Chapter Seven
Dylan
"Where's the girl? Where's the guy who attacked me? What kind of police work is this?" I asked.
The officers on either side of me said nothing. They just clenched their jaws and hauled me up the stairs of the precinct. I didn't make it easy on them as I craned around.
"Shouldn't you be questioning her? She was the only witness," I said.
"Man, some people just can't get the whole 'right to remain silent' thing," one officer muttered.
The other let out a little snort. "It's about time for a coffee, don't you think?"
"What about me? Isn't there some sort of due process here?" I dug my heels in, but the two police officers pushed me past the booking desk and down a narrow hallway.
"You'll be processed. Until then you can wait in here," the officer on my right side said.
I scanned the holding cell as they dragged me along to the door. Three obviously intoxicated men milled around while an angry man paced the far wall. Another man slept soundly under the bench. And one surly-looking guy sat on the center of the bench and scowled at me.
"You can't be serious. I don't belong in here. The other guy started it!" I cried.
The officers laughed and shoved me into the holding cell. They probably heard that same argument all day long.
It was late, and the holding cell wasn't disturbed again until past four a.m. Then a harried middle-aged man collected the person sleeping underneath the bench. After that, it was a long, hard stretch until morning.
Somehow, the drunks had remained intoxicated all night. As the institutional clock on the wall inched past seven o'clock, they finally got restless. I watched as they began pacing again, hands starting to tremble.
"You a pickpocket? One of those slick guys who mingles with the uptown crowd and robs them blind?" The most pungent drunk wandered up to me.
"I am not a pickpocket," I said.
"Then what'd you do? You drank too much, too?"
I rubbed my nose where the alcohol fumes burned my senses. "I was defending a young woman. This big meathead was threatening her."
"Oh, no. No, no, no. Don't ever get mixed up between a girl and her man. No wonder you got beat on," the other drunk weighed in during his unsteady pass.
I glanced down and noticed a spatter of blood on the front of my shirt. It was dried and there was no telling if it had come from me or my assailant. I gingerly checked my nose, cheeks, and head. Lots of bruises but no open cuts. I eased myself onto the bench a fair distance from the angry man.
"Tell you what I know for sure," the first drunk said. "You're going to hurt in the morning."
"Why do street fights always hurt worse the next day?" his alcoholic friend asked.
The surly man cleared his throat, and everyone in the holding cell quieted down. It felt like sitting next to a volcano. I couldn't tell if his rumbles were all going to stay under the surface or if he was going to blow.
"You got set up," he growled at me.
"What? No." I shook my head. "They were arguing, and I stepped in. It wasn't planned."
"You knew the girl?" he asked.
I bit my lip. "I'd met her before, just briefly at another bar."
"You got set up." The surly man crossed his arms as if his diagnosis was final.
"All I know is I did the right thing. What, am I going to stand by and let him thump on some girl a third his size?" I asked.
"She's a honey-trap. They wanted you out of the picture for the night."
I looked at the angry man and nervously contradicted him, "I doubt it. There was nothing special about last night."
Except seeing Bethany again. I pushed the thought of her far from my head as if she would be tarnished by just thinking of her while in such a dismal place.
"Guess you'll find out," the surly man said.
I never thought I would be relieved when another officer pulled me from the holding cell and took me to processing. I cooperated all the way through the fingerprinting and photographing. Then I was shoved into a chair in front of my arresting officer.
"We got ahold of the other man this morning. He is probably going to press charges," he said.
I tried to sit up, but another officer pushed me back into my chair. "I didn't attack him. I was defending the woman, the little blonde woman. Her name's Jasmine. Ask her!"
The officer shook his head at the end of a very long shift. "Let's not waste time here. You calling a lawyer or what?"
I scrubbed both hands over my face and caught a glimpse at another institutional clock that hung over the precinct door. "Is that the time?"
"Time to make a decision. You only get one phone call," the officer said.
I gritted my teeth. I had a meeting with a new client in just three hours. He was what they called in Vegas a whale. If I could land his business, Joey and I would be set for the rest of the year.
"Don't I get assigned a lawyer?" I asked.
The officer nodded but also shrugged. "They won't be able to send a public defender down here for at least another hour, maybe more."
Joey would never say so but if I lost this client, he'd be upset. Doubly so when he learned I missed such an important meeting because I was in jail. I tried to weigh my options, but it felt horribly, unfairly tipped in one direction.
Maybe it was Fate that Bethany had given me her card the night before.
I pulled it out and waved it at my arresting officer. "I'll call my lawyer now. If you think it's necessary."
He squinted at the name and then his eyes widened. "Why'd you spend all night in the holding cell when you had an Assistant District Attorney's number in your pocket?"
I stared at him. "I didn't ask for her number in case I needed a lawyer."
The tired cop put two and two together and smiled. "Way to blow it, Casanova. Bet she'll love hearing how you went straight from meeting her to jail."
He chuckled again as he led me to the phone and gave me three feet of privacy. I had no choice. Joey would kill me if I lost the client, and Bethany was my only ticket out of that holding cell.
I pulled out her business card and pinned it against the wall. Flashes of her shy smile, her confident shoulders, and those dark brown eyes filled my mind.
It struck me again, even in the cold gray light of the police station hallway, that I had met Bethany before. Why was she so familiar?
"Time's ticking," the officer grumbled.
I dialed Bethany's office number and held my breath. It was early; would she really be at work that early? How was I supposed to leave her a message? What would I say?
"Ms. Bethany Durham's office," a young male voice announced.
"Yes, can I speak with Ms. Durham, please?" I cleared my throat and hoped I sounded civil after a hard night in the holding cell.
"May I ask who is calling?"
I gave him my name and held my breath again. There was no reason for Bethany to answer. If she was at work that meant she really was as busy as she said. She wouldn't stop working just to talk with some flirty guy from the bar.
"Dylan?" Bethany asked.
"I'm so sorry to interrupt your morning, Bethany. I wouldn't have called if I didn't have to." The officer three feet away chuckled again. "I mean, I'm glad I caught you."
"Is something wrong?" Bethany asked.
I should have known a smart woman like her would skip over any small talk bull that I wanted to pad the truth with. "I need your professional advice. Well, help really."
"Are you in jail?" Her voice was incredulous but also concerned.
"I spent the night in a holding cell. It was all a misunderstanding, I swear. It's just now the other guy might be pressing charges, and I'm stuck here." I bit my lip again before I rambled further on.
"Put the officer on," Bethany said.
I handed the curious officer the phone and watched as his eyes went from amused to studious. "Yes. I understand. Yes, I will."
He hung up the phone, and I only made it six feet down the hallway before I had to ask, "What did she say?"
"She, ahem, reminded me of a few protocol missteps. And she insisted you be allowed to wait in here." The officer opened the door of an interrogation room.
It was sunny and filled with the quiet solitude I had longed for all night. "Is that all she said?"
The officer chewed on his cheek then took a harsh breath. "Would you like a cup of coffee?"
I gave the officer my coffee order and stretched out in the chair closest to the sunny window. It didn't matter there was barbed wire and reinforced glass; there was sunlight on my face. I wanted the bright light to burn away the distractions of last night, so I could concentrate on what happened to me.
I didn't have too long to bask in the quiet before the door popped open wide. Bethany strode in wearing a tailored navy-blue blazer and matching pencil skirt. Her nude heels were taller, more daring than I expected. And when she sat down and leaned to tuck her briefcase next to her chair, I saw the flash of her creamy silk blouse.
She waved the officer away and then folded her hands primly on the table.
"Good morning?" I tried to muster a smile for her.
Her brown eyes darkened as she took in the bruises and scrapes around my face. I kept forgetting I'd been worked over a bit until I smiled. I knew I must look like hell but Bethany didn't flinch away.
"Tell me what happened," she said.
I explained about overhearing the man threaten the woman. Then I stumbled. I remembered that Jasmine was the reason that Bethany left before I could ask her out the first time. I could still see the look in Bethany's eyes when she saw Jasmine pressing herself against me.
"And the girl must have lied. The police didn't bring her in to question her. Are they bringing her in?" I asked.
Bethany cocked a trim eyebrow at me. "Did you know the girl?"
"No," I lied.
Bethany flipped open a thin manila folder. "The police report says they took her statement at the scene. She says you attacked her boyfriend."
"I'm sorry for dragging you into this," I said.
She shook her head. "There's enough here for me to get you out right now. Just give me a few minutes."
I watched, helpless, as Bethany jumped up and popped open the interrogation room door. She immediately commanded a conversation with two officers and had everything wrapped up within five minutes.
"Turns out the man dropped the charges," Bethany said.
"Is that a good thing?" I asked.
"It is. It means I don't have to be your lawyer," Bethany said.
"Would that have been so bad?" I asked.
Bethany paused as she led the way out of the police station. "I'm not allowed to date clients."
The whole debacle of the night before fell away. I followed Bethany out of the police station and wished I could catch her hand. It felt good to be free, but it felt even better to be walking with her next to me.