by Bella Knight
On cross-examination, Mr. Flores walked him through each action. He lied on the stand about identifying himself. Mr. Flores showed where, on the tape, he should have identified himself, and he clearly did not.
“Want to change your answer?” Avery spluttered, but refused to backtrack or change his statement. Finally, he sucker-punched him. “Do you play video games, Officer Avery?”
“Objection! Relevance!”
Mr. Flores said, “If the court will give me a few minutes, I will demonstrate relevance.”
“The witness may answer the question,” said the judge.
“Yes, it helps me relax.”
“And which ones help you relax? Card games, casino games, Sonic the Hedgehog?”
He laughed, and mentioned several of the bloodiest games on the market, including ones in which police officers were encouraged, by the game’s point system, to kill bystanders, pets, and even other officers. He brought stills of the games into evidence.
“Do these games have you identify yourself as a police officer?”
“No, Sir,” he said.
“What equipment does your character wear?”
Officer Avery described a getup eerily similar to the one he wore to knock on Mr. Bear’s door.
“How many hours a day do you play these games?” asked Mr. Flores.
“A few hours,” he said.
“People’s Exibit 35,” said Ms. Balsac. “We subpoenaed Officer Avery’s online gaming account. Can you read the number on the bottom under ‘number of hours’ for July, Officer Avery?”
“61” he read.
On redirect, he repeated the conspiracy theory, that everyone was against him. The defense rested.
They all trooped back to the waffle house for an hour while the judge wrote out her opinion. They came back, full of hot fudge sundaes.
Court reconvened. “It is the opinion of this court that Officer Avery was fired with ample cause. It is also the opinion of this court that Officer Avery ignored his training, and, instead, acted out the violent video games he subjected himself to. He exhibited willful disregard for life, both in killing Mr. Bear’s elderly pet, who was no threat to anyone, and in pulling a gun on a victim of a crime in a hospital corridor filled with civilians. One woman had already been hit with a ricochet that day; tragedy was narrowly averted when Sheriff Xenia came along to defuse the situation. Officer Avery cannot seem to understand reality, and made no effort in either situation to discover the facts. Ex-Officer Avery shall pay all court costs, including attorney’s fees. He shall pay Mr. Bear five thousand dollars for murdering his dog, and shall pay Ms. Ivy Delacourt the sum of fifty thousand dollars for pain and suffering. The loss of life from Mr. Avery’s reckless decisions could have been staggering, including to Ms. Delacourt and her unborn baby.
“I am also instituting a reverse gag order. This case shall be public record. I do not want Ex-Officer Avery to be able to get a job in law enforcement again.” She banged her gavel. “Case dismissed.”
Ex-Officer Avery was infuriated, screaming at his counsel. Mr. Fowler held up a hand to shush him. “Your mother paid me good money for this stinker of a case. I took it as a favor to her. You are an idiot, and you’re lucky the judge was reasonable. You could have been fined half a million dollars, easily.” He then turned, and walked away, Avery still screaming at his back.
They filed out, and went around the corner to talk in hushed tones. “Mama’s gonna be real mad,” said Sheriff Hunter. “Listen.” They positioned themselves so they could hear, some peering around the corner.
Sure enough, Mama Avery, who had been sitting quietly in the back of the room in her church clothes, filed out after her son. “You worthless piece of nothing,” she said. “You played that stupid video game after I told you to stop. I paid for your training, your apartment, even this court case. I thought,” she said, hitting his arm as he tried to talk. “Shut up, you idiot. I thought you were telling the truth, that you were being persecuted. What hogwash! You shot a man’s dog on his porch, and you nearly killed a pregnant woman. I will not pay,” she said, her voice tense, “one dime. One dime. They went after you, not the police department. You. They can demonstrate they were trying to fire you, and that they trained you better.”
She turned and strode down the hallway, with short, sensible heels clacking on the marble floors, her face as red as her sprayed helmet of dyed hair.
She rounded the corner, where Ivy was leaning against a wall, gasping. “Sheriff Hunter, I owe you an apology. I tried to have my son re-instated. I now see that that was a mistake.”
“Yes, Ma’am,” said Sheriff Hunter, politely.
Ivy turned beet-red, and water poured out onto the floor. “Oh my goodness!” said Mrs. Avery. She made tracks for the elevator.
“Hospital,” said Callie.
“I am not going to that fucking hospital where I nearly saw two friends die,” said Ivy, waddling toward the other elevator. “I’m going home.” She got in, and everyone else went in with her, Xenia carrying the cooler and the bag with the cushions and the tennis balls.
They made it to the front door, Ivy dripping all the way, to see the “perp walk” as Baby Avery had to pass a gauntlet of bikers, Nighthawks and Iron Knights and Vakyries. With their backs to him, leather jackets showing their emblems. He quailed, then swaggered, but was brought down by the glares of Valkyries surrounding his car. He got in, and drove away.
Gregory turned, and saw Ivy at the top of the courthouse stairs, dripping on them. “Mama coming through!” he said, running up the stairs, two at a time, Tito following.
They each grabbed an arm, and got her down the stairs and into the car. Xenia helped Callie down. Callie ran to the car, popped the trunk, and passed in other clothes. The Nighthawks surrounded the car, backs to it, while Callie got in and helped her change.
“I’ll take her,” said Xenia. She kissed Sheriff Hunter square on the lips.
“We’re on again?” he asked.
“We are,” she said. “See you tonight.” He whooped as she ran toward her police bike. “She wants to have the baby in Vegas!” she shouted out to the crowd. “Keep the speed down, and follow me!”
Tito tossed his keys to Nantan. “Get my truck home,” he said. He ran around to the driver’s side of Callie’s car. “You decent?” he asked.
“I’m good,” said Ivy. Tito got in, and Callie handed him the keys from the back seat. The Nighthawks took off for their bikes, the Vegas Iron Knights and Valkyries following suit, a Nighthawk taking Nantan’s bike. They mounted up, the Valkyries with Xenia in front, the Nighthawks in front and behind Tito, now driving Callie’s car.
“Shit,” said Herja. “Most excitement we’ve had in a year.”
Devastator laughed. “Exactamundo,” he said. “Now, if we can keep the Nighthawks in Vegas where they belong, we might get some peace and quiet around here.”
“Where’s the fun in that?” said Herja. “Shit,” she said, “looks like I’m taking an unplanned trip to Vegas today.”
“Need a wingman?” he asked.
“Why the fuck not?” she said. “Vegas ride for anyone who wants to go!” Half of them, Valkyrie and Iron Knight, followed her out of the town, to the open road.
They stopped at a rest stop so Ivy could puke and wash up, then they were on their way again. Sheriff Xenia Poloulakis couldn’t leave the border of Nye County. An on-duty Iron Knight motorcycle cop got them through the desert to Las Vegas. A cop car got them the rest of the way.
They went straight to the primo maternity ward, because Ivy said, “I want drugs NOW!” The midwife met them there. Tito parked the car, went in to give Callie the keys, and hot-footed it out of there.
Gregory took him on his bike to retrieve his truck from his offspring, and the rest of the bikers headed for Dirty Vegas for a “birth party.” Cougar and Ace kept the drinks coming, and the band played foot-stomping music. The baby was two days early, so most took a serious hit on the betting pool.
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Ace fumed at not being at the hospital, until Herja explained to him, “People are going to have their fingers in her junk. She does not want you to see that.”
Ivy walked until they got the epidural in, then she relaxed and ate ice chips. She put her rock compilation in her ears, and nodded her head to the music.
“Somehow, I feel superfluous,” Callie said to Bella.
“Been there, done that,” Bella said. “I’ve gotta go. They’ve got a rocking baby party there, and we can barely keep up.”
“Tell Ace to come in an hour.”
“Will do,” she said. She was sneaky; she waited an hour and a half. She was absolutely right; he made it there just in time for Ivy to start pushing.
Ace got on one side, and Callie the other, and they helped her hold her legs up. The baby came out in two pushes.
“This girl is healthy,” said the midwife, Katrina Tsmova. She rubbed the girl’s back, and she squalled. “Big, healthy baby, proud Ivy mama.”
“Give me my baby,” said Ivy. Katrina put the baby on her belly, and Ivy held her hand.
Callie had tears streaming down her cheeks. Ace snapped a photo and sent it to the bar. Callie cut the cord, and the baby was taken off to be cleaned and weighed. Katrina massaged Ivy’s stomach, and the afterbirth came out. They cleaned everything up, even changing the sheets under Ivy.
The baby came back. “Eight pounds, nine ounces,” said the nurse.
Callie laughed. “I won the betting pool,” she said.
Ace sent the bad news to the bar about the betting pool, but another lovely shot of Callie holding the baby, then he got to hold her. Then she went to Ivy, because she was squalling with hunger.
“Kiya Aaliya,” said Ivy, kissing her head. “Welcome to the world.”
Joining
Sheriff Xenia Poloulakis was exhausted. She’d chased two speeders, apprehended three, separate (driving while influenced) drivers, and done a mound of paperwork. The court case left a bad taste in her mouth. Avery was a fool who; refused to listen, hated women, and was too small and skinny to get picked for sports teams. He had tried to make it up to himself by holding a gun. She’d been opposed to his hiring, but Robin wanted to give the boy a chance, to raise him up right. He gave it his all, but it was far too late. Judge had it right, she thought. The boy cannot differentiate his video game from the real world. She sighed. He should be in prison. She let go of the anger as she released it from her muscles; tightening the muscles in her forehead, then releasing them, all the way down her body, as she locked up her gun, put away her duty belt and threw it in the safe for good measure too, and locked it.
She was heartsick, she knew. Robin —she was the only one allowed to call Sheriff Bob Hunter, Robin. And he’d had enough of the Batman and Robin jokes as a kid. She called him Rob in public. He was her Robin, as in Robin Hood —smart, funny, with both a wicked right and left cross. He could fight an opponent blindfolded; he’d been kickboxing for years. His body was tight, lush. He could even shoot arrows; he’d grown up surrounded, literally, by cowboys and Indians.
Robin was half Hopi, his mother a woman named Ankti, who wandered quite far off the res looking for love and poker, in whatever order she found them. Russell Hunter was half Paiute and all muscle; star quarterback for the high school. A deputy by day, casino guard by night. The two, black-haired people met when she came in to play, the woman in a black dress walking across the casino floor. He was responsible for the pit that night, but got himself transferred into the poker room.
She cleaned out the cowboys at the table, and she’d taken his heart, too. He married her six days later, and little Robin showed up nine months after that. Jasper showed up next, the little sister. They had Ankti’s poker winnings and Russell’s two jobs, and they got both kids through college before being killed by a drunk driver. A good ole boy who thought nothing of tying one on and driving his truck down the middle of the road. He was killed too, leaving the very adult Robin, fresh out of the military police with his criminal justice degree. Jasper became a rock hound, a geology teacher at a small college in Reno, famous for taking long walks in the desert to find more rocks. Neither one of them would talk about their parents, the loss still too great.
Xenia wasn’t stupid. She knew she loved him. He loved her, too. They would take long rides into the desert, pitch a tent, and make love under the stars. He never fought her, never blamed her for losing the baby. He put the blame where it mattered, on an incompetent doctor who refused to understand that their daughter was slowly strangling on the cord on the way out.
Robin did blame her for not rushing to get married. To him, married was how it should be. It made Xenia chafe. She would mate for life, like a wolf, but she felt a paper from the state was nonsense. Important nonsense, like being able to make decisions for the other if one were incapacitated, but still, artificial. She wanted to be hand-fasted for a year, then married under starlight, in the old way. She was descended from warriors, and would be damned if she would let anyone ever forget it. She had power, and grace. She could fight Robin to a standstill in the ring, despite his longer reach, and shoot both guns and arrows, better than he could.
She finished getting undressed, and hit the shower. Unstoppable force, meet immovable object, she thought, washing her mass of curly hair. She finally worked the conditioner in, and then scrubbed herself from head to toe, getting the grit from the road off her body. She shaved her legs and under her arms, then rinsed her hair. She dried off, dried the hair, and put it in two clips to keep it off her face. She put on black yoga pants and a blue sweatshirt that said Property of US Navy.
She’d been a high desert girl, a foster child after her meth-head mother overdosed. Her mother had been a Greek beauty, brought low by addiction. She herself, had survived high school, her foster mother a bitch of the highest caliber, alternating screaming and freezing her out. Her mom had married a Norwegian by way of Wisconsin, and she finally found him, using her skills as a Navy investigator. He’d been just passing through, and was stunned to find out he had a daughter. He had two strapping boys of his own, and didn’t really want a daughter, so she left him alone.
She made herself a cup of mint tea, selected one of her law enforcement magazines, and settled into her recliner to read. They always put her to sleep. It was getting late; she knew Robin had a long day, and that he was heartsick over his little, violent, idiot of a recruit.
He knocked on her door, using his special one-two-one-two knock.
He’d gone home, showered, changed. He was wearing blue jeans, a blue shirt, his Iron Knight leather jacket. She let him in.
“Beer, soda, tea, decaf?” she said.
“Soda,” he said, although the night was chilly. She brought him a Coke. “How are you?” she asked.
He popped the top on the Coke, sat on the other recliner, facing her. “I shouldn’t have hired him. I should have listened to you. Now, I’ve cost the city money, and we ended up in civil court, and that boy can’t get a job to save his life. A huge fucking waste of time.”
“You saw something in him that wasn’t there,” she said. “Sorry, but it’s true.” She sipped her tea.
“Reality. Should have seen reality. But, I hoped I could help him, mold him. His father can’t tie his own shoes, he’s so dense, and his mother…”
“Is far more interested in looking good than being in reality with the rest of us,” she said. “Now, here’s another dose of reality. Baby Avery is still licensed to carry a gun, he still lives around here, and he thinks we have it in for him. He’s one of those that might, just might, commit workplace violence. Watch your back, Robin.”
Robin sighed, and drank his Coke. “I have a hard head,” he said.
“You kind of had to. You were army, dealing with assholes and angels all day long. Your dad was never home, and all your sister wanted to do was collect rocks, without worrying too much if there was a scorpion there ready to poke her if she got too close. Your mom was gone all
night.” She held up a hand. “I know you don’t like to talk about them. I’m not knocking any of them. Your mom, quite legally, found a way to give you everything you needed, and your dad worked two jobs to get you what you wanted. Your sister is a scientist, and more power to her. The world needs its eggheads, or where would we be?”
“You want.” He stopped, got his head on straight. “You want a wedding in the old way. After Ivy popped her water right there in the courthouse, I realized my pushing a piece of paper on you is… well, just stupid. I’ve been stupid, about Baby Avery, about us. I’ve loved you for six years now, almost seven. I’ve had other women, but absolutely none of them are you. By a long shot.” He laughed bitterly. “It’s usually women that get hung up on a church wedding, a piece of paper. Guys are usually running the other way. Yet, there I am, demanding a piece of paper like some warlord. I’m a complete, total idiot.”
He reached forward, held her hands in his. “I love you, Valkyrie Xenia. I want to hand-fast you, and jump over a broom with you, and be bound by ribbons to you, under the stars like you want. Name a day and time when I’m not working, and I’m there. I’ll do it sky clad if you want, naked as the day I was born, if that pleases you.”
“That pleases me, because I love to see you naked, but sky clad isn’t for hand-fasting, or marriage. I want to love you for the rest of my life. I held my ground. I knew you wanted me, loved me, needed me.” She laughed. “We keep ending up in tents under the stars together. And,” she laughed again, “I think we can skip the hand-fasting. Our High Priestess is in Vegas, celebrating the birth of Ivy’s baby. So, either we can head there now, or we can wait until…”
He stood up. “Let’s go there, now.” He downed the rest of his Coke, and went to rinse it out and put it in the recycling.
