RISEN
We had less than ten minutes to get to China’s appointment in front of the judge. Thanking whoever was able to get us in for a private arraignment wasn’t necessary, but anything that would help was what I wanted. I’d pay dearly if it could make a difference.
If you’d told me I would be holding China Crown in my arms, walking bare chested through the county court justice halls with three very beautiful women, I’d have said you were full of fucking shit. As it stands, I’m just grateful. A bit uncomfortable about the situation, but that’s beside the point. I can handle stares, glares, and the odd gasp of shock. If I couldn’t handle that, then I had no reason to wear what I wore on my skin. Before becoming a police officer, everyone saw it.
Thankfully, it wasn’t far to the JP’s office. When we arrived at the secretary’s desk, each of the girls took a seat while I tried to get comfortable. Or, at least, as much as I could with a woman in my arms. I didn’t get a chance to see whom the Justice appointed to this was, but I’m fearful I’ll know them anyway. Years of family connections can do that.
Crashing through the door moments later was who I assumed was China’s lawyer. Propping myself up in the corner with a partially covered and passed out China Crown, she looks me over sternly.
“Oh, my gosh, girls,” she exclaimed, sounding slightly fake. “Is she all right?” Spinning to Hallette before situating her hardened stare at me, she tries to act deadly. Wrong boy to try that on, lady.
Walking over, pushing the shirt off of Doll, she strokes her hair away, then does as the rest have, inspecting the ink that covers my torso. Narrowing her eyes at me, I’m being looked at as if I’m the criminal.
Confused much, Ms. Lawyer? Why am I holding China you wonder? Wait till you get the full the story.
Shaking her head, she promptly turns on her heal and faces off with the secretary. “Do we have a delay with the judge?”
“No, Ms. Smith. The judge will be with you momentarily. Please, take a seat with the others.” Curving her eyebrow, directing China’s lawyer with her eyes to the nearest blank chair, the secretary quietly goes back to what she was doing, ignoring the outburst. I doubt it’s new to have flashy lawyers wanting time with the judge, and I assume the secretary is accustomed to putting people in their place. Smirking inwardly, I watch as Ms. Smith saunters over, seats herself, then crosses her legs at the ankles, just like my mother does. Ms. Smith is the picture of prim and proper, the epitome of high-powered lawyer with her tailored fit pant suit, paired with black heels. Her bag is monogrammed with her full name instead of initials, and it’s a black patent oversized monstrosity that she can barely carry. I think it outweighs her. In a tremor, it would send her reeling and listing off balance easily. I’d almost pay to see that.
Looking around at the inhabitants of this tiny space, I find everything quite comical. Here I am without a shirt, holding a passed out, ready to be formally reprimanded woman whom I have no ties to other than I jerked off to her posters in college. And I happened to have been the unlucky sod who arrested her. These girls are supermodels, daughters of film stars, offspring of racing legends, and let’s not forget an insanely influential person who could relocate my home with a small signed piece of paper.
I’m feeling really out of place.
Still inspecting my ink, Harlow—not very inconspicuously I might add—grins slyly. If I’d been smart about this, I would have ran back to my car and grabbed a jacket or a blanket. Heck, a spare T-shirt from my gym bag would have been better than my naked inspection.
The door to the office beside me opens, and a man in his late fifties, wearing the attire of a judge, pops into the office. It surprises me little.
“Roberta, please cancel the rest of my appointments this afternoon. Arnold just texted me with an available tee time. For some god-awful reason, the governor can’t go.”
Turning, he looks me up and down, gazing over the prone body I’m holding shirtless against my body, and grins. “Officer Mason, good to see you, son.” Quietly laughing, he then turns back to the lawyer with a nod. “Ms, Smith. I can’t say the same for you, but no matter. You’re here, so let’s get on with it.” Spinning on his heel, he saunters back into his office and leaves the door open, assuming we’ll all follow.
Right now, I think that this could go one of two ways, and neither of the choices interest me. I have a feeling either I’m fucked, or China is. Not pleasant.
“Let’s make this quick. I have a golf game as you all just heard, and I don’t need to be standing here exhausting myself with the trials and tribulations of the rich when I could have my ass handed to me by a pro.” Passing the edge of his desk, Judge Prada takes off his robe and hangs it on a stand before pulling on a very loud Hawaiian shirt. Turning without a glance to any of us, he sits behind the large mahogany desk, shuffling his papers to the side.
“Palmer?” Harlow asks cutely. He looks up, smiles, then turns back to the file in front of him.
“No, that bastard cheats. Schwarzenegger,” he replies. “He might be a bit of a hothead, but at least I can beat him.”
Under her breath, Harlow whispers, “Daddy says Palmer trades out loaded balls when you go to the bathroom. But that’s hearsay.”
I’m totally in the wrong room for this conversation.
Picking up a file and flipping through it, I shift China’s weight around.
Ms. Smith attempts to start, but is quickly cut off with a raised hand. “Sir—”
“Listen, Ms. Smith. I know who your client is and who her friends are that have accompanied her. With the exclusion of Officer Mason, I wonder, why would the arresting officer be holding said defendant? I haven’t quite worked that out yet, but trust that I’m a smart enough man to figure it out. And Risen, you can keep your opinion to yourself on that.” As usual, straight to the point.
Judge Prada is a fairly fit man who golfs, skis, rides a cycle every day, and is occasionally found touring the edges of Salt Creek Beach with his vintage Woody panel van and longboard. Even though he’s long in the tooth for most sports, he’s young in age for a county court judge. You can see it in the weathered edges around his eyes. He’s fit and quick of mind. My parents have been his friend for quite some time. I’ve had the pleasure of deep sea fishing excursions and yearly camping trips in the Catskills. I’ve never pissed him off, that I know of, and I don’t intend to start now. So being the second smartest man in the room, I keep my fucking mouth shut until asked a direct question.
“Risen, I know I’m going to sound awfully stupid asking this, but why the fuck have you been carrying Miss Crown around like a trophy these past two days?” He looks directly at me, lifting the Times and shaking the front page at me. “Don’t think I’ve ever seen an arresting officer take such care of a perp.”
All eyes turn my way. “Last night, I was working off-duty detail at the Petersen. Miss Crown and I ran into each other at the catering entrance. She and I had an unfortunate accident with a cream dessert.”
“And today? You have her in your arms once more. Care to explain?”
Now, how do I explain today? Circumstances being as they are, I don’t have an answer that will appease his question. “If I had a way, I would, sir.”
Narrowing his gaze while I sweat bullets, he accepts the answer. “Fine. So be it.”
Thumbing back through the file, ignoring me again, he proceeds to read off the charges. One by one, we hear public racing, evasion, excessive speeding, unsanctioned use of a track only legal vehicle, disorderly conduct, loitering, and so on and so on, until twelve charges in total have been read off. Not to mention, the one’s I tacked on—skipping a bench warrant, taillight out, and out of date insurance coverage.
Merconda Smith and the Judge argue the points for and against the charges until only two are left—the unsanctioned use of a track legal vehicle, and one public racing. With China’s bike absconded, no one can confirm or deny the taillight and need for insurance. By the time the judge was done, though, you could see he was considerably annoyed, and itching to hit the links.
Tapping his fingers on the desk, the judge is obviously contemplating the predicament. “Fine. Here’s my ruling. With the current history of racing, China willfully knew the consequences of the street occurrences and what risks were involved. As well, with the publicity of the events and pending charges now flashing across the papers, I have no choice—”
“Sir, can I interject?” I ask.
I see the strain pressing on the Judge. He wants out of here and done with this. Hopefully, this helps and not harms her further.
“Go ahead then.”
“I understand that you have to move forward with charges, and as a cop, I get there has to be consequences, but may I ask for a grace of leniency? Losing both parents, having her brother in the hospital and having to assume—”
“I understand her issues, Risen. Get on with it, please. I’d like to golf while the sun is still up.”
“Sorry, sir. Instead of a jail time, would you consider a house arrest?”
The judge’s expression changes. He’s considering it. Everyone is silent, even the obnoxious Ms. Smith, as we allow the internal musings to occur. It’s a good thing for China this way. She won’t lose out on her race standings, which will mean no issues with the race team, and nothing that can be construed as letting her off without incident.
Tapping his fingers on his teeth, he rises from his chair and pulls down a straw fedora off the hook. “You’re totally right. I agree, Risen, and since it was your fantastic idea, who better to confirm her confinement?” Opening my mouth to say something, I’m stopped as he holds up a single finger, without venturing a look my way. “Risen, the other half of our foursome is Stan. So without giving too much away, I believe you have some free time, correct?” Nodding, I purse my lips, blowing out a heavy breath.
Clasping his hands together, joyously pleased with himself and with the outcome, Judge Prada writes on the file with a gleeful smile.
As he writes, he reads aloud the stipulations of her incarceration. “For the next six weeks, Miss Crown is in the care and capable hands of one Mr. Risen Mason. She will be under house arrest, or if he so chooses to leave the premises, Miss Crown is to accompany Mr. Mason.” Stamping it, he closes the file and turns to me. The sneaky old bastard knows exactly what he’s done.
“Mr. Mason, please make sure you take Miss Crown to the office to procure her ankle monitor.” He walks to the door. “Have a nice day, everyone.” He turns to China’s lawyer and says, “And it was lovely working with you again, Ms. Smith.”
Watching him vacate, we all stand, completely stunned. Everyone is looking at me with awestruck faces. All except for Harlow.
“Well that could have gone worse,” she says.
I turn to walk out the door with my prisoner in my arms. “Not even close,” I reply.
Fuck, it’s amazing what can occur in under twenty minutes. I’m now as much a prisoner as China.