“Get out of my house!” she roars like a lioness protecting her cub. “And don’t come back. We don’t have what you’re after. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Arch,” the man standing by the door calls out, his voice shrill with fright, “we don’t have time. I’m going with or without you.”
To my utmost relief, Arch, proving he’s not deaf and hearing the gradually loudening sirens, doesn’t argue with his companion and they disappear the same way they came in. Moments later I hear a squeal of brakes. Only seconds after that, another vehicle draws up, and now it’s state troopers in uniform entering the house.
Neither Mom nor I mention they were looking for drugs as I don’t want to give the cops more ammunition to use against me. Instead, we say they’d broken in, and we’re in the dark as to the reason.
They bag the gun, complimenting me for disarming the intruder, but don’t take the death threat seriously. Then they go through the motions which don’t take long, the broken door is the only sign the men had been here. Even though I was almost killed, they write it down as a failed home invasion where nothing was actually stolen.
After being given unnecessary advice about calling someone out to fix the door, Mom, driven by fear of the men returning, snaps, “They held us at gunpoint. What if they come back? Aren’t you going to do anything?”
One of the cops shifts awkwardly. “Look, ma’am, it’s very unlikely they’ll come back. Just keep your phones with you and call us immediately if you hear or see anything suspicious. They’ve probably moved on to another house. I doubt you’ve got much to worry about.” He glances around the room which is pleasant enough but doesn’t scream money. “We can get a patrol car to cruise past when they’re in the area.” That’s supposed to be comforting? “There’s been a spate of home invasions recently, looks like you’ve just been unfortunate. Ma’am,” he addresses her directly again, “you said they wore gloves, so there’re no fingerprints unless we find any on the gun. You can come to the station and look through our mug shots, see if you recognise them, but unless you can point them out, there’s nothing for us to go on.”
If it really had been a home invasion I’d have been annoyed, but as it is, I’m just glad to see the back of them when they leave.
As soon as the troopers pull away, Dirt appears.
“Those were some slick moves,” he says approvingly, but his face is tight. “Thank fuck you disarmed him and got the gun.”
“I thought you were supposed to protect us,” says Mom. I notice she’s looking extremely pale.
“I couldn’t take a shot as Beth was blocking him.” He almost glares as he adds, “Why do you have to be so damn tall?”
Glancing back at the stairway, I see what he means. I was directly in his line of sight, and the man completely hidden by me.
“You can’t go and identify them,” he warns. “If you do, there’s no doubt the cops will know they have something to do with drugs, and that will just bring more trouble to Beth’s door.”
He’s right. Christ, what a mess.
“What’s happening to us?” Mom suddenly cries out, her hand finding the back of a chair and she eases herself down. “I’ve a son leaving a fortune in drugs in my house, a daughter who’s having to lie to the cops and now strangers holding us at gunpoint demanding to know where their drugs are, and I can’t admit they’ve been taken by an outlaw MC.”
Suddenly she’s crying, and I’m rushing over, pulling her into my arms.
“What the hell is going on, Bethany?” The bravery Mom had shown when faced with a gun-toting criminal has fled now. I’m surprised to feel my own cheeks are wet, as the situation catches up with me too.
Vaguely from behind me, I hear Dirt talking into his phone.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Ink
“The cops have spoken to Beth? What the fuck for?” I hiss at Sykes. I’ve tried my best to keep her out of it. Why would they speak to her? I’ll tan her backside if she’s fucked up and dropped herself in it. The only thing keeping me sane is the thought that they haven’t got both of us locked up.
Sykes frowns. “I don’t know. But you did have a relationship. I suspect they’re talking to all your contacts.”
I suppose that makes sense.
“Oh, and Demon rang this morning. I didn’t let him say much.” Sykes reads my irritation. “If I as your lawyer know too much, and especially if I pass that on to you, then it’s possible something will slip out while you’re being questioned. But what he did say was, Beth’s got a story that holds up and he’s satisfied with it.”
I sit up straighter. “She’s innocent?”
He shoots me a look. Yeah, okay, so she was carrying a fuckload of H and was the reason I got locked up. But if Demon says she’s in the clear, he means it. There could be a good reason for what she did. Though fuck knows I’m unable to see it. Could she have been coerced or forced in some way? Jeez, now I’m worried about her. If she was, it must have been that asshole brother of hers.
“Is that all Demon said?”
“You know he wouldn’t give me much. He had nothing to help with your case. Unless you’re going to give her up?”
No fucking way. Especially now Demon’s given me hope. If she’s gotten herself into trouble, I’m not going to worsen it.
“Cops let her go, though?”
Sykes nods.
At least that suggests she didn’t give herself away. Maybe she got my message that I wasn’t interested any longer and is happy to leave me here to rot. I lower my head into my hands. Christ, this place is making me go nuts. That’s what I want her to do, isn’t it? Truth is, the thought hurts, and it’s not likely to be the behaviour of the Beth I remember.
Now I’ve been locked up for thirty-six hours, my anger has started to fade and another sentiment is taking its place, a sense of loss. Lost chances. Knocking my palm against my head, I’m not sure how the confirmation that Beth acted with good reason helps me or not. Christ, I wish I was out of here and could talk to her.
The idea police are presumably trying to connect her to me is extremely concerning. Fuck. What I did becomes worthless if they arrest her. Should I change my story to some bullshit, shifting all the blame from her? Fuck it! I need answers.
“Has she got a lawyer?” If not, she’ll need one.
“Mel’s father arranged it. Good move. It shows her independence. If the club had sent her to me, the cops would try to make something of that.”
“Do we know what she told her lawyer?”
He shakes his head. “Eventually, witness statements will be shared with me, but not now. Ottoman, her lawyer, plays it straight down the line. As do I. It would be unethical to step on each other’s toes or share confidential information.”
Unethical be damned. But if Sykes got a reputation as being crooked, he wouldn’t make a good lawyer. I try to suck it up. “So what happens now?”
“You’ll appear in court for your first advisement hearing tomorrow, Tuesday.”
I frown. Looks like I’ll be spending yet another day locked up without hope of bail. “That’s more than forty-eight hours.”
He shrugs. “Seventy-two isn’t unknown. It could be a good sign if the prosecutor is having difficulty building a case.”
I just raise an eyebrow. Sounds fairly solid to me. I was caught with a bag carrying two kilos of heroin.
The detectives want to speak to me again, it’s why Sykes has come in. It’s the old familiar routine. I’m shackled with my hands in front of me linked to a chain on the floor just in case I get the sudden urge to reach over the desk and strangle one, or both, of the pair. Looking at it that way, it’s probably lucky I’m handcuffed. At least it stops me acting on the impulse.
Barker takes the lead once again. “How well do you know Bethany Foster?”
Shit. Dive straight in why don’t you? I think fast how to approach this. I don’t know what she’s told them. Fuck straight lawyers. I decide fast an
d wink. “Very well.”
I swear my answer makes both of them sit straighter. “Would you care to elaborate on that? How long have you known her, and would you say you and she were an item?”
I wish that I could say what we were. I’ve claimed her, for fucks sake, just to make sure my club protects her. But somehow the idea of having an old lady has got stuck in my head, and it doesn’t feel as dreadful as I used to think it would. Having Beth to come home to? Her to fuck for the rest of my life? Her to hold, to sleep with? I could get pretty comfortable with that.
Only one problem, I doubt she’d wait thirty years for my release. Even if some magic is worked and I get out sooner, I have no idea whether Beth would want me, or whether I’ve been too successful pushing her away. How long does it take for a woman to lose interest?
Restricting myself to what I fear is the truth isn’t hard. I shrug. “She targeted me at a wedding. There was a mutual attraction. We fucked. I liked it, so we fucked some more when her friend brought her to one of our parties.”
Hastings can’t keep the look of disgust off his face. “Ms Foster feel the same way? That the only thing offered was a physical relationship?”
“It’s what she wanted,” I say, daring them to contradict, mentally crossing my fingers that our statements won’t contradict. “What can I tell you? Ms Foster wanted to take a walk on the wild side, I was only too happy to oblige. If you saw her, you’d know that body offered on a plate would be hard to turn down.” I don’t let on I know they’ve interviewed her.
“You’ve been to her house?”
“I have,” I confirm. No point in denying it.
“Did you collect the drugs from her there? Or did she hand them to you when she met you somewhere else?”
What the fuck? How have they linked her with the drugs? It’s my turn to look genuinely confused. I turn to Sykes, but he, too, isn’t showing any sign he knows what’s going on. “I don’t understand the question,” I reply at last. “Why the fuck would Beth have anything to do with drugs?”
“The bag you were caught with had her fingerprints on it.”
It did? Damn. I hadn’t time to ask her anything at all. I hadn’t thought that she might not have been wearing gloves. Fuck, didn’t everyone on such a cold night?
“I know nothing about that,” I tell them at last. “I can’t imagine Beth would have anything to do with drugs, but as I said, I barely know her.” I’m hoping my words won’t get her into trouble.
I’m stared at by two pairs of eyes for a moment. I stare unerringly back.
Barker breaks the silence. “Where did you get the rucksack? Did it already contain drugs?”
Sykes glares at them. “My client has explained exactly how he got possession of the rucksack. He picked it up when it was dropped, only moments before he was arrested.”
Barker ignores him. “Did you go through Ms Foster’s house, perhaps? Take the rucksack while you were there? Decide she wasn’t putting out enough and get her back by trying to frame her?”
Christ. His version is more fanciful than mine.
“Whoa,” Sykes steps in. “Mr McNeish told you what happened quite clearly. Mr McNeish had nothing to do with the bag prior to him taking it off of the man he saw down the alley, the man who I suggest you should be looking for instead of keeping my client locked up. My client handled the bag for little more than a minute. How would he know where it came from?”
The detectives confer for a moment.
“Is there anything else you’d like to tell us about Ms Foster? Think carefully, Mr McNeish. If she gave you drugs to pass on to Childs, maybe you were just the messenger and indeed had no knowledge of what was in the bag. A bit of cooperation here might go a long way.”
I’ve already made the decision I’ll sacrifice all that I am to keep Beth out of this. I can’t go back on that now. I wish there was something I could do, some way to talk to her, to tell her not to give a hint that she knew what was going on. I wish I knew the story why she was there in the first fucking place. But I don’t. All I know is that message from Demon that she has a story which checks out. I can only surmise that her brother is somehow involved and rely on my club to find out. “I’ve nothing more I can tell you,” I respond at last.
Seeing they won’t be getting an admission out of me, I’m returned to the cell.
The drunks have mostly sobered up and gone. There’s a man snoring off alcohol in the corner, but Monday night isn’t a busy one. The place still stinks though, and I already know what to expect when the drunk awakes and his hangover hits. Obviously depends on how much he imbibed, but I expect to be woken by vomiting or retching sounds again, or at least, a loud long piss hopefully in the correct receptacle.
I never thought I’d long to be sent to a proper jail where I’d have a cell, hopefully with a bunk to myself even if I had to share the room. Anything would be better than this. It’s a punishment all in itself.
My chin lowers to my chest and I allow myself to doze, keeping my senses on alert in case the drunk isn’t as incapacitated as he seems.
It’s another long night. When dawn breaks, I’m almost pleased that I’ve got something different today, my time in court. I tamp down any optimism of thinking I might make bail, it would only cause disappointment if I don’t. I resign myself to not being away long before I’m returned to a cell.
I expect the advisement hearing to be a formality. In Colorado, there’s a brief appearance before a judge, and then the arraignment will follow sometime later. Most people are allowed to walk free between the two court dates, but I already know from what I’ve seen with my brothers, wearing a one-percenter patch means those niceties aren’t often afforded. The prejudgement you’re a criminal is already made.
Obediently, I hold out my hands for the handcuffs to be attached before being led out of my cell. Sykes is waiting for me in the courthouse.
I’ve been to these hearings before, but only to give support to my brothers, never as a suspect myself. I’m shocked at how nervous I am, and how there’s an underlying feeling of guilt even though I’ve done nothing wrong. It seems all set up to intimidate.
We wait our turn, then I’m called in front of the judge. I notice Demon in the courtroom, but nobody else from the club, and no Beth which both pleases and disappoints. He gives me a chin lift of support, then my attention returns to the most important man in the room. The man who controls my future.
The judge takes off his glasses, stares at me for a second, then turns back to the paperwork in front of him.
After I’ve confirmed who I am, the judge asks, “Are you aware of the purpose of the advisement hearing, Mr McNeish?”
“I am, Your Honour.” I’ve seen it before, and Sykes has already taken me through the process.
“Hmm.” I seem to have taken the wind out of his sails, but then he continues his normal spiel apparently just in case. “I will advise you of the crime you have been arrested for, and the charges the district attorney intends to prosecute. We will then discuss bond and whether it’s applicable in your case.”
A legal man coughs, making the judge glance at him. When they exchange nods, I presume it’s to acknowledge the judge has already been advised against setting bail. I didn’t expect they would, so their unspoken conversation comes as no surprise.
The judge looks down at the documents again. “Mr McNeish, you are accused of being in possession of two kilos of heroin that you were supplying with intent to sell. These are the charges which will be brought up at your arraignment. Do you understand?”
At this preliminary hearing there’s no need for me to admit or deny my guilt, but I can’t help getting my dig in. “I understand how the police are twisting it.”
“A simple yes or no will suffice, Mr McNeish.”
As Sykes shoots a warning glance at me, I shrug. “Yes.”
“Have you got an attorney, Mr McNeish?”
I want to ask if he’s blind as Sykes is sitting right there in front o
f him but bite my tongue. “I have.”
“The DA has advised bail is not appropriate in this case—”
“Objection, Your Honour.” Sykes gets to his feet, tossing a glare at the other lawyer. “Mr McNeish is a Marine veteran with an unblemished record. This is his first arrest. There is nothing in his background to suggest he’d commit the crime of which he is accused, and in fact, everything points to it being unlikely.”
“Your Honour, Mr McNeish is a member of the outlaw motorcycle gang, the Satan’s Devils.” the other lawyer gets in fast.
The judge raises his eyebrow toward Sykes.
“He is indeed a member of a local motorcycle riding club,” Sykes refutes sternly. “The club runs several businesses in Pueblo and pays their taxes like everyone else. They contribute to the local economy and create employment for the community. That they ride motorcycles should not count against them.” He holds up his hand when the other lawyer tries to speak. “There’s been no trouble between the police and the Satan’s Devils MC for many years now, and in fact, the reason that Mr McNeish was arrested was because he was trying to help the police in their drug raid on Saturday.”
“We’re not here to try the case, Mr Sykes.”
“I am aware of that, Your Honour.” Sykes humbly accepts the rebuke. “I will confine myself to expressing Mr McNeish’s family is the Satan’s Devils Motorcycle Club. He lives and works in Pueblo where he’s been since leaving the Marines. Mr David Carter, the president of the MC will personally vouch for him and is prepared to put up bail.”
“We object, Your Honour. Mr McNeish is a flight risk.”
Again, the judge takes off his glasses and studies them. He then looks over toward me. I try to make myself look as small and unthreatening as possible, which isn’t easy for a man of my size. I have no expectations other than being returned to jail.
The judge doesn’t disappoint me. “Application for bail denied. Mr McNeish will be remanded in custody until his arraignment.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Satan’s Devils MC -Colorado Box Set: Books 4-6 Page 65
