Southern Harm

by Travis Casey

  ***

  As the prison bus transported him to Pillager Correctional Facility on the eastern side of Kentucky, Oscar had time to reflect on his life. Not only did he curse the judge for taking ten years of his life, but also for sending him to big-boy prison. The judge was right. He had been privileged, but that was about to end in the most abrupt manner possible.

  He stared through the cage encasing the inside of the converted bus as it bounded along the highway. He tried to engrain the trees and greenery in his mind—an image of freedom to hold dear for the next decade. Charlie Ford promised to file an appeal for a lighter sentence, but that could take years.

  His only comforting thought was that he was able to protect Stacey. He wished he had nailed her on the couch in his condo before that damn Emmitt showed up. He could have lived with the thought of her being his last sexual conquest for the next ten years.

  ***

  Three weeks into his sentence, Oscar had just about accepted that he was no longer Oscar Novak-Chambers. He was Inmate 775580. At least his number was easy to remember.

  The only way he could try to get his mind off his new living arrangement was to envision Stacey living a happy, carefree life. Sometimes it worked, but most of the time it didn't. Ultimately, it saddened him to think about Stacey's future, that any life she might enjoy wouldn't include him.

  But on this Tuesday, Oscar woke up happy. Stacey was coming to visit. Two o'clock rolled around, and a guard escorted Oscar to the visitation room. He slid into the chair behind the clear Perspex pane and anxiously picked up the phone.

  Stacey sat on the other side, holding the phone. Her hair was spiked in a cute, punk cut. He liked it. It showed off her sass.

  She held her head lowered, looking at him from under long eyelashes. She had broken with her usual red lipstick, instead wearing cherry pink, which matched her blouse.

  Oscar admired her style, but he had already arrived at that conclusion shortly after their first meeting. She could wear a gunny sack sporting an Idaho potato logo and still look hot. Her stylishness only complemented her attractiveness—it didn't make it.

  "How are you coping?" she asked. Her voice was like sweet nectar. Her tone was one of genuine concern, not just an empty greeting.

  "Okay, considering. But man, this place is scary. There are some bad, bad people in here."

  She shut her eyes and nodded. "I know. I'm the one who puts people like that away."

  "Of course."

  Stacey moved the phone to her other ear. "Are you going to tell me why you did it?"

  "What? Confess or whack Gomez?"

  Her eyes widened. "Is there a difference?"

  "It was for the same reason." His whisper came from compassion. "To keep you sitting on that side of the glass."

  "Really?"

  Oscar nodded. "Stacey, I really don't know if I bumped off Gomez or not. I'm pretty sure I didn't, because if I was so drunk that I can't remember anything about that night, I'd say I was probably too drunk to drive."

  She bit her lip. "So who do you think did it?"

  He leaned closer but hesitated to ask the burning question. How do you ask someone if they killed a person? It was only for confirmation. It ran through his mind every night. He had no doubt it was Stacey. But if she denied it, his ten years would seem longer—and she was hardly likely to confess at this stage. "Maybe some Louisville punk. I guess we'll never know."

  A tear fell down her cheek. "But you took the fall anyway to protect me and my dad?"

  He accepted his "hero" award silently.

  "You're my knight in shining armor."

  Oscar chuckled. He'd have to be content living as a knight for the next ten years. "Well, I won't do you much good in here. So, is Emmitt your new knight?"

  "Emmitt …" She rolled her eyes. "Ever since you got put away, he keeps calling me, reminding me I owe him a date. He even used his police privilege to get my cell number. He says destiny brought us together."

  Oscar looked around the beige walls. "Too bad a date with him won't get me out of this joint."

  Stacey's eyes grew large as her mouth fell open. She stood up. "I gotta go." She hung up the phone, turned her back on Oscar, and walked away.

  "Stacey!" Oscar yelled. To no avail. She left anyway.

  Chapter 48

  Stacey called the Louisville Police Department and asked for Officer Dewsbury. She could have called him on his cell, but that might have given him a sense of entitlement—and false hope.

  "Officer Dewsbury here."

  "Oh hi, Emmitt. It's Stacey Davenport."

  "Hi, Stace!" Testosterone oozed over the phone.

  She held it away from her head, pulling a face. She regrouped. "Can we go with Stacey?"

  "Sorry, sure."

  "You kept your word, now it's time for me to keep mine. I believe I owe you a date." The silence on the other end surprised her. She expected a Yahoo! that could be heard in Tennessee. "Emmitt? Are you there?"

  "Sorry, Stace—Stacey, I'm a little shocked at the moment."

  "I'm a woman of my word, Emmitt. So … you got anything in mind?" Regret instantly ran through her. She couldn't have phrased it any worse. Like throwing a steak to a dog, then commanding it not to touch it.

  "Well, since you're throwing it out there open-ended, how about—"

  Stacey preempted him. "Roxy Rue's in Frankfort?. That's a wonderful idea, Emmitt. But it is pretty pricey, I'll be happy to go Dutch."

  "Oh … yeah, okay. Sure. It's fancy there, ain't it?"

  "A jacket and tie would not be out of place, no."

  "Sure, but no date of mine is paying for herself. This is on me, little lady."

  She almost preferred "Stace" to "little lady." She realized that Kentuckians embraced traditional values much more than the men in California. Jett Johnson had even suggested that they swap paying for every other meal.

  "How's Saturday? I'll pick you up around—"

  "That's okay, Emmitt. I'll make the reservation and meet you there. Seven o'clock?"

  "Great. Can I just say—"

  "Sorry, Emmitt, someone's at the door. See you Saturday." She hung up. That was more painful than she thought it would be. And now she had to live with it—face-to-face.

  ***

  Stacey got to Roxy Rue's early and made sure the flower arrangement was suitable. It was an important date for Emmitt, no doubt, but it was important for her too. She wanted everything to be just right.

  Emmitt showed up five minutes early and joined her at a table by the window. He offered her the bouquet of flowers he had brought.

  "Good evening, Stacey. May I say how delightful you look tonight?"

  She raised an eyebrow. "No 'Stace'?"

  He cleared his throat. "No, you told me you didn't like it, so I shant be calling you 'Stace' anymore."

  She dipped her head. "Thank you, Emmitt." She touched the bouquet. "The flowers look lovely." She looked at him a little closer. "Is that a new suit?"

  He beamed. "Yep—I mean, yes, it is." He ran his hands down his sides, unbuttoned his jacket, and sat down.

  The waiter came over and poured Emmitt a glass of wine from the bottle of Shiraz Stacey had already ordered. After discussing the menu, Emmitt ordered a ribeye steak and Stacey went for shrimp linguini. They sipped wine while they waited for the food to arrive.

  It took courage, but she looked Emmitt in the eyes. "I don't think I ever thanked you for arresting Louie Gomez. You know, on the drug charges."

  "Thank me? Hell, you yelled at me." He stopped and rubbed his finger under his nose. "I mean, I didn't think you were too happy about that."

  "No, I wasn't, but now I realize prosecutors and police officers do things differently. Neither of us right nor wrong, just different."

  Emmitt smiled. "I couldn't agree more. I like to help the judicial system in any way that I can."

  Stacey leaned toward him and playfully whispered. "Like removing the blindfold?"

  He nodded. "We al
l need a little help, don't we?"

  "We certainly do." She sipped her wine while she eyed Emmitt. He certainly looked pleased with himself, sitting at the same table as her. "Thanks for getting rid of Oscar."

  His eyebrows crept toward the ceiling. "What do you mean?"

  "Arresting him. He was a pain in my ass, but that was some pretty good police work you did nailing him."

  "But you were at his house when I busted him. Kind of … undressing."

  She swatted her hand. "He spilled wine on my shirt, the big oaf. No, my dad wanted me to pick his brains about setting up an online betting system. I was there on business for the governor's office. So how'd you find out it was him who snuffed Gomez?"

  "Good old-fashion police work."

  "How's that?" Stacey leaned forward, eyes wide, facially egging him on to reveal more.

  "You got to have people on the ground that are willing to cooperate with the police department."

  "Oh, you mean like informants."

  "Yes, and if you can get the right informants, they can help you find the right witnesses. You can solve one hell of a lot of crimes that way."

  "And that's how you cracked the Gomez case? The witnesses came forward?"

  Emmitt smiled. "Remember the blindfolded lady?"

  Stacey nodded, sitting on the edge of her seat.

  "Sometimes the witnesses are a little blind too. Or they can't recall certain events. Now, we know Mr. Escalade was seen at Louie's warehouse. I just made sure some people saw him there on the night of the murder."

  Stacey leaned back, offering a perplexed look. "How did you do that?"

  Emmitt looked around the posh restaurant, checking the level of privacy. "I showed the four witnesses a picture of Mr. Escalade and his truck. I told them we thought he was the one who shot Gomez, and asked if they could confirm that they saw him outside Louie's warehouse at seven o'clock, June the sixteenth. That jogged their memory." He beamed with delight.

  "How much did you have to pay them?"

  "Two hundred dollars—"

  Stacey stood up and threw her glass full of wine in his face. "You bastard. You set him up."

  Emmitt grabbed his napkin and wiped his face. "I did it for you, Stace. For us. So we could be together."

  She threw her linen napkin on the table. "You did what for me? Frame Oscar or kill Gomez?"

  "I got rid of our obstacles!"

  Stacey plucked the rose from the vase in the middle of the table. Then she pulled out the microphone hidden inside it. "Your next obstacle is Pillager Correctional Facility."

  Chapter 49

  Oscar stood at the all-too-familiar door at the side of the governor's mansion. He took deep breaths of fresh, uncaged Kentucky air. It was so different from prison air. Untainted, free of attitude, and allowed to flow unrestricted. He had never appreciated air before, but now he would enjoy each breath—like a connoisseur of wine savoring a fine vintage.

  The door opened to a smiling Conrad. "Mr. Novak-Chambers—"

  Oscar held his hand up.

  The butler nodded. "Of course … Oscar, what an absolute delight to see you."

  "And you, Conrad. It's so good to see you too," he said.

  The two men grasped each other's hands, genuine fondness flowing through their handshake.

  "The governor is looking forward to seeing you." Conrad stepped to one side and swept his hand in the direction of the governor's office. "Shall we?"

  Oscar nodded. "We shall."

  They walked side by side to the familiar oak doors separating them from the man who ran Kentucky.

  Conrad rapped on the door and pushed it open without waiting for permission.

  Judd sat behind his desk. He looked up, removed his wire-rimmed glasses, and smiled.

  Oscar held out his hand, but the governor ignored it and moved in to embraced him.

  "Oscar, how the hell are you?"

  Oscar winced from the pressure.

  The governor broke the clench and held Oscar by the shoulders, looking at his face. "You survived?"

  "A bit rougher than church camp."

  Davenport smiled sympathetically and extended his arm toward the couches. "Sit." The governor walked over to the bar and pulled two glasses forward before removing the crystal stop from the top of a decanter and pouring out two whiskeys. "That'll be all, thank you, Conrad."

  "Very good, sir." He turned and left, flashing Oscar a smile on his departure.

  Judd handed Oscar a glass of whiskey and raised a toast. "Good to see you again, son. Welcome back."

  Oscar enjoyed the smooth burn of the alcohol. As soon as the warming tingle hit the pit of his stomach, he felt like he was returning to normality. He let out an audible sigh of pleasure.

  "Governor, I can't thank you enough."

  Davenport reached into his inside suit pocket and pulled out a clear plastic case housing a silver and gold pen sitting on a piece of padded blue velvet. He handed the case to Oscar. "On the first day I met you, I told you I could stop a man from being executed with this pen. And as you've discovered firsthand, I can also pardon a man for crimes against humanity with that very same pen."

  Oscar took the gift. He stared at the pen that had reinstated his life. Over the pen lay a gold placard with the inscription The Pardon Pen. "I have to ask why."

  "What you did for Stacey and me was, well, extraordinary. I don't know who else would have done something like that for anyone less than family—and probably not even then. You protected us, son. So let me ask you—why?"

  "I love your daughter, sir."

  The governor smiled. "I thought as much. Anyway, thanks to Stacey's evidence, Officer Dewsbury will face trial, but he hasn't confessed yet. Once he was convicted, you would have been released—but that could take months. Knowing you're innocent, I couldn't let you spend another day in prison. A pardon can be done in a couple of days."

  "And that's it?"

  Davenport nodded. "You're a free man, Oscar. I checked with the attorney general and have used my executive power to pardon you and get you out of prison immediately. What's the point of having powerful friends if they don't exercise that power now and then? Right?"

  Oscar grinned. "My sentiments exactly, Governor."

  They raised their glasses and silently toasted to Oscar's freedom—or Judd's power.

  "Where do we fall on the ethical scale with regard to the governor's daughter dating an ex-con?"

  Davenport pushed back into his seat. "Get an attorney to expunge the pardon. In due course, it will be erased from your record altogether. Then there will be no evidence on file of this ever happening."

  Oscar's face lit up.

  "And I offer you my heartfelt gratitude for what you've done." He shook his hand again. "I haven't told Stacey you're here. I believe she's upstairs, if you'd like to go see her."

  "I'd like that very much."

  ***

  Oscar came out of the governor's office. He bumped into Conrad on his way out. "Hey, Conrad, do you know where Stacey is?"

  "I believe she's in her room." He pointed up the stairs. "Second door on the left."

  Oscar leapt up the stairs and knocked on her door. Nervousness crept over him, and a trickle of sweat beaded in his palm.

  "Just a minute. I'm getting dressed."

  "I don't want you dressed."

  "Oscar? Oh my God. Is that you?"

  "Open the door and find out."

  Stacey stepped out into the hallway. "Out on parole already?" She stood with hands on hips, smile on lips—just the way he remembered her.

  Oscar stepped toward her. "I escaped. A desperate convict who hasn't seen a pretty woman in a long time. Lock yourself away, ma'am, or I might just have my way with you."

  Stacey curled her finger toward her. "Why don't you come here, convict? Maybe I'll have my wicked way with you. Ever think of that?"

  "Every day I was on the inside."

  They stood, lost in each other's eyes.

  Oscar fl
inched first. "How'd you know it was Emmitt?"

  She drew a deep breath. "When he arrested you, he said it was our destiny. I thought that was a strange thing to say. Then when I visited you, you mentioned that I should date him if it would get you out of prison. It suddenly dawned on me that the bastard created the destiny he wanted. He killed Gomez and framed you to get you out of the way, thinking he could then have me."

  "And that's the only reason he killed Louie?"

  "No, he knew I was mad that Gomez would probably walk from the arrest he made, so he got the conviction I couldn't, then pinned it on you. He saw it as win-win."

  "Thank you, Stacey."

  "You're welcome."

  She kissed him, then backed away and looked at him. "What? No flowers? Was the gas station closed?"

  He shook his head. "Oh no, it was open, but I only had a dollar and a quarter."

  She smiled, took him by the hand, and led him into her room. He stepped onto the sheepskin rug in the middle of the room and looked around. Cute. A lemon-lime three-seat sofa dominated one wall, facing what couldn't have been more than a twenty-two-inch TV. A white rocking chair sat on the light-colored hardwood floor next to the other wall near the couch. The bed on the remaining wall was king-sized. He thought she would have gone for a queen to reflect her personality. On the stand next to the TV was their golfing trophy. It gave him a pleasure rush seeing it on display.

  He pointed to the trophy. "You kept it."

  "Of course, I kept it. How many times does a girl get to sink the match-winning putt in a major tournament?"

  "Yeah, I know. But I mean, you have it on display and everything. It's not stashed away in some box in the attic."

  She stepped closer. "In the first place, I don't have an attic. In the second place"—she rubbed her finger up and down his chest—"if you must know, it reminds me of you, and I think about you a lot."

  "Really?"

  "Really."

  "And to think, you laughed when your dad first introduced me to you as 'Oscar.' You just about put me off, you know?"

  "Let's start over." She dipped her head, looking at him from the tops of her eyes. "Want to take a walk down the red carpet?"