He cleared his throat. “You sure it was the 7th?”
“Positive.”
He leaned forward and glared at me. “You’re lying.”
“Fuck you. I’m positive.”
He wagged his finger in my face. “If I find out you’re lying--”
I pushed myself away from the table and glared back at him. “You won’t find out, shit, mister. I’m telling the truth. The interview started on Saturday, the 7th of May, and lasted until 2:00 a.m.”
“How do you know it was the 7th?”
“Because it was on Saturday. And, I always start off my recordings with the date and the name of the interviewee.”
“You got a copy of the recording?”
Fuck.
My recorder was lost.
“You don’t need a copy of my recording, all you need is my testimony.”
“I need a copy of that recording.”
I stood up and crossed my arms in front of my chest. “Actually, you don’t. Under oath, and facing the penalty of perjury, I have provided testimony. As a matter of law, testimony is a solemn statement or declaration of fact, and is a form of evidence in itself. Now, release Navarro or my next article will be a full front page on the corruption within the judicial system, and I’ll start with my experiences here today with you, officer fucktard. Now, release Navarro or face the wrath of the Union-Tribune.”
He grinned. “One last question. How do you know it was 2:00 a.m.? Could it have been 1:00? Midnight? 1:30?”
“if you want the specific time, it was 2:06. Navarro and I had just finished speaking about a charity run he was trying to organize for orphaned children, and I looked at my watch. I recall saying, holy shit, it’s 2:06, I need to go.”
He stood up. “I ain’t sure what you and Crip got goin’ on, so I ain’t tryin’ to get in the middle of that. And I ain’t tryin’ to be disrespectful either. But god damn, girl, you’re the first bangin’ ass hot bitch I ever met that’s got her shit together. Most hot bitches are dumb as fuck.”
I grinned. “Thanks.”
He reached into his pocket, produced a tattered business card, and handed it to me. “I’m gonna get before you get me drunk. Give him a visit tomorrow. Call first. What you and I talked about? It didn’t happen. When you talk to him, whatever you say--”
“I’ll tell him the truth,” I said. “That the interview was on the 7th, and that it ended at 2:06 a.m.”
He clenched his fist and extended his arm.
I clenched mine and pounded it into his.
“Good lookin’ out, Peyton Price,” he said. “You get Crip out of jail, and I’ll owe you. Big time.”
“I’ll hold you to it,” I said.
He reached for his drink, and finished it in one gulp. “Good luck tomorrow.”
“I don’t need luck,” I said. “I’ve got charm.”
He grinned. “You’ve got something, that’s for fuckin’ sure.”
He was right.
I was a thrill-seeking weirdo.
And lying to the cops to get Navarro out of jail was thrilling to me.
Now, all I needed to do was find an outfit to wear. And I needed to remember to wear my glasses.
Chapter Fourteen
Nick
I sat in my jail cell, wondering just how it was that a judge found it necessary to deny a bond hearing, claim me as a flight risk, and a modern-day terrorist on my native soil. My service to the nation was apparently all for naught, and my release from incarceration was dependent on the false testimony of a girl I didn’t really know.
In club terms, I was fucked.
The sound of keys jingling warned me of a guard’s approach. As the sound got closer and closer, I couldn’t help but wonder if either Peyton decided to testify, or if they found DNA evidence of Whip’s dead brother.
“Navarro! Hands to the door, I need to cuff you for court.”
I had been placed in a maximum security cell, and unlike the majority of other men who were incarcerated in the jail, I wasn’t free to roam. I turned around, backed up to the door, and placed my wrists in front of the hinged opening in the steel door.
Within a few seconds, my hands were cuffed. A few seconds later, and I was fitted with a waist chain and shackles.
I walked in a few steps in front of the guard, well aware of the route we were taking to get to the courtroom. Upon entering the room, however, I was pleasantly surprised to see Peyton, dressed in a black skirt, white shirt, and black blazer.
Her conservative heels topped off the ensemble, but it was her glasses that commanded my attention.
You wore those on purpose, didn’t you?
Almost immediately after being seated beside Tristan Beecham, the club’s attorney, the judge entered the courtroom.
“All rise,” the bailiff said.
Although she was seated twenty feet from me, the smell of Peyton’s shampoo and perfume caused my mouth to water.
The judge sat down.
“You may be seated.”
The judge shuffled through a stack of paperwork, picked up a sheet of paper, and studied it. After a moment, he placed the paper down on his desk and raised his head. “In the matter of the people versus Nicholas Navarro, new testimony has been given which corroborates previous testimony given by the accused, and supports statements regarding the whereabouts of the accused on the night in question. The witness has agreed to testify before me, which I require in any such case.”
“Mrs. Price, will you approach the witness stand?”
Peyton stood. “Yes, Sir.”
She gracefully walked to the witness stand.
“Raise your right hand.”
She did.
“State your name.”
“Peyton Penelope Price.”
“Mrs. Price, do you swear – or affirm – that the testimony you give here today is the truth, the entire truth, and nothing but the truth?”
“I do.”
“Have a seat, please.”
Peyton sat in the witness stand. The judge nodded toward the prosecutor’s bench. “Your witness.”
“Mrs. Price. I haven’t had an opportunity to hear your testimony, but it’s been brought to my attention that you gave testimony today in the presence of two detectives regarding the whereabouts of one Nicholas Navarro on the night in question. Is that correct?”
“I have no idea,” she responded.
“Excuse me? Can you speak up?”
She leaned forward and spoke into the microphone. “I have no idea.”
“You have no idea? Regarding what, Mrs. Price?”
She cleared her throat. “You stated that I gave testimony to two detectives regarding the whereabouts of one Nicholas Navarro on the night in question. My response is this: I have no idea when the night in question is. I gave testimony regarding Mr. Navarro’s whereabouts on the night that he was involved in an interview with me. If the night of the interview and the night in question correspond with one another, I suppose you have your answer, Sir.”
“On the night of May 7th, did you interview Nicholas Navarro?”
“Yes, Sir. I did.”
“What is your profession, Mrs. Price?”
“I’m a journalist, employed by the Union-Tribune, as a reporter.”
“On that night, when did the interview start?”
“6:00 p.m.”
“Are you certain?”
“I’m positive. If I weren’t, I wouldn’t testify, Sir.”
The prosecutor nodded. “I appreciate that, ma’am.”
“And when, Mrs. Price, did the interview end?”
“2:06 a.m., Sir.”
Thank you.
“2:06, huh? Are you certain it was 2:06?”
“Yes, Sir. Again, if I wasn’t, I wouldn’t provide testimony regarding a specific time.”
“How, Mrs. Price, are you so certain of the time?”
“I checked my watch immediately prior to ending the meeting. I recall saying, it’s 2:06 a
.m., I need to go.”
“2:06 on the 7th?”
“No, Sir.”
“It wasn’t the 7th?”
“When it ended, Sir, it was the 8th. It was after midnight.”
“At any time during the interview, did Mr. Navarro leave your sight?”
“No, Sir, he did not.”
“Not once?”
“No, Sir.”
“Are you certain?”
“Quite.”
“So, you interviewed Mr. Navarro for eight hours?”
“That is correct.”
“At any point in time did you or Mr. Navarro eat?”
“No.”
“Drink?”
“Yes.”
“Did you or Mr. Navarro take an opportunity to urinate?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact, we did.”
The prosecutor chuckled. “Did you assist him?”
“No, I did not.”
“So, he did leave your sight?”
“No, he did not.”
The prosecutor shook his head. “Can you explain?”
“Sure. I interviewed Mr. Navarro in the equivalent of an abandoned warehouse. Mr. Navarro and I, on the evening and night that we’re speaking of, consumed drinks. At one point, Mr. Navarro stated that he needed to piss. I informed him that I needed to as well, and asked the way to the bathroom. He laughed and said the building did not have a working bathroom, but that it was in the process of being repaired. I then asked where he intended to urinate. He pointed to the parking lot. I chose to hold it, and he chose not to. While he urinated, Sir, I stood in the building and watched.”
Where the hell did that story come from?
The prosecutor sighed. “No further questions.”
The judge cleared his throat. “Mrs. Price, do you understand that it is a crime for providing false testimony?”
“Yes, Sir, I do.”
“The crime of perjury.”
“Yes, Sir, I understand.”
“And, you understand you’re under oath to tell the truth?”
“Yes, Sir, I do.”
The judge nodded. “Will the accused please rise?”
Beecham and I both stood.
“Mr. Navarro, testimony has been provided that corroborates your claim, and provides you with an alibi on the night in question. regarding the fingerprint on the fuel tank of the motorcycle, we must assume that was left at a date prior to the victim’s disappearance. For the mix-up, the court apologizes. You are free to go.”
I nodded. “Thank you, your honor.”
“Have you any questions, son?”
“None, your honor.”
“Be it a matter of record, that in the matter of the people versus Nicholas Navarro, the charges, in their entirety, have been dismissed.”
The judge stood.
“Please rise,” the bailiff bellowed.
The judge left the room.
“You’re may be seated, and you’re dismissed,” the bailiff stated.
The sheriff’s officer walked to the bench, unlocked my cuffs, and removed the shackles.
“Any questions?” Beecham asked.
“Nope,” I said.
“I’ll send you a bill.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Peyton walking toward the door. I felt like yelling at her, telling her to stop, and asking to use her cell phone, but realized I had to refrain from any contact with her – at least in the courtroom.
Not telling her how much I appreciated her help was difficult. Having no idea if she was going to remain the same person toward me after she gave her testimony was worse. The possibility of losing whatever it was we shared sank into the pit my stomach like a rock.
It was painfully obvious she meant more to me than some girl who was simply interviewing me.
I liked the thought of it.
But I wasn’t sure if I could allow it.
Chapter Fifteen
Peyton
I ran down the hallway and ducked into my office. After retrieving my laptop, I turned around and attempted to run out of the building without being seen. I was mere inches from the door, and the sound of Camden Rollins’ booming voice made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.
“Peyton! What in the world are you doing?”
Fucking fuck fuck fuck.
With my laptop clutched under my right arm, and my purse dangling under my left, I turned around and forced myself to smile. “Just came in to get my MacBook. It’s has some stuff on it that I need to make reference to.”
He crossed his arms and stared back at me in disbelief. “Were you running?”
“It uhhm. It was. It was more of a light jog.”
“Why are you in such a hurry?”
I shrugged. “Just. I uhhm. Trying to get done with the first installment of an awe-inspiring piece.”
“Come on back.” He turned away. “I haven’t seen you in weeks.”
“Has it been weeks?” I asked. “It seems like hours.”
“Come on back,” he said over his shoulder. “You can bring me up to speed.”
“I really need to try and get this done before I have a brain fart.”
He didn’t respond.
I took a few backward steps, inching closer to the door. “I uhhm. My recorder. I lost my voice recorder. Misplaced is more like it. But I figured out where I left it. Or at least I think I did. I was having lunch with Navarro. Kind of. Well, we never actually ate, but that’s an entirely different story. Anyway, I’m thinking I’ll have a rough draft here pretty soon.”
He walked away from me, reached the end of the hallway, and disappeared around the corner. I glanced at the receptionist. She returned an innocent smile and shrugged.
“Thanks for the warning,” I whispered.
I sighed, placed my MacBook on the receptionist’s desk, and took off in a dead run toward his office. When I reached the door, I reluctantly pushed it open. “I really need to go. I need to get my recorder. I left it at the bar.”
He waved his hand toward the front side of his desk. “They’ll be open all day. Have a seat, Peyton.”
I sighed and flopped down in the chair.
“What’s on your laptop that’s so important?” he asked.
“Just stuff.”
“What kind of stuff? Must be pretty important if you’re rushing in here to get it in the middle of the day. And why are you dressed like that? The Filthy Fuckers will never trust you if you’re dressed like that.”
I was still wearing my outfit from testifying in court. “No, I had a meeting. I uhhm. My insurance company. New insurance. They were going to cancel me. Too many tickets.”
“You need to slow down. You drive like a maniac. How many times have I told you? You need to slow down. You’re going to end up--” He paused, swallowed and shook his head. “You need to slow down.”
I nodded. “Duly noted.”
“So, what was it you were after? Tell me about the Filthy Fuckers. Are they going to war with Satan’s Savages?”
I sat up straight. “I was wanting to look at some notes from a few years ago I was chasing that missing person’s case.”
“Suspect the MC for a murder?”
“No. No.” I shook my head and forced a laugh. “Not even close. I was just wanting to look at some things. Unrelated. Kind of.”
“What about Satan’s Savages? Heard anything?”
“Not a word,” I said. “Interesting bunch, though. The Fuckers, that is. It’ll be a great piece.”
“We won’t be able to give the piece away if there isn’t any action. MC’s are a dime a dozen if they’re riding up and down the PCH swilling beers and getting in fist fights.”
“You’ll be pleased. I promise.”
He fixed his eyes on me and rubbed his chin between his thumb and forefinger. After a moment, he relaxed in his seat. “Alright. Go get your recorder. Dig deep, Peyton. I know you’ve got it in you.”
I inhaled a deep breath and prepared to stand.
“Before you go, what about Navarro? He’s a mean son-of-a-bitch from what they say. Have you had a chance to spend some time with him?”
I sighed. “Uhhm, yeah. I mean, the spending time with. Not as much as I need to, though.”
“Is he as hot-tempered as they say?”
I stood up and shrugged. “I sure haven’t seen it. Not yet.”
He picked a pencil up from his desk and wagged it at me. “Dig deep. That’s my advice. The deeper, the better.”
“Will do, Sir.” I said with a nod. “It’ll go deep. I mean I’ll go deep.”
“Keep me posted,” he said.
During the lull in conversation, I made my way to the door. “Will do.”
No response.
I walked out the door, stepped into the hallway, and as soon as I was out of sight, took off running.
A case I was working on two years’ prior shared almost all of the characteristics of Navarro’s case. Whether or not Navarro was involved with either case was irrelevant, I simply wanted to know if the charges against him were according to state statutes, and if they could re-charge him at a later date.
I picked up the laptop, shot the receptionist a scowl, and ran to my Jeep.
One more stop, and then I could see if Navarro was out of jail yet.
I pulled into the parking lot of the bar, which was empty. From what Navarro said, the bar was a biker hangout, and his club had claimed it as their own. Although other people may frequent the bar, there was no worry of another MC stepping into FFMC’s turf, which made the bar safe – at least for me.
I shouldered my laptop and walked inside. Pete stood behind the bar staring at the wall-mounted television in the distance.
He turned toward me and nodded his greeting. I nodded in return. After scanning the bar for patrons and finding none, I walked to the bar. Pete’s focus shifted from the T.V. to me. He resembled Navarro, but was smaller in stature, and missing the tattoos.
“I was in the other day with Crip.” I motioned toward the area where the incident went down with Panda and Whip. “I think I might have left something--”
He raised his hand. “Looking for this?”
“Yes. Oh my God, that’s great.”
I slapped my hand against the carrying case for my laptop. “Mind if I sit over there and look for something on this?”
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