by Travis Casey
"What? You just gave me a bunch of guff about the poor prostitutes of Louisville, and now you want me to step aside while Louie Gomez puts a bullet in my friend's head?"
"I saw your friend, or employee, or whatever the hell he is, packing heat when he came down to the polo ground. What's was he doing with a gun?"
"Don't ask me. Duck hunting for all I know."
"I'm just saying, we used to talk about this in the DA's office in LA. Sometimes it's better if gangsters just knocked each other off instead of clogging up the legal system with the question of should we go for twenty or life. We just wanted them off the streets. For good where possible. Is your friend Johnny No-Thumbs really a credit to society?"
The waitress brought the crab, which proved to be a well-timed interruption.
He couldn't believe what he was hearing. He realized when the cute dimples in her cheeks flattened, she could spit nails with the best of 'em. He had got used to her blowing hot and cold, but the massive changes in moral issues left him dumbfounded. Kill Johnny and the pimps, but prostitutes and addicts were victims? What the hell?
He decided not to challenge her on his choice of friends, but he damn well wouldn't apologize for it either.
The ceiling fan chopped the humid air with bladed precision while they ate in awkward silence.
***
Stacey's anger simmered. Kentucky's most eligible bachelor takes her out for dinner, then doesn't even talk to her? She sat with an empty wine glass while he avoided her gaze. She should be the angry one, with him sneaking around behind her back seeing gangsters and thumbless idiots.
Perhaps her comments about Johnny were harsh, but Oscar needed to accept the obvious and quit acting like a petulant child. She wished he'd turn on the charm to win her back instead of sulking.
She circled the top of her wine glass with her finger. "What does a girl have to do to get another drink around here?"
His arm shot up, and he clicked his fingers. "Miss," he barked.
The waitress meandered over. "What can I git ya?"
With his arm still in the air, he pointed at Stacey's glass. "Can you get the lady another glass of Chardonnay? A large one."
"Sure." She grabbed the empty plates and trotted off.
Stacey tilted her head to one side. "Lady or bitch?"
"Stacey, it's complicated. It's not as easy as you picking my friends and acquaintances for me. Louie's not pure evil. He wants to put something good back into the community." He tiptoed his fingers across the table, grazing her hand with a light stroke of his fingertip. "And I could use some help in developing this project for the kids. Your help. A woman's touch and intuition. It would help take your mind off the pressures of the job, and you'd be helping me. Instead of just locking up bad guys, why don't you help me make some good guys?"
Stacey wondered if he knew how blue and wonderful his eyes were. He was smooth, all right, but she didn't feel he was being totally honest.
"You want me to help you? And Louie Gomez?"
"And the children. Don't forget the children."
"You know you're putting me in a difficult position."
"Look at it this way. You'd be helping Louie reform before he does more bad. Maybe he'll like doing good-guy stuff so much he won't sin anymore. And that'll all be down to you."
Stacey cracked a smile. "Oscar, you are to bullshit what Picasso was to paint."
He shrugged, offering a silly, yet sexy smirk. "It's a gift."
She took the salt shaker from the metal holder on the table and sprinkled some grains onto the tablecloth, then crushed them with the bottom of the shaker. A mindless act, but it gave her time to consider Oscar's explanation. "What else are you and Louie into?"
"Nothing," Oscar stated without hesitation. "This is strictly business. I wouldn't have anything to do with the guy if it wasn't for the children."
"And for Johnny, right?"
"Oh, yeah, and for Johnny."
"And this kids' program is the only thing you two got going on?"
He raised his hand to an oath position. "Swear to God."
Even if his cause was noble, his business partner wasn't. Even though guys trying to do good in the world was a turn-on, she needed to tread carefully.
"And you really need my help?"
"You bet I do. A woman could inject the maternal influence misguided kids need."
"Okay, I'll help you, but you gotta ditch Gomez."
"What? I can't do that."
"You can, and you will. He's a punk and a loser. If you have me, you don't need him. Ditch him, Oscar." A surge of authority hardened her voice. "Got it?"
"He's not a punk," Oscar mumbled. "Do you really think it's that simple?"
She stared at him, unblinking. "Life can be as complicated as you want to make it, but Louie Gomez is one complication you don't need. I told you before to end it with him. This time I want you to do it for real."
"But I need—"
Stacey cut him off. "I can't be seen associating with a known gangster, good cause or not." She wasn't even sure if Oscar's principles were in the right place, but she was willing to take that chance. His moral meter needed adjustments, and she was just the person to help make those calibrations. "It's him or me."
Oscar took a deep breath. "Okay, you win. I'll keep my distance from Louie Gomez."
"And make sure that distance is a galaxy apart."
Chapter 21
The ringing telephone beat the buzzing alarm clock by about five seconds. Oscar scrambled from under the sheets and hit the shut-up button on the alarm clock seconds before picking up the phone.
"What?" he snapped.
"Not much of a morning person, are you?" the voice on the other end grumbled.
"Who is this?"
His question was ignored.
"I'm not a morning person either, so I didn't appreciate the Louisville police department busting down my door at four o'clock in the morning and dragging me off to sit in some ghastly jail cell. They tell me I'm going to be in court at nine o'clock this morning, and I want you there to post bail for me—because if I'm not out of this joint by lunchtime, you're going to be known as Oscar No-Nuts."
Shit. Louie Gomez.
"What are you doing in jail? Wait a minute, why are you calling me? You need a lawyer, not—"
"Look, my little well-connected friend," his grumble turning into a growl. "You're pals with the governor, and I suspect you're banging his daughter, the very same woman who's trying to put me away. It's funny, isn't it? Poor Johnny loses a finger after threatening me, and next thing I know, I get busted on bullshit charges while you got your dick in the district attorney's helper."
Oscar thrashed himself to the edge of the bed, collecting his thoughts. "I don't know what you're talking about. I didn't have anything to do with you getting arrested. I swear to God."
"Right now I don't give a rat's ass if you did or not. We'll talk about that over coffee and croissants, but they don't serve fucking croissants in the county jail! You listen to me, and you listen good. You have a friend in the governor and a piece of ass in the DA's office. You're the man who knows the people who can make these charges disappear. Post my bail so I can walk out of the stinking hole at nine o'clock this morning, then talk to—or go fuck—whomever you have to and make this go away."
He slammed the phone so hard that Oscar jumped.
He looked at the clock. 6:02. Too early for a drink.
Oscar wandered into the bathroom and shaved while the shower heated up. He jumped under the cascade of hot water, letting it massage his body. It wasn't going to be easy to face Stacey. It had to be her who issued the warrant for Louie's arrest. Gut instinct told him she wanted to ensure their worlds stayed in different stratospheres, but she only hammered that point home last night. It wasn't enough for her to just decree the separation. No. She had to flex her godlike legal powers. Her dad was right. Women didn't understand how things worked in a man's world. Not everybody played by the rule
s. You had to do your best not to get burned. Oscar sure as hell didn't want Louie on his bad side. That man could cause problems even a governor couldn't solve.
He forced down a piece of toast with coffee before putting his blue suit on and heading to the courthouse.
***
Oscar slipped into the back row of the courtroom trying to remain unnoticed. He turned when somebody slid into the row and sat next to him.
"What's up, Boss?"
"Johnny? What are you doing here?"
"I heard that sleazeball Gomez got busted. I wanted to make sure he gets put away, you know, before I have to do something myself."
"You're not carrying a gun, are you?" Oscar whispered.
"Not in here," Johnny whispered back. "But I got one in the car."
Oscar cringed. This was a circus, and he was beginning to feel like one of the lead performers. "Don't do anything stupid, Johnny. I got Louie to agree to leave you alone. You didn't get him arrested, did you?"
Johnny shook his head.
"Good. He's not going to hurt you on the proviso that you quit shoving gun barrels up his nose."
"Really?" Relief etched his voice.
"Yes, really."
Without answering, Johnny nudged him and pointed toward the middle of the courtroom. "Hey, Boss, ain't that the woman you were with at the polo ground?"
Stacey Davenport walked down the center aisle, looking smart in a gray pantsuit and carrying a dark brown briefcase. Oscar slumped in his seat to avoid detection, but she never looked his way.
"What the hell is she doing here?" he mumbled. It seemed strange that a consultant to the DA's office would be at the morning hearings. It was usually just a load of drunks who had been held overnight getting told off by the judge and setting future court dates or being fined. But she was taking a personal interest in Louie Gomez. A real oh-shit moment for Oscar.
Stacey set her briefcase on top of the prosecution's table and unpacked her files. Another man followed down the aisle and sat next to her. He was tall and looked professional, but his scowl suggested he wasn't a morning person either.
A few minutes later, the bailiff stood at the front of the courtroom. "All rise," he bellowed. The rustling of feet shuffling and a few bones creaking echoed around the paneled room. "This court is now in session for Jefferson County. The Honorable Judge John Lloyd Beaver presiding."
A silver-haired gentleman appeared from behind the door and walked to the tall chair sitting behind the bench, his long black robe flowing behind him. His well-groomed mustache amplified his authority, as did his frameless spectacles.
The judge sat down. "You may be seated," he instructed the gallery. "Show them in, Bailiff."
The man in the brown uniform nodded then opened a side door, briefly disappearing before escorting four prisoners in, followed by another deputy at the rear of the pack.
The inmates were in a sectioned-off area surrounded by a waist-high mahogany wall.
The judge addressed the detainees. "You have all had a chance to counselt with your own legal counsel. This hearing is merely to enter a plea of guilty or not guilty, as discussed with your counsel, to establish bail conditions and to set a trial or sentencing date, dependent on your plea." Judge Beaver rummaged through a stack of folders on his desk, pulled one out, and read from it. "The first case is that of Louis Charles Gomez. Step forward."
Louie walked up to the podium at the front of the pen, resting his shackled hands on the top of the stand. His orange jumpsuit was a far cry from his usual Saville Row suits.
The judge bowed his head, looking at papers in front of him. "Mr. Gomez, it would appear you had some unexpected visitors last night at your residence. I am referring to members of the Louisville Police Department. Acting in accordance with a search warrant—issued by this bench, as it happens—they found narcotics in your place of residence. How do you plead?"
"Not guilty, Your Honor."
Judge Beaver studied the calendar on his desktop. "Very well. The trial will be set for Tuesday, the seventeenth of June. Bail will be set at ten thousand dollars."
Oscar breathed a sigh of relief. He could swing ten grand.
The tall, balding man at the prosecution table stood up. His tone was practiced. "Your Honor, the state believes Mr. Gomez is a substantial risk to the community, and we believe he poses a flight risk; therefore, we ask that bail is not an option and he be remanded in custody until his trial."
Beaver leaned back in his chair, showing a semi-smirk. "Mr. Brown, the narcotics found in Mr. Gomez's residence only amount to a charge of possession." He looked at Louie, speaking sternly. "Flight would be a move of utmost stupidity."
"Agreed, Your Honor," Louie concurred.
"Your Honor," Brown continued, "the state contends Mr. Gomez intended to give those drugs to children to get them hooked, adding new youngsters to his customer list to replace those that had overdosed at his hands already. The prosecution intends to file charges as 'intent to distribute.' "
"That's a bit of a stretch, isn't it?" the judge questioned.
"That's what we intend to prove in a court of law, Your Honor."
The judge rifled through some papers on his desk with an air of reflection and importance. "Given the fact that Mr. Gomez has no previous convictions, and the charges against him are not of a violent nature, this court does not feel that request can be justified in good conscience."
Stacey tugged on Brown's jacket. He leaned down while she whispered in his ear.
He stood back upright, pushed up his black-framed glasses, and pressed forward. "In that case, Your Honor, the state requests bail be set at one million dollars, and Mr. Gomez only be released into the custody of a state citizen who can show to be of good moral character. Someone to watch over him, if you will."
One million dollars? Oscar cursed under his breath.
Judge Beaver looked at the prosecution table. "That's absurd, Mr. Brown."
Oscar was liking this judge more and more.
"Your Honor," Brown continued, "ten thousand dollars is nothing to Mr. Gomez's empire. He would forfeit that money in a heartbeat and spend twice that much on a plane ticket to Buenos Aries, first class. The prosecution urges the court to set bail at a level painful-enough to ensure Mr. Gomez shows up for his trial, so we can serve justice for his victims."
The courtroom waited as the judge wrote something down. "Very well, Mr. Brown, we'll compromise. I'll add a zero to my impost and delete one off yours. Bail is set at one hundred thousand dollars."
Stacey sprung to her feet. "And the prosecution insists Mr. Gomez remain supervised at all times."
The judge raised his eyebrows. "Insists, Miss Davenport?"
Stacey opened a folder in front of her, packed with papers. "Your Honor, this man is a ruthless savage who—"
The judge raised his hand. "Very well, Miss Davenport. If you intend to read the entire contents of that folder in front of you, let's stop it right now. Mr. Gomez will only be released when a suitable custodian comes forward with the bail money, and that person will have to appear before this court so I can make an assessment as to their suitability before I will release Mr. Gomez into their custody." The judge looked at Louie. "In other words, Mr. Gomez, your rescuer will have to pass an interview with me before you will be released. Understood?"
"Is the prosecution happy?" His tone carried a chord of sarcasm, but Stacey didn't care.
She smiled. "Thank you, Your Honor."
The judge raised his gavel.
"Judge," Louie shouted out. "I have an unstained member of the community with me in the courtroom right now who can post bail and shepherd me until my trial."
Oscar's stomach knotted. A measly $100,000 should be nothing to a racing tycoon, but the sad fact was, he didn't have it. And even if he did, there was no way he wanted Louie Gomez bunking with him. But there was something even more frightening than that—Stacey on the warpath.
Judge Beaver folded his arms across his chest.
"Who is this caped crusader?"
Louie grinned. "Oscar Novak-Chambers."
Chapter 22
Oscar stirred in his seat. He slipped his finger around the inside of his shirt collar. From the corner of his eye, he checked to his left. Curious heads turned in his direction. To his right, others did the same. Maybe if he slid back in his seat he'd become invisible.
The judge banged his gavel to quiet the murmuring crowd. "Will Mr. Oscar Novak-Chambers please present himself to the court?"
The room stayed still.
Oscar buried his head in his hands. Not having the money and the prospect of babysitting Louie were minor issues. Stacey Davenport was there to witness him picking up his forbidden buddy.
"Will Oscar Novak-Chambers please rise?" Judge Beaver commanded.
Stacey wheeled around.
Oscar planted his feet on the short-pile carpet and rose, much like the bile at the back of his throat.
The judge looked puzzled. "Haven't I seen you in my courtroom before, Mr. Novak-Chambers?"
Oscar had hoped the judge wouldn't recognize him. Oscar stood before Judge Beaver after Emmitt arrested him the second time. It was a quick, low-level encounter, basically confirming his name before Roscoe posted bail. How could the judge recall such an unmemorable meeting? Then Oscar recognized the opening for an out. After the initial hearing in front of Judge Beaver, Stacey made those charges go away. Surely the judge wouldn't be aware of cases he didn't preside over.
Oscar cleared his throat. "Yes, Your Honor. Unfortunately, my record is stained, but Mr. Gomez wouldn't have known that. I am an unsuitable custodian, as per the prosecution's guidelines."
Louie's smug look turned sour.
Stacey whispered to Rob Brown. After he nodded, she held her arm up at half-mast. "Your Honor," she began, stopping to throw a wicked smile Oscar's way before standing up and facing the judge. "I happen to know that Mr. Novak-Chambers, although having been arrested, has no convictions. I also know that his family is a pillar of the Louisville community, and he has a reputation of impeccable character. Under the circumstances, the prosecution has no objection to Mr. Gomez being released into Mr. Novak-Chambers's custody." She turned back to Oscar, looking self-satisfied. "Provided he can produce the bail money, which the state has no doubt he is able to do."
