut your teeth on, one that’s definitely more exciting than traffic disputes. While it’s officially your case, but you won’t be alone. I’ll be right there to help, and you’ll need it.”
“And the other good news?”
“We won’t be going to the diner for lunch. Good for you at least. I like the place, but I know you only tolerate it on my account.”
“And for the fact it was the only halfway decent place to get lunch in town. Why can’t we go to the diner?”
“It’s closed, for a week at least. I’ll explain on the ride over to the jail house. We’ll leave in ten minutes. Bring those papers and the rest of your things, it’s going to be a long afternoon.”
He rushed back out of my office, leaving me to stare after him in wonder. I looked down at the mess on my desk, and picked up the one piece of paper that stood out from the rest. It was a profile of a guy named Emmett Cruz. He was a biker and a member of a motorcycle club called the Devil’s Martyrs. I could tell from the way his mugshot glared up at me that he was not a guy to mess with. I thumbed through the rest of the papers and kept coming across words like ‘murder’, ‘gunshot’, and ‘gang violence’.
I understood Jon’s excitement now, and I practically skipped down the hall toward the exit. I’d gone from working traffic disputes to a full-blown homicide case! I knew I shouldn’t be this excited over death, but working this case meant I’d actually get to use some of the tricks I’d learned in law school. Considering how bleak I’d felt that morning, things were definitely starting to look up.
***
“So what’s this case all about?” I asked as we drove down the street in Jon’s car. I reached out and adjusted the A/C vent, luxuriating in the cool air.
“Early this morning there was an altercation at the diner, which resulted in the death of a man named William Jones who worked there as a part-time line cook. He’s better known in the biker community as Wildcard and was a Nomad member of a rival gang…”
“You’re going to have to slow down,” I interrupted. “I’m not as familiar with the ins and outs of the motorcycle community like you apparently are.”
“Lucky for you, I studied up this morning. The Devil’s Martyrs are the dominant motorcycle club, or MC, in this area of Arizona. Black Rock is the center of their territory, but they have a couple of chapters in other towns nearby. Clubs can have different locals and chapters, and a Nomad member is a person who belongs to the overall organization without belonging to a specific local. They wander, hence the name. This rival club was trying to stake a claim in the Devil’s Martyrs’s territory, and sent Wildcard to scope the area out.”
“I’m guessing someone didn’t like another club invading like that.”
“Exactly. This case has all the hallmarks of a gang execution. From what the detectives pieced together, Wildcard arrived at the diner this morning for his shift like normal. He was alone, except for Craig and Ginger Rogers, the owners, who were still asleep in their apartment above the diner. Craig told the police he heard several loud bangs around 6:30 am and ran down to the diner to see what had happened with his wife close at his heels. The couple reported seeing a man they didn’t recognize running out the back door with a gun in his hand. When they went into the kitchen, they found Wildcard dead in the walk-in freezer. The perpetrator had shot Wildcard several times in the chest, killing him quickly. That’s when they called the cops.”
“I’m assuming this Emmett ‘Bulldozer’ Cruz is the guy they think committed the murder?” I asked carefully.
“Oh yes,” he said as he pulled the car into a parking spot. “That’s why we’re at the county jailhouse. The cops found him sitting in his home, watching T.V. like nothing had happened. They arrested him on the spot and brought him here.”
“How can we be sure it was him? Did the couple identify him?”
“They didn’t need a witness, they had something better. Six months ago, after a couple of break-ins, the Rogers had security cameras installed all over the restaurant. ”
“So we have the guy on camera!”
“Exactly. We have a video of everything, including Emmett firing on Wildcard. It’s some of the most damning evidence I’ve ever seen.”
“How am I supposed to defend him, then? It sounds like this guy’s guilty already.”
“That’s a problem for later. For now, you just need to focus on talking to Emmett and making sure he co-operates with us. I’m expecting a lot of resistance from him, so don’t get discouraged by what happens.”
“Why would he resist us? We’re trying to help him.”
Jon responded with an unreadable look and exited the car. I foll
owed him, grabbing the stack of papers and my purse from the back seat. I trotted to catch up with him as he strode toward the imposing building. My mind was reeling from everything I’d just heard, and I was just starting to grasp how difficult this case was going to be. As we walked through the door, I tried to stand just a little bit taller. This case was exactly what I wanted, and I was determined to rise to the challenge.
Chapter 3
It took longer than I thought to actually meet Emmett Cruz. We spent a full hour in the waiting room after we checked in, and I passed the time by re-reading the case materials. I kept looking for something, anything, to help Emmett’s case, but the more I read, the more I realized how doomed this man seemed to be. After we were finally called to the reception desk, we spoke to an officer at length about the purpose of our visit. Finally, we were patted down and sent through a metal detector. I wasn’t even allowed to bring my purse past the checkpoint.
“They’re serious about security here,” I whispered to Jon as we were escorted down the hall. Each cell we passed was occupied, and every one of those jailed men looked dangerous and mean.
“Last year, before the county approved the funds for the metal detectors,” he hissed back, “a woman snuck in a nail file and stabbed an inmate to death. Before that, a man smuggled in a gun that another inmate used to kill three other prisoners and two guards.”
