Final Stand

by Helen R. Myers

  He ran his tongue inside his cheek for a moment before directing his attention to J.M. “This is—”

  “Anna Diaz from Louisiana,” she interjected, offering her hand to the lawyer.

  She waged a staring match with Gray, until J.M. clasped the tips of her fingers.

  “Charmed.” The attorney then reached for his coffee. After observing the silent interplay going on, he drawled, “When somebody figures out what somebody wants from me, would somebody kindly fill me in?”

  “Frank got rough last night,” Gray began before she could. “You heard about the fire?”

  “You know Tim and those sirens. The only thing louder was the cussing from those he woke, including my neighbor’s thirty-pound theory of a kitty. Now, there’s my idea of shark bait. Did I tell you—”

  “Another time, J.M. I need you to stick with me on this.” Gray leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. “Anna here had the misfortune of stopping to rescue an injured dog about the same time in relatively the same place as the church. Naturally, as the only stranger passing through town, she’s Frank’s prime arson suspect.”

  J.M. stared at Sasha. Bloodshot, brown eyes, as probing as they were sad, held her gaze as his Cupid’s-bow mouth made a delicate O.

  “Why would he think a lovely creature like you would want to burn down our only house of worship? I myself have attended at least eight weddings there, including three of my own.”

  The insanity of this whole situation had Sasha helpless to do anything but try to find her role as they went along. “It sounds like a lovely place. I’m sorry for the loss.”

  He shrugged. “Four walls and a bunch of pews…it could sub as a courtroom for all the spiritual ambience it has. Then again, being an agnostic, what do I know? Define ‘rough.’ For instance, did Frank do that to your cheek?”

  Sasha couldn’t decide if he was the fool that he pretended to be, or if he entertained himself by taking the long route to every point. “Yes, but you won’t get him to admit it. He’ll only say I resisted arrest, or worse, led him on. Dr. Slaughter was already fed that line.”

  J.M. nodded, his doleful expression adding bags to a face a cartoonist would need extra pens to depict. “Yes, that sounds like Frank’s style. On behalf of my sex, I apologize.”

  Sasha leaned forward to impress her need. “I’m not out to cause trouble for him. I want to make my statement and be on my way.”

  Gray stared at her. “What are you doing?”

  She understood. He didn’t fathom how she could underplay what had happened. What he needed to comprehend was that, while his agenda was to put Frank in his place once and for all, it wasn’t hers. She had neither the time nor the energy to take on all of the Franks in the world.

  “If I hadn’t intervened when I did,” he said, enunciating each word, “he would have raped you.”

  Despite having spent many an hour with lawyers going over crimes and witness testimony, some that had left her almost physically ill, she found Gray’s declaration uncomfortable and embarrassing. “It wouldn’t have gotten that far. I would have stopped him.”

  He and J.M. exchanged speaking glances.

  “She could be tougher than she looks,” J.M. offered.

  “Trust me, she is. But when has Frank ever played fair?”

  “Don’t remind me. It’s bad enough that I’m aware of his liaison with Gerri Rose, do you know I saw his patrol car parked at Widow Greene’s house on Tuesday morning?” He mouthed four hours and held up fingers spread in a W before popping the last piece of toast into his mouth. Once he swallowed, he leaned back in his chair to consider Gray, and suddenly a gleam entered his eyes. “What about you, Dr. Slaughter? Where do you fit into this unpleasant situation—aside from being the rescuer of the lovely Ms. Diaz? What were you doing visiting Frank at that hour anyway? The man would as soon piss on—”

  “Easy,” Gray warned.

  “I was merely going to point out that your presence at the station was unnatural. In fact, I can’t remember the last time you were there.”

  Although his face took on that stone-mask expression again, indicating he knew what J.M. was driving at, Gray remained cool. “Anna’s dog, remember? I was done treating her and wanted to settle the bill. That’s when I walked in on what I did.”

  “Resulting in you slugging him.”

  “If he’s sporting any bruises this morning, they’re not from me. Not that I wasn’t tempted. In fact, the only way to get Anna away from Frank was to give him my word that she’d report back there this morning.”

  “That I can believe. And so she spent the night with you? Here?”

  Ignoring the unsubtle innuendo, Gray continued. “He says he wants a written statement of everything she did, and everything she saw last night.”

  J.M. refocused on Sasha. “Tell me.”

  She did, and when she was done, he nodded agreeably.

  “That sounds cut-and-dried enough. But back to you turning this mausoleum into Motel Six,” he said to Gray.

  “Get over it.”

  “Would that I could, but it’s too fascinating. In fact, I’m becoming increasingly grateful that you caught me, old son. Imagine you actually noticing what’s going on beyond your personal little wallow, and taking in a total stranger, no less.” To Sasha he said, “No offense, my dear. It’s just that Gray here happens to be our resident hermit, and—”

  “Goddamn it, J.M., you see what he did to her, you heard what I said. Stick with the issue,” Gray snapped.

  “We could, my boy, but I promise you that Frank isn’t, and won’t. He’s undoubtedly burned brain cells he can’t spare wondering what roused you out of your self-designed coma to chivalrously come to Ms. Diaz’s aid. And I guarantee you, the conclusions he’s jumping to lack more than good taste. As your attorney, I’d be derelict in my duty if I didn’t run them past you myself so you’ll be prepared.”

  Gray set his mug on the table with such force, some of the remaining liquid spilled out onto the table. Swearing, he immediately mopped up the mess with his napkin. “If you’d been me walking into that scene last night, you couldn’t have turned your back pretending nothing was happening.”

  “Hopefully not, considering that my favorite fantasy is shooting the bastard myself. The indelicate point you’re forcing me to make is that I’m aware neither of you is being totally straight with me.” J.M. beamed at Sasha and tapped the side of his nose. “Professional instinct.”

  There was no doubt that Jules Moffett would not be her first, second or fifth choice as legal representation if she’d had other options, but since that wasn’t possible, Sasha saw it was up to her to salvage things and try to make the best of an increasingly bad situation.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Moffett, I don’t mean to be uncooperative, let alone rude, but the only thing you need to know is that I didn’t have anything to do with what happened at the church, and that it’s imperative I be allowed to leave.”

  “If it’s a matter of a critical appointment, jury duty or an ill relative…perhaps you’d elaborate?” he coaxed. “That would give us particularly strong leverage.”

  “It’s nothing that simple.”

  “Practically everything else carries a penalty of twenty to life.”

  Silent, Sasha sat there and matched him stare for stare.

  Finally, the attorney set his elbows on the table and rested folded hands against his lips. “Grayson, after all these years of friendship, have you put me in a position where I could lose my license to practice law?”

  “I thought you can’t be an accomplice to something you don’t know about?” Gray replied.

  “A review board is as likely to believe that as much as I believe I’ll be chief counsel for the next president.” J.M. turned back to Sasha. “Let me explain why I have to know what’s really behind all of this. Going about things as you are, you might as well be asking a blind man to paint the Golden Gate Bridge.”

  “If he has a law degree send hi
m over,” Gray muttered.

  Unperturbed, J.M. continued, “Surely you know that, as your attorney, anything you say to me is strictly confidential?”

  Sasha could only shake her head.

  “What if I say pretty please, pass Go and don’t take the two hundred dollars?”

  “Can I get you another coffee?”

  J.M. slid his hands under his glasses and, rubbing his eyes, laughed. “My God. I don’t know whether to be flattered or offended.” Sighing, he tried again. “Something. Give me a clue as to my parameters, at least. What do I definitely stay away from? Anything. Otherwise—and I’m being serious here—Frank, for all of his weaknesses and incompetence, could, with a bit of luck, stumble upon yours.”

  Sasha understood. She’d worried half the night about much the same thing. “I can only warn you that I can’t still be in Bitters when Chief Elias runs a check on the name I’ll sign on that statement,” she replied.

  J.M. grimaced. “I was afraid you’d say something like that. All right, I’ll bite. What happens if he does?”

  “Then arresting me won’t matter because I’ll be as good as dead anyway. Unfortunately, in the process, innocent people could get hurt, some maybe even here.”

  Slack-jawed, J.M. followed her gaze to Gray. “Did you know that?”

  Gray slowly nodded in the affirmative.

  “Then why the hell didn’t you put her in her vehicle and wave bye-bye? Jesus H…you really do have a death wish. Or—” His eyes narrowed in speculation. “Don’t tell me you fell head over heels for the woman?”

  “Will lust do?” Gray countered.

  J.M. snorted. “That goes without saying.”

  “Do you two mind?” Having heard enough, Sasha rose before she fed a plate to one of them and branded the other with the skillet.

  “It’s about Frank,” Gray continued, suddenly serious again. “Keep it focused on Frank. He’s screwed with enough lives. You know that, him, as well as I do.”

  J.M. grunted in agreement.

  “Just get her out of there free to leave.”

  Despite her offer, J.M. rose with his mug and refilled it himself. Sasha wondered what was next. Of course, if he turned them down, she had only one option—to take her chances. What she needed to know is would Gray try to stop her this time?

  “You’re lucky,” J.M. said, turning to her, “that I’m a ham at heart and a gambler in my soul. Ms. Anna Diaz of Louisiana—” he stretched out his hand again “—you have yourself an attorney.”

  12

  It was well past eight before the trio emerged from Gray’s house, having waited until Frank’s patrol car pulled in at the front of the station. Although J.M. had warmed to his challenge and appeared increasingly pumped, Sasha and Gray grew quieter with each exchange, to where they now even avoided eye contact and only addressed J.M.

  After a few yards, Gray angled off to the clinic. The one thing they’d unanimously agreed upon was that his presence would only add to Frank’s defensiveness.

  “Good luck,” he said to them.

  J.M. gave him a thumbs-up sign. “When the going gets tough…”

  Sasha kept walking, believing silence a good balance to the cliché, cheerleader reply. Besides, she wasn’t sold on her counsel. She tried to moderate her skepticism, dismiss it as fatigue on top of a strong sense of persecution, something the chatty little man’s nonstop interrogation while Gray showered didn’t help. But while she appreciated how critical it was for an attorney to be factual, she was, nonetheless, unconvinced how details about where Elias had touched, how hard he’d groped and if she was bruised, mattered. Their dialogue had turned into its own wrestling match. In the end, J.M. bemoaned going into battle handicapped, and she fretted over his learning it was much worse than that: the gulf between cop and attorney. What was he likely to do with that information? Most of all, though, she dreaded releasing the more vengeful side of Frank Elias. He wasn’t a unique species and she’d met his kind before.

  “Chin up. Everything will be fine.” J.M. walked in full-length strides, his hands fisted and swinging at his sides, the picture of a man on a mission. “Frank’s big on intimidation, but he’s never been a student of the law. Hell, I’m not sure he could recite the Miranda to you without pulling out his little card.”

  Sasha ended up fisting her hands, as well. “The idea is not to get ourselves in the position of finding out.”

  “Sure. Of course. But what I mean is, I doubt he even knows what grounds he has for keeping you here. In fact, I bet as soon as he sees us walk in together and realizes Gray wasn’t bluffing, he’ll back down faster than my niece’s snotty Chihuahua when he comes face-to-face with their neighbors’ rottweiler.”

  Sasha doubted it. However, all she said in response was, “So it’s not only cats you dislike? I’m rather surprised that you and Dr. Slaughter are such good friends.”

  “Ha! Show me a vet and I’ll show you somebody scarred and lying if he says he loves all creatures great and small. That’s what I like about Gray—we agree that the only good snake is tattooed on a sailor’s arm, and that kids who befriend rodents need psychotherapy.”

  As certain as she was that he was toying with her, Sasha couldn’t help glancing back at the clinic, wondering about the pup she’d brought in last night. But there was nothing she could do for her at the moment.

  With energy belying his years, and his previous condition, J.M. bounded forward to reach the front door first, and with a sweeping gesture beckoned Sasha inside. The overhead lights hadn’t been turned on, and it took her a moment to adjust to the dimness. When she did, she noticed that Frank was once again alone in the station.

  He stood at the far side of the room by the coffee machine, and when he spotted J.M. he broke into a snickering laugh. “Who the hell are you supposed to be, Rambo in his granny’s slippers?”

  Straightening himself to his full height, which left him, nonetheless, at a disadvantage to Sasha, J.M. replied, “Have your fun, but you’re on notice, my boy. Unlike Ms. Diaz, I happen to know your approach to law matches your approach to life, and I’m here to make sure the ‘if it feels good do it’ approach doesn’t come into practice today. At least nowhere near my client.

  “As for my attire, I happened to be on my way out of town when Ms. Diaz called me. Once I heard what she had to say, I knew it would be an insult to make her wait until I changed.”

  It took a conscious effort for Sasha to keep herself from shrinking back toward the door. Dear God, she thought, he was performing as though he was on “Court TV.”

  Frank wasn’t impressed with the posturing either. “On your way out of town, my ass. Where to, Senior Citizens’ Commando School?”

  But he laughed a little too hard at his own joke and, although he looked presentable—freshly showered and shaved—his unsteady gait warned that he wasn’t in much better shape than the two other men Sasha had been in the company of so far this morning. That left her wondering…was Bitters more aptly named than she knew, some page out of a horror novel, a last karmic port of call for lost souls and assorted losers?

  “Hilarious, Frank.” J.M. led the way to the chief’s desk. “You’re as good a comic as you are a cop.”

  Elias strolled to his chair and casually lowered himself into it, leaving Sasha and J.M. standing. “That’s a strange remark when you’re hoping for my cooperation, slick.”

  Seemingly unfazed by the hostile volley, J.M. made a ceremony of holding out a chair for Sasha. He settled into the one on her left. “By all means, keep score, Frank. But that begs the question, how many demerits have you given yourself for the injury to Ms. Diaz?”

  “First of all, if you’re calling that an injury, I’m gonna arrest you the next time I see you behind the wheel for driving without proper corrective lenses. Second, if she says she hurt herself in any way other than slipping, she’s lying.”

  “And I’m strongly advising my client to proceed to the hospital in Sonora after we finish here. I thi
nk it would be in her best interest to be photographed and thoroughly checked out by a doctor.”

  This was news to Sasha, but she kept her peace, interested in how Elias would take that blatant salvo.

  He only drawled, “I’m shaking in terror.”

  His demeanor less cheery, J.M. leaned forward. “So much so that it caused you to forget your manners? You didn’t invite us to sit down. You should at least offer Ms. Diaz a cup of coffee.”

  The cop slid his gaze to Sasha. “Help yourself.”

  It was on the tip of her tongue to ask when was the last time the place was inspected by the board of health. But after the trouble such remarks had earned her last night, she would staple her lips shut before she risked saying anything that would create additional animosity. “No. Thank you,” she forced herself to add.

  Casting J.M. a “You see?” look, Elias drawled, “Now that we have the pleasantries out of the way, what are you angling for?”

  “What should have occurred last night instead of you detaining my client. Under the flimsiest of circumstances, I might add.”

  “As I told her, she was close enough to that church to have seen something. But what does she try to sell me? Some story about a white pickup truck. How lame is that?”

  “If that’s what she saw, then that’s all she can attest to. You can’t punish a witness for the information she provides just because it doesn’t lead straight to a quick, clean arrest for you.”

  Elias stroked the inside handle of the mug as though it was a trigger. “Now who’s twisting things around? By her own admission she was up there. What’s more, she had time to torch the building and get back here before Pike came outside and spotted the suspicious discoloration in the sky.”

  “Wait one damn minute.” Facade or not, J.M.’s cheer vanished faster than cash spilling from an armored security truck. “This is supposed to be about making a witness statement. Are you now saying you’re set to accuse her of arson, because if you are, I demand you make the charge clearly, here and now, and declare the evidence in your possession.”

  “Nope.”