Blake
The booking process was ingrained in Blake’s memory. In St. Louis, back in his teen years, there was a cop who knew him by name. Detective Reynolds had been assigned to one of his mother’s robbery cases. Blake could t remember which, but he’d known the man almost as if he were family. Reynolds never censored himself. Blake had cussed Reynolds out the first time he got caught shoplifting. Reynolds went right back and cussed him out too, telling him he could do better. He was like Serenity, but, for some reason, Reynolds’ words packed more of a punch.
Before Reynolds had retired from the force, he had just about dished out the whooping that Blake’s mother had missed out on giving him, and Serenity was too tiny to give. The man had been the father figure that Blake swore he never needed. He’d also sealed Blake’s records before his retirement. For a few years prior to his death, Reynolds traveled around the states in a million-dollar RV that Blake had bought him. Blake had been fresh out of college and had paid for it with money from one of his first cellphone app deals. He knew he owed the man a lot and being back in a police station brought it all back.
Seated in an interrogation room, a two-way mirror before him, Blake rubbed his hands together, waiting for Ephraim to finish negotiating with the District Attorney. The charges on the table were three counts of misdemeanor hit and run. In addition, first-degree assault had been tossed around after Detective Simmons came into the room revealing the degree to which Todd had been injured. Apparently, Tweedle Dee had declined to mention the few pops he had received when pulling Blake off Welsh. At least assault on a cop was off the table.
Ephraim stepped into the room, rubbing a hand through his thick, jet black hair. He sat down across from Blake, leaned back, and took a deep breath.
“Talk to me, Eph. Looks like I’m in some real shit.” He gritted the words out. He was angry at himself. Not for what had transpired today, but in his lack of responding to Agent Taylor in enough time.
Ephraim sat up. “The DA isn’t a fan of rich fucks getting a slap on their wrists. Regardless of my capabilities, it’s hard for me to argue about that Welsh-fuck, without them tossing in the use of your car as a deadly weapon.”
“What?” Blake roared.
“The bitch that was running down Wonder View Drive. That’s a felony in and of itself, Blake.”
“I know.” Blake rubbed his tense jaw. “And I admit that I was at fault.”
“No. Never admit being at fault, even if the cops have you on camera shooting someone at point-blank range. You did nothing.” Ephraim smiled. “Listen, you have bigger problems than the DA now.”
Blake’s thick brows crinkled. “What?”
“The wedding we went to last summer? I must have screwed half of the bridesmaids. How many friends will Mila be having stand up with her? Because you owe me, bro!”
Blake sat in shock.
“I’ll just take Mila’s sister, the model chick. Blake, you’re free to go. But I will take my fee in sweet, hot ass. And I am also having my assistant send a bill for cold hard cash because I came to Los Angeles for the car expo, not this, so that my brother is how the cookie crumbles.” Ephraim plastered a smile on his face. “So, about Mila’s sister. It’s always nice to add a new model to my belt.”
For a second, Blake was silent. His aversion to cuffs due to being a wayward teenager had finally faded. “If you can spin that, good for you.”
“Damn, you were never one for the banana in the tailpipe, Blake. Too serious. Actually, my services weren’t needed—not quite yet. Agent Taylor has ensured all charges were dropped. We can chat lawsuits, regarding you navigating the streets like it was a game of fucking GTO later. I’m sure there’s going to be a good number of them. But let’s get the hell outta here, grab a late lunch. We can flesh out the details, so when lawyers for those clients you bulldozed come calling, I can low ball them all. And we can talk about Lido Ali. I was on my way to Italy when Lamb called me anyway, missed my flight.”
“I don’t want to low ball anyone, Eph.”
“Say what now?” Ephraim asked, rising from his chair.
“I made a choice. I stand by it.”
They headed for the exit with Lamb in tow. The second they got outside a crowd surrounded them, mostly women and a few effeminate males. All of them were holding signs with various slogans for freeing Blake Baldwin. One chick pulled up her shirt showing her breasts.
Ephraim patted Blake’s back. “See, Parker must’ve painted you as that billionaire hero . . . eh, Batman. Parker . . . me . . . bro, you have yourself a winning team.”
“Marry me instead!” Another lady shouted.
Blake almost cracked a smile as they headed toward Lamb’s Escalade. Damn, had Parker announced their engagement? More importantly, was Mila serious?