The Pike: Right To Remain Silent
By Erik Schubach
Copyright © 2017 by Erik Schubach
Self publishing
P.O. Box 523
Nine Mile Falls, WA 99026
Cover Photo © 2017 Pavel Lysenko / Subarashii21 / Blambca / Iconic Bestiary
ShutterStock.com licenses
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author / publisher, except by a reviewer who wishes to quote brief passages in connection with a review written for inclusion in a magazine, newspaper, blog, or broadcast.
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Manufactured in the United States of America
FIRST EDITION
ISBN 978-0-9985110-1-6
Prologue
There are times I really don't like people, which is a complete shame because... well, because I like people. Shut up.
I glanced over at my sister Zoey as I brought a cup of coffee over to a girl who was sitting at one of our little, expanded metal patio tables in our little bakery slash eatery, the Pike. She was waiting for the police to arrive and I felt useless.
Come on Eve, suck it up and put your damn smile on your face, the girl doesn't need any negative vibes adding to her ordeal. I glanced out the window to her vendor cart that she had locked down. I had seen her around Pike Place Market here in Seattle the past couple of months. She sells all sorts of gorgeous hand dyed items like scarves, hats, and handkerchiefs. I had been meaning to peruse her merch one day.
Some ass-in-the-hat had done a snatch and grab of her cash box right outside our place at the Post Street Alley buildings. She got a piece of the thief, though. Unfortunately, it upended and damaged her cart. One of the large wooden spoke wheels had broken.
I stepped up to the woman, who was a brunette today, under the cute wide brim floppy felt hat. She had a different hair color almost every day, I assumed she had a lot of wigs as coloring your hair so often would do a lot of damage to it. She had a penchant for hats and head scarves, that were very chic and trendy, to go along with her cute demi-bob.
She looked up with hazel brown eyes, and I gave her my best smile and said as I offered the cup, “Here, maybe something warm will settle your nerves a bit.” Something was a bit off with her eyes. I wasn't quite sure what, but they were pretty and went with her button nose.
She smiled almost shyly and accepted the cup. I offered a hand. “Eve. Eve Rand. That tall Raggedy Ann over there is Zoey, my sister. We run the Pike.”
She looked around then down at the cup of coffee she held between her hands. “Madelyn. Madelyn Stone.” She offered an unsure smile.
I just gave a silly grin to put her at ease. “I wish I had been looking out the window when you tackled the jerk, Madelyn. It would have been something to see.” She blushed a little and shrugged. I added, “There aren't enough officers in the Market, though they patrol pretty regularly.”
At her silence, I sort of sensed that her reticence to be more loquacious was a little more than just being rattled by the robbery. Being one to take the hint, I went back to work. Yeah, right, like that was gonna happen. Sue me. I sat down across from her and glanced at the cart. “What you gonna do now? Your cart is pretty messed up. You have another wheel?”
She shrugged as she looked out. “We couldn't even afford insurance on it. Not sure what we're going to do now.”
I'm not one to pry. Shut up... again. “We?”
She turned back to me and pursed her lips as she looked at me. A perfect stranger. Debating whether or not to talk about her personal life. I tried to look as unthreatening as possible. Yeah, maybe the super toothy grin and manic eyes didn't help much, but it did the trick. This got her to chuckle, and I wiped the crazy off my face.
“My older brother, Johnny, and I moved to Seattle a couple months ago, from Portland. He finished his parole, and we wanted to get a fresh start.”
I squished my lips to one side, curiosity killing me. With a herculean effort, I stopped myself from asking. She cocked her head at me then shook it. At least she was smiling a little now. She added, to my immense relief ,as I was about to explode with curiosity as I bit down heard on my tongue, “Ironically, he was on parole for theft. Shoplifting. Got three months and a year of probation.”
She was right, that was a little ironic, wasn't it?
The girl quickly defended, “He's a good guy, just has his head screwed on wrong sometimes. His friends weren't the best influences on him. I know it isn't an excuse.” She shrugged.
I gave her a wicked smile and nudged my chin toward Zoey behind the counter. “Believe me, I understand com-plete-ly.”
We shared a chuckle, and then said sister called out, making my point for me, “By all means, Evie, have a seat. I have the counter AND the kitchen.”
I looked up and gave an exaggerated sigh before I asked, “See?” I flopped my hand towel over my shoulder, reached over to place my hand on her arm and said, “Things will work out. I must go save my helpless sister.”
She gave a two-fingered salute from the brim of her floppy hat, and I hopped up and zipped over to the counter, pushing Zoey out from in front of the register with my hip. I accepted the credit card from the man who was making a purchase, as I ignored Zoey's amused but glaring sister stare. I swear she practices that glare in front of the mirror at least, like, four hours a day. She had it down when I was three.
I rang the man up and said, “Thanks for coming.” He nodded and took his bag of still warm croissants and headed for the door as the next customer moved up.
I turned slowly and dramatically to my sister who was giving me a squinty look. I looked up at her and asked, “Don't you have like, some eggs to fluff or something?” She blew a loose lock of hair from her eyes, revealing more flour on her face. Does she roll in the stuff back there or something? She does realize the flour goes in the mixing bowl and not in the air, right?
She started walking off, and I turned back to the lady at the counter then squeaked when Zoey snapped me with her hand towel. I grinned and asked, “What can I get for ya, ma'am?”
The woman was apparently not amused by our shenanigans... knavery? Frolicsomeness? As she just said plainly, “Three of the chocolate eclairs, to go, please.”
I glanced over at Madelyn, she had her hands behind her neck and was staring at the ceiling. It seemed that cart was pretty important to her. I wondered if it was her only source of income. I had just bagged the eclairs and put the money in the till, when the old antique shop bell that hung above the glass entry door jingled, and Officer O'Brien stepped in.
She was one of the three officers who had foot patrol in the Market. It sounds like they'd have the place covered, but since the market itself is over a quarter mile long, and multiple stories. Not to mention the buildings across the street, and in Post Street Alley like us which compose the overall Market area, they are spread really thin.
She looked around then started toward me. I absently smoothed my little green apron, men and women in uniform were my personal kryptonite. I get tongue tied around our silent partner in the Pike, McKenzie Meyers, whenever she wears her old military uniform for some of the veteran's events, she is asked to speak at.
Officer Danielle O'Brien has me always feeling self-conscious around her. With her dark blue unifo
rm always so neatly pressed and her gear at her hips. She removed her hat and tucked it under her arm, exposing her bun of honey blonde hair. She was always so formal when entering the bakery.
I looked around the couple perusing our handwritten menus on the wall and looked up into O'Brien's pale green eyes. They were the color of old dollar bills and were always razor focussed. She had one of those faces that wasn't classically beautiful but held something that just made you smile and want to be her friend.
Zoey and I had been whittling away at her professional composure, a front I suspect she uses as a shield since she has to work twice as hard at her job to get the same recognition as the male officers. Her on a foot beat was proof of the inequality since she had seniority over many of the guys who were promoted up the chain before her. I'm sure in a testosterone filled environment like that, you didn't want anyone to think you were any sort of shrinking violet.
A little smile cracked through that facade as she raised her brows in question as she approached. I nudged my chin toward Madelyn. I said, “She's a little shaken, but not one to take things lying down.” She inclined her head in thanks and turned to look. She hesitated a long beat as she stared at the girl. She swallowed and checked her hat under her arm and looked down at herself.
I blinked, was she...? I smiled and looked between the two. Then added, “That man in the green shirt witnessed the whole thing. The couple over there are the only tourists who had any decency to stay after witnessing the robbery.”
She took note of each of them with her eyes, like she was categorizing them, then nodded, saying, “Thanks, Eve.”
I tried not to squeak as I said, “No problem. I'll get you a coffee, looks like you'll be here a while.”
She nodded once then turned back to Madelyn and tucked her hat tighter again. She looked actually nervous. She stepped off, and I turned back to the customers.
I took their order and headed to the kitchen door, looking back one last time as I saw O'Brien shaking Madelyn's hand. I looked into the kitchen where my sister was working her culinary magic. I have to admit, daym can my sister cook. “Two breakfast bowls for table two.”
She looked up from where she was wrestling with some dough and apparently losing if the plume of flour in the air was any indication. “Kay.” Then she paused and said, “Dear Lord, preserve us all, you look as pleased as a platypus on a lily-pad, what mischief are you into now?”
I shook my head. “I know not what you accuse.”
She looked up at the ceiling and muttered, “Great mother of all that is fluffy and right in the world. You have that look yet again. Don't meddle Eve.”
As innocently as I could muster, I countered, “Who me?”
She bit back a chuckle and said, “Yes you.” Then she got a mischievous look on her own and asked in a whisper, “Who?”
I nudged my chin through the doorway I was holding open, and she hustled over, wiping her hands on her green apron that was more white with flour than green. She glanced out as I just kept an innocent look on my face. What? Innocent, evil, it's just semantics, right?
She looked around the little seating area, and her eyes settled on my target. She cocked an eyebrow, “O'Brien?” I didn't say a word, and she just warned again, “Don't meddle.”
I pushed her back into the kitchen and shut the door in answer as I pulled Officer O'Brien's cup off the shelves behind the counter. I grinned at her name on the thermal mug, we had drawn a little badge behind her name.
Let the meddling commence.
Chapter 1 – Questioned
I pried my eyes from my cart, trying hard not to cry as I looked at the broken wooden spokes and the rim that was now at a nasty angle. The entire wheel was malformed because of it. If only I hadn't tried to stop the guy, at least the cart would be ok. But we really need that money.
It was only a half a day's sales, but rent at our little apartment over Mr. Laurey's garage is due, we're a little short, and we can't be late on our second month. I don't want that nice old man to think we're deadbeats like his last tenant.
I really thought everything was going good. We had our lives back on track... with a fresh start where nobody knew Johnny. I just thank our blessings every day that he took the plea bargain which reduced the charges from a felony to misdemeanor, or it would have been hell for him to get a job anywhere.
I still don't know what he was thinking. He's always hung out with Mark and Jim since grade school, and those two guys are nothing but poison. I'd lay odds that they were the ones who led him down the rabbit hole again.
I can't figure out how I became the one taking care of him instead of the other way around.
I glanced over toward that hyper and overly cute redhead, Eve. I've seen her motoring around Pike Place, she's always full of energy. I froze when I saw the police officer she was speaking with. I gritted my teeth. I'd got my fill of overzealous police officers, and lawyers after my brother was arrested.
The officers in and out of court were never gentle and treated my brother like gutter slime because he had made a stupid, boneheaded mistake.
I hated my reaction. The police are supposed to give you a sense of safety and security. But after watching someone you love get manhandled by them, and people speak to you like you are a criminal too just because you are related to someone who stole something, you sort of get jaded.
I quickly got sick of the condescension and borderline suspicion thrown at me when I was questioned about my brother's “extracurricular activities” during the trial. It was obvious that the officers and the prosecuting attorney from the District Attorney's office all believed that I was involved in the theft in some way. They implied it without coming right out and saying it during my deposition.
Then in court, I spoke as a character witness for Johnny, which unfortunately meant that D.A. prick got to asked questions too. They went out of their way to make it look like I was a bad person because I had been raised in foster care, didn't have a job except selling my art on the streets, and “associated” with unsavories with extensive juvenile records. That would be asshat one and two, Mark and Jim.
He had me in tears before I could step down from the stand. I have to say that I truly hate that man and wish nothing but the worst for him after the way he humiliated me. He had the balls to say he was just doing his job, later in the hall, that it wasn't anything personal.
Apparently, his teardown of me didn't sit well with the jury. And his guilt by association spiel backfired.
The jury deliberated for hours and kept sending notes to the judge, asking for clarification on certain facts. It was making the prosecutor nervous.
This was John's first offense, and my fool brother had tried to make off with enough video games and gear stuffed in his jacket to qualify for a felony instead of a misdemeanor. Just five dollars over the thousand dollar cutoff for Portland.
So the prosecutors offered a deal to the public defender, that if John pleaded guilty to the lesser offense of a Class A misdemeanor, they would drop the felony charges. He did, then spent three months in lockup and got a year of parole.
So needless to say, I'm not a big fan of the police and I sort of hated that I found myself in need of them now. Necessary evil I guess.
The woman in uniform turned my way when Eve indicated me and the woman sort of froze for a moment, then looked a little unsure of herself. That was new. The only officers I dealt with thought they were all that and a bag of chips. She didn't look too full of herself.
She seemed to steel herself after looking around then strode over to me with and stopped a pace from the table, and said, “Miss? Officer O'Brien, SPD. I'm sorry this has happened to you, and that it took so long for us to respond, there was another disturbance at the other side of the Market.”
Her voice was deeper than I would have thought. She wasn't very big for an officer, and I was thinking she'd be a soprano or something. I guess I'm guilty of stereotyping from her looks. But instead, it was a low contralto.
It had more of a thick honey tone, almost bordering on raspy, but not quite.
She seemed pretty earnest about her apology. I don't know what she had to apologize for, Pike Place is a huge place, and she couldn't be everywhere at once. As it is, I hadn't been sitting there in the Pike for more than six or seven minutes before she showed up.
She took out an old weathered notepad and a pen from her belt pack and asked, “If you don't mind, I can take your statement here unless you would feel more comfortable at the station. I promise we will do everything in our power to catch the perpetrator.”
I nodded without speaking, feeling tense, and I hate that I did. She was, after all, trying to assist me instead of judge like the others, wasn't she? I still felt a bit standoffish.
She nodded then motioned a hand to the table. “May I?”
I nodded, and she sat down across from me.
Then she looked me over, I felt a little squeamish under her gaze. In that way that you always put your foot on the brake and check your speedometer whenever you see a cop car at the side of the road, even if you weren't speeding. You know, that irrational, unspoken anxiety that you may be doing something wrong.
Then she looked down at her notepad almost shyly and asked, “Before we begin. You're alright, aren't you? You don't need medical assistance or anything? Dispatch said there was an altercation?”
My shoulder and knee hurt a little from tackling the thief, but it wasn't anything a soak in a nice hot bath wouldn't remedy. I shook my head and placed my hands in my lap and absently wrung my fingers.
She looked at me again and cocked her head, taking in my mannerism, and I dropped my hands and sat up a little straighter. She gave a little reassuring smile. I don't know if it was for her or me. What did she have to be nervous about? Unless she was fresh out of the academy and wasn't sure of herself yet.
She looked at her notepad and said, “Right then, let's start with your name, shall we?”
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