Sandy

A nice-looking man dressed in a suit walked into the room. “Miss West, I’ll be your legal counsel. My name is Jay Parsons.”

“Okay.”

He set his briefcase on the table. “Can I get you anything?”

“I’m okay.”

“Miss West, you’ve been through a horrific event. Are you alright to talk about it for a moment?”

“Uh huh.”

He sat down. “Explain what happened. Can you do that?”

“Can I tell you the truth?”

He nodded. “Please do.”

“A man was uhhm. He was beating on Eddie. And I uhhm. I shot him.”

“Who is Eddie?”

“My uhhm. She’s. She’s my boyfriend’s daughter.”

“Live in boyfriend?”

“Yes. And, my baby’s father.”

Taking notes as we spoke, he looked up. “A different child?”

“The one in my tummy.”

“You’re pregnant?”

“Uh huh.”

“By Eddie’s father?”

“Uh huh.”

“Continue.”

“That’s it. I shot him. Then, I called the police.”

“Where did you get the gun?”

I’d already considered that I would be asked the question, and considering what Smokey said about the gun not being able to be traced to him, I decided to tell another small lie.

“It was beside the man who attacked her. It must have been his.”

He nodded. “And you picked it up?”

“I did.”

“Did you command that he stop assaulting her?”

I shook my head. “He wasn’t assaulting her. He was beating her with his fists. And bashing her head on the concrete.”

“The report states that you commanded that he stop. Is that correct?”

“I did.”

“And, when he didn’t, you feared for your life, your unborn baby’s life, and the life of your step-daughter? Correct?”

I liked him already. “Yes, Sir.”

He looked at his notes, and then some printed reports. “At what point did he brandish the knife?”

“Knife?”

He nodded and held up a report. “Yes. The knife that was found on his person.”

“I’m uhhm. I’m confused.”

“I’m sure you are, Miss West. Not to bore you with details, but California Penal Code 198.5, otherwise known as the Castle Doctrine, allows you to defend yourself when you fear that your life is in danger in your home. The home, by definition, extends to include your yard, driveway, etcetera.”

“Okay.”

“Words like I feared for my life, he reached for the knife, or he reached for his waistband? They’re all phrases that are historically used in support of the aforementioned penal code.”

I nodded. “Okay.”

“So, where were we? He had a knife and there was a pistol at his side, correct?”

Shoot first, make up a story to cover your ass later.

I took a deep breath and then let it out. “I came outside. He had a knife in his hand. I yelled for him to stop. He didn’t. He hit her over and over. I rushed to help, and there was a pistol beside them on the driveway. He raised his hand, and the knife was in it. I thought he’d kill Eddie for sure. So, I picked up the pistol and yelled for him to stop. He looked right at me, then he started to drive his fist downward. I feared for my life, and the life of my children. I closed my eyes, and pulled the trigger. Then, I blacked out until I got to the police station.”

He grinned and nodded his head. “Can you recite that exact statement?”

“I think so.”

“No matter who asks you, that is exactly what happened. You do not recall any more. And, certainly do not exclude any details.”

“Okay. Can I talk to Smokey? I need to know if Eddie’s okay.”

“Who might Smokey be?”

“Eddie’s father. My boyfriend.”

“Sure. Do you know his telephone number?”

I didn’t. Not by memory.

“I guess not.”

“Did you have your phone in your possession?”

“No. I don’t know where I left it. It’s in the house.”

He glanced at his notes. “Well, typically at night, and especially on a Saturday, there’s no court, and no available judges or prosecutors. In this particular case, however, I suspect they’ll need to make some special arrangements.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Miss West, you’ve committed no crime. I’m going to leave here for a moment, and I’m going to call Judge Wardmeier at home, and explain the situation. If they do not release you, without charges, I will file suit against the department, the city, the arresting officers, the prosecutor, and the judge.”

“What does that mean for me? Can I talk to Smokey soon?”

“Let me make that call, Miss West. I should have you out of here within the hour.”

“Do you know what time it is?”

He looked at his watch. “2:05.”

I hadn’t called Smokey in three hours.

He was going to be worried for sure.

I lowered my head. “Okay.”

* * *

“Miss West, this is Detective Watson. He’s got a few things to say, and then you’re free to go.”

“Miss West. I’m sorry for the inconvenience, but we simply needed to question you. There may or may not be questions that need to be answered in the future. If they come up, I’ll contact Mr. Parsons, and we’ll go from there. Again, sorry for the inconvenience.”

I looked at Mr. Parsons.

He grinned.

I couldn’t believe it. To describe everything that had happened as surreal wouldn’t even come close.

I looked at Detective Watson. “Okay.”

“No hard feelings?”

I shook my head and forced myself to grin. “No. Can you tell me where Eddie is?”

“Scripps Mercy,” he said.

“Thank you.”

“You’re quite welcome.”

He took the handcuffs, and then left the room.

“That was without incident,” Mr. Parsons said. “You’re free to go.”

“Can I get a ride?”

“Absolutely,” he said. “Where?”

“Scripps Mercy?”

“Certainly.”

* * *

Traveling well in excess of 100 miles an hour, we sped down highway 5, toward Scripps Mercy in San Diego. Through Mr. Parsons persuasive tactics, I’d learned that Eddie was scheduled to have surgery at 3:00 am.

At 2:45 in the morning, traffic was sparse. On the highway ahead of us, a long line of taillights from two lines of motorcycles stood out against the otherwise dark stretch of road.

Mr. Parsons changed lanes.

As we passed the bikers, I looked at each of them. I had hoped one might be Smokey, but realized it was wishful thinking.

I was sure he’d been contacted by the hospital, and was probably there already. Five or so minutes later, we came up behind four more motorcycles. Naturally, I looked out the window as we approached them.

“These guys are really moving,” Mr. Parsons said. “I’m going 120.”

“Holy crap,” I said.

Traveling at roughly the same speed, we slowly crept past them. One of the bikers, who was riding an old-school shitty Harley, reminded me of Smokey.

I did a double take.

In the dark, and with him wearing a helmet and glasses, it was hard to tell. But, it could have been his twin. He even had flowery hand tattoos.

As much as I liked to tell myself I was okay, I wasn’t. I was still out of it, and in somewhat of a trance-like state.

I’d been through a lot, and suspected it might even take months for me to recover from the trauma.

“Uhhm. Can you slow down? I want to see those bikers again.”

“Do you think one of them might be your boyfriend?”

“I don’t know.”

We were only a few feet ahead of them, and when he slowed down, they promptly caught up with us.

I turned, pressed my hands to the glass, and stared.

Illuminated by what little light came from behind them, I could clearly see the back of their kuttes. One said Hells Angels, and the other three said Filthy Fuckers.

My heart raced. I unbuckled my seatbelt and slapped my hands against the glass.

Oh my God.

“It’s him!”

My heart surged.

I waved my hands frantically. After a moment, the Hells Angel, who was closest to me, looked in my direction.

“Smokey!” I screamed.

I was sure he couldn’t hear me. Nonetheless, I yelled again. And then, again.

The Hells Angel decelerated. Beside him, on a shitty motorcycle, was Smokey.

I filled with emotion, and within a few seconds, tears streamed down my face.

The Hells Angel gave a hand signal, and Smokey glanced toward me.

I grinned, pointed at the road ahead, and mouthed the word hospital.

He nodded and fixed his eyes on the road.

“I won’t need to call Smokey now,” I said. “He’s beside us. Can we uhhm. Can we just stay right here? Beside them?”

He nodded. “Sure. We’ll be there in five minutes.”

They were the longest five minutes of my life.