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  Wildfire

  The Sandstone Affair

  Part 5

  by

  Priscilla West

  Copyright © 2013

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  Copyright © 2013

  All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Warning: This work contains scenes of graphic sexual nature and it is written for adults only(18+). All characters depicted in this story are over 18 years of age.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 1

  This can’t be happening. Today is not supposed to be like this. I am supposed to drive with Mark down to the courthouse to present evidence of Blake’s wrongdoing and sign the rejoinder. Today is supposed to be the day I get Lynx back. Instead, these two cops are here at my door, about to crush my hopes.

  “Wait. What?” My mind reels as I feel the officer’s rough hands holding my wrists together and slipping the cutting hard plastic around them again. “I can’t be! I haven’t—”

  “You have the right to remain silent,” the second office reads off a card. “Anything you say can and will be used against you…”

  “Mark!” I scream as they begin to guide me into the hallway.

  “Officer, I’m Mark Stone,” Mark says rushing to the door. He’s trying to play it calm but the look of shock and fear is in his eyes. “Can I ask what’s going on?”

  “She’s being arrested, that’s what’s going on,” the first officer says brusquely as he blocks the door with an elbow, a polite but clear gesture that says wherever we are going, Mark is not coming with us.

  “If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided to you.” The second officer continues droning.

  “I can see that part, Officer,” Mark says clearly but with severe tone I’ve never heard from him before. “I am Miss Sharp’s legal contractor and I have the right to know why she is being arrested.”

  “Yes!” I gasp as he turns me toward the hall. I see the neighbor’s door crack open but I am far past humiliation at this point. “Tell him!”

  Mark’s natural authority wins the day and the policemen stop, momentarily, my progression to the elevator. The officer puts away his worn little Miranda card and opens a notebook. Both men seem to be standing straighter when addressing Mark. Having been over his lap for a stinging rebuke, I can attest it’s the wise thing to do.

  “Miss Julia Sharp is being arrested for New York Penal Code Violation 251.15, Criminal Contempt in the First Degree.”

  “But I’m not even going to court until this afternoon!” I blurt my mind solely on saving Lynx. “It’s not

  possible.”

  Mark stands silently trying to mentally work his way through the information. One of the many things I realize I love about him is the way he stays calm and strong, never wavering, always in control. I’m not sure if it is a learned discipline or an inborn talent but it’s amazing. It can’t be inborn though, because Blake certainly doesn’t…Oh My God…

  “Blake!” Mark and I exclaim at the same time having both mentally arrived at the answer.

  “Contempt of court is cited due to the violation of an order of protection issued to Mr. Blake Stone and the property known as Sandstone Ventures.” The officer continues reading.

  Damnit! That bullshit restraining order he filed against me after my first visit to his office finally comes back to bite me in the ass. Honestly, the pig had it coming to him, and despite the predicament I’m in now, I don’t regret slapping him across his greasy face.

  “But that’s not what happened!” I start, however, I feel the officer pushing me into walking down the hall away from Mark in the doorway. Having dutifully satisfied Mark’s “right to know” the second officer accompanies the first in dragging me to the elevator.

  “Julia, I’ll call Paul Fries right now,” Mark calls down the hall, probably realizing that “legal contractor” isn’t really a position recognized by anyone and deciding to withdraw before the officers figure out they’ve been conned.

  “Forget me,” I shout quickly twisting around to call over my shoulder as the elevator doors open. “Save Lynx!”

  If they’re taking me downtown for booking, who knows how long it’ll take to get processed through the system? Maybe at least Mark can go to the courthouse and present our case that Blake’s seizure of Lynx is illegal.

  Once the bell chimes I am forcibly pushed forward, facing the back of the elevator. One officer faces me, the other faces forward to stop anyone from coming in as we make our way down to the waiting squad car.

  Approaching the car, I think about how many times as a reporter I’ve seen people loaded into the back of these boxy caged vehicles, and how different it feels when it’s your head he pushes down as he puts you in the back of the car.

  Turning to the one holding my arms, I try to see his watch but can’t make the numbers out.

  “Can you tell me what time it is, please?” I ask. I have to sign those forms at one o’clock. I hope that’s enough time for me to call Paul’s office and get out of holding.

  “Why? Got a date?” He snickers as his hand goes instinctively to my shoulder to lower me into the back. “Watch your head, ma’am.”

  “I didn’t violate any orders,” I say as soon as they get in and close their doors. “He invited me. He said he wanted to meet with me. So we could…well…so we could talk. You don’t understand, he asked me to come to Sandstone. I’m innocent.”

  “That’s not our job to determine, Ma’am.” The driver says as he pulls away from the curb. “It’s just our job to take you in.”

  “Look, this is a mistake. I mean, I’m sure Blake reported I was there last night, because I was there. But I was only there to get evidence that he stole my company. He asked me to meet him because he thought he could, well, um, he wanted to take advantage of me...er…of my situation. Anyway, I swear to you I did not go there on my own and I don’t have contempt for any court.”

  “Ma’am,” The policeman in the passenger seat says with his jaw locked and a stiff tone. “I am not a judge and he is not a jury. Save it for court, ‘cause we don’t care.”

  I settle as much as I can against the back seat, feeling the bitter tears of anger and frustration fall down my cheeks. How does Blake do it? Every time it seems like I’m going to get my life back, or that we are going to finally outsmart him, he just pulls another ace out of his pocket. The officer must have realized he was a ruder than necessary because he turns to me and speaks almost gently.

  “In case you were still wondering, Ma’am. The time is eleven A.M.”

  “Thank you,” I reply, wiping my tears on my shoulder. I start doing the math in my head. If Mark and Paul Fries can get the paperwork together, and I can get someone from Paul’s office to come bail me out quickly, I can still make the courthouse by one to sign everything. I just need to get that phone call as soon as I can, and hope when Mark calls Paul he will have them set up and ready to answer my phone. My body starts swaying with excitement and false hope.

  “Well, that perked you up,” the officer says with a smile and turns back around.

  “I have a very important appointment this afternoon,” I try to explain. “If I can get my phone call from holding
pretty quickly, I can make bail in time to get there.”

  It dawns on me I’m starting to sound like some ex-con from the movie speaking in jail vernacular and displaying my inherent knowledge of the system. If I don’t stop getting arrested soon I’m going to be known as “Jailhouse Julia.” The thought makes me giggle a bit, until the informative officer brings all my joy to a stop.

  “You won’t be getting bail, Ma’am. You’ll go from holding straight to your arraignment in court.”

  “What? How long will that take?”

  “Depends on the judge’s schedule. If it’s a light day – maybe six or seven hours. If it’s heavy you’ll probably be held over for night court. But don’t worry. Those dockets go fast. If you get bail, you could be out by about three or four tomorrow morning.”

  “Unless Katie’s on leave. She’s the only bursar who stays late,” his partner corrects him.

  “Yeah, but even if she get’s bail the bondsman can sign a writ, maybe. I guess it depends on the judge.” He answers back, pretending I’m not in the back seat looking like a crushed tin can.

  “What do you mean, if I get bail? This isn’t the way it worked last time at all!”

  “Well you see,” the officer shifts in his seat and turns back around, his eyes aglow. You can tell he really loves the system, how it works and explaining it to budding lawbreakers like me. “The last time you were given bail because the court put out a protective order. So you were released on your own recognizance.”

  “But this time,” the driver continues, stealing his partner’s thunder – clearly not for the first time. “You violated a court order. So that’s a crime and it shows your intent to repeat the original crime and it means your recognizance clearly isn’t good enough. Thus, now you have to stand before a judge and defend yourself on both charges and show there’s someone else who will sign for you.”

  “But that’s the thing. I didn’t break the order!” I stomp my feet as if that is going to magically open up their minds. “Blake asked me to come to his office. I didn’t just walk in by myself.”

  “The thing you’re gonna like, Ma’am,” the passenger points at me as if he is picking me for a ball game. “Is that the judge might be willing to listen to your story. Since you seem to want to tell it.”

  “Until you get in front of the judge, though,” the driver continues, obviously used to getting the last word. “You should shut up about it. Because, no one in booking gives a rat’s ass.”

  Gruffly but with an odd amount of care, the officers walk me into booking, guiding me through a maze of desks until they find one that is open. Standing me in front of the wooden chair, the driver looks me straight in the eye.

  “Promise me you’ll behave and I’ll cut you loose.” He says motioning to the zip tie cutting into my wrists.

  “I promise,” I reply earnestly. It is a baby step, but my first step to getting out of here and to the courthouse on time. He turns me around. I hear the click of a pocket knife and feel the sweet release of my hands coming undone. Bringing them forward, I rub my wrists looking at the swollen lines already turning red around each of them.

  I sit down in the chair and look at the clock. It’s eleven forty-five. I’ve got an hour and fifteen minutes to make this work. Frantically I look around for the person who is supposed to be booking me. A heavyset sweating woman with a severely short hair cut and hands the size of my head gives a deep sigh and sits down, peering at the paperwork the cop left. Taking her dear sweet time, she scans the orders as if she is memorizing my history.

  “I’m sorry,” I start to get her attention. She frowns and looks at me from the side of the paper. “I really need to get this part done. Can we get started?”

  She snort-laughs and gestures to me while she speaks to a male officer at the next desk. “She wants to get started.”

  “Please, I don’t want to be rude. I’m just looking at the clock and I have to be somewhere this afternoon and I feel like if we work together we can get through this part fast so I might make my appointment.”

  Her face didn’t have to tell me. The generously loud laughter of the man at the next desk didn’t have to tell me. The murmuring of the word “bitch” from the guy chained to the chair behind me didn’t have to tell me. I knew. I knew the minute it came out of my mouth it was the wrong thing to say. But it hung there in the air, and there was no way to take it back.

  “Are we messing up your tea party, sweetie?” the booking officer crooned and held a “tea-cup pinky” in the air. “Or do you have some other laws you need to violate before noon.”

  “I’m sorry,” I blurted. “That was rude and short sighted, and I really shouldn’t have said—”

  “Honey,” the cop put her hand up to let me know she didn’t want to hear an apology, no matter how long. “The only time I look at that clock is seven o’clock, because that’s when my shift is over. So just sit there and hang tight and I’ll get you done when you get done.”

  “Yes, Officer,” I mumble. Can I possibly screw up my day even more?

  “Hey Ruth,” an officer from the doorway calls. There is some kind of tussle in the hallway and a string of profanity erupts into the otherwise quiet and efficient processing room. Frankly, I’ve never heard that many F words in thirty seconds before. Four tough, rowdy young men are led into the room chained together by hands and feet. The one on the front kicks the bench in front of him sending it spinning and pulling the legs out from under the others, causing them all to lean to the side.

  “Sit your asses down and stop that shit,” an officer calls. The smell of rotten food covered in moldy pasta and over fermented grape juice fills this air. The officer approaches my booking agent.

  “Can you book these assholes and get them into interrogation before they smell up the whole building?” He asks her. I sit up and listen to the conversation, realizing if she decided to book the four of them before me, I’m never getting out of here.

  “What the hell?”

  “It’s the Arturi brothers from Delancey Street. They were roughing up an elderly street vendor when the staff of La Russo caught them in an alley and treated them to a dumpster beating before the beat cops could get there. Precinct asked to bring them here to get them out of home turf and give them a good long sit before some Capo comes to release them.”

  “You bet, but they ain't gonna need no Capo. Their salvation just walked through the door.”

  “Oh?” the officer turns to look but shrugs. I’m dying to turn around but I don’t dare.

  “Clank and Clack, the bail guys, both just walked through the door,” Ruth explains. “But, they can settle down and wait.”

  “Fucking piece of stupid shit!” One of the chained men calls and kicks the desk in front of him sending papers all over the floor.

  “Right!” says Ruth. “No time like the present.”

  She grabs a pen and begins walking toward them.

  “Wait,” I call out. “What about me? I was here first. I should be booked first.”

  Ruth runs her fingers through her butch-man hair and sighs again. She places a meaty hand on the desk in front of me and commands my utmost attention.

  “Look, Princess Periwinkle,” she says, curling her lips with every word. “If I let that mess sit in here any longer they are going to break up our room and maybe send someone to a hospital. So, yea, I’m taking them first and no, babycakes, it’s not fair. But it’s smart, and that’s what we do here – what’s smart.” She turns her back to me, and then whirls around to tell me one more thing. “Besides, you smell a hell of a lot better than them, so you I can keep around a while.”

  I look up at the clock and feel my blood boil. How dare she speak to me like that? She can’t delay me just because someone is smellier than I am or represents more trouble than I do! I have rights. I probably pay more taxes than the four Arturi brother combined. I look up and see the watch commander staring my direction. I make a plan.

  I am going to stand up, wa
lk over and tell him that I am an investigative reporter and the Editor-in-Chief of Lynx magazine. It’s true for another thirty minutes or so. I’m going to make him very aware that I am making notes about the inherent unfair booking practices of this station and the delaying tactic that is causing me to lose valuable time. By the time I’m done he will have someone rushing to process me and I won’t have to smell like putrid fruit to do it.

  I put my hand on top of the desk and start to rise out of the chair when Mark’s voice rings in my head. Sitting up, I can hear his words with amazing clarity. I almost look to see if he’s in the room but I know that he’s at court waiting on me. Still, he is strong and clear inside my thoughts.

  “All you do is push and bully. You don’t use your brain or power to collaborate or negotiate. You just throw your weight around, stomp and threaten. It works for you now, but it won’t always work for you and I’d hate to see the day your strategy lets you down,” he told me early in our journey. He’s right. That’s exactly what I was preparing to do, bully them into speeding me through the system.