Fallen from Grace (21 page)

I should’ve taken a cab.

He slowed the bike down and pulled to the curb near the Hudson Library before coming to a complete stop next to James J. Walker Park. A few people glanced at the commotion but continued on with their lives. Kids were playing and laughing, and traffic passed in pursuit of their destinations.

Running his hands nervously through the sides of his hair, his anxiety spiked when the cop got off the bike and pulled his gun-aiming it at Judas’s back. It was a bit of an extreme measure and could only be for grand theft auto or murder, not the minor absence of a helmet.

“Get off the bike.”

The cops voice was strong and experienced; he’d obviously handled quite a few of these situations, and wouldn’t hesitate to injure Judas before he could try to make a run for it.

Judas put his hands up, level with his shoulders, and got off the bike.

“Hands on your head.”

So much for good deeds and escaping the inevitable
orange
jump suit. Judas obeyed and waited for the cop to handcuff him and read him his Miranda Rights.

“Do you understand your rights?” the officer asked.

“Yeah, I understand,” Judas mumbled.

As a lawyer, it was the first thing he addressed when representing a client. Were you informed of your rights? Rookie cops sometimes got overly excited with their arrests and forgot to Mirandize their detainees, but as previously noted, this cop wasn’t a rookie.

The frown lines around his eyes and merit badges on his breast pockets were enough to signify his dedication to the force, along with his firm grasp and the inexcusable tightness of his cuffs. Judas didn’t fight his fate. He let the cop lead him to the car and ducked when he pushed him into the back of the white and blue NYPD car that had pulled up behind his bike. This was exactly why Grace had made the choice she did, Judas was bad news. He was broken, and she had luckily escaped the downward spiral he was caught up in.

She wasn’t the type of woman who waited around, writing letters addressed to prison inmates. She was a woman who deserved wooing—fine dining, Broadway shows and endless devotion. Things he would never be able to give her because he would be rotting away behind bars where tattoos told his story, and guards told him otherwise.

As the officer driving the car called in the arrest, Judas glanced out the window and locked eyes with the cop who would get the credit. He slid his forefinger across the black bill of his state issued cap and smiled. Judas looked forward, accepting his condemnation. He had no doubt in his mind he fully deserved where he was headed.

I
T
WASN
’
T
THE
FIRST
TIME
Judas had been inside Precinct 13, located lower midtown, New York, but it was the first time he’d arrived handcuffed in the back of a patrol car. He knew protocol and what to expect, but it was much different from a general explanation to a client’s friend, spouse or family. Experiencing it firsthand made him sympathize for those he’d represented.

The cops weren’t nice, but then again this wasn’t Disney World and they weren’t here to sell you on future visits. They wanted to scare the shit out of you in hopes they never saw your face again.

M. O’Connell
—according to his nameplate
—
took down Judas’s name and date of birth, his fingerprints and photographs, then escorted him to an interrogation room. It was small with only a metal trash can, 3x6 table, two chairs on both sides, and reflective glass window to the right.

Eventually, a cop came in, carrying a cup of coffee and a smug smile. He sat down across the metal table Judas was cuffed to and plopped down a folder.

“My name is Detective Blackwell. Mr...” Opening the folder, he took a drink out of a steaming paper cup and winced. “Woods.

Judas nodded and watched the detective take another drink, followed by the same expression. It was either too hot, or he’d added too much alcohol. Judging by his bloodshot gaze, Judas was betting on the latter. He knew the game of cat and mouse that was about to ensue, and he also knew all he needed to do was demand a lawyer and stay silent, and the questioning would stop.

It was Saturday, so Judas would have to wait until Monday morning to appear before a judge. He contemplated using his phone call to call Jack, but he didn’t want to deal with his father, or be a part of whatever tactic he would use to get him free. Judas didn’t want Jack’s help.

“Why don’t you make this easy on everyone?” The cop rested his elbows on the table and splayed open palms, then cleared his throat. “Why don’t you tell me what happened last night?”

Judas leaned back in the chair, legs splayed to the sides, desperately wanting to know what the report said. His silence seemed to agitate Detective Blackwell, and his
friendly
approach quickly died. He changed methods, using aggressive language that was meant to elicit fear.

“Do you know what the punishment is for grand larceny?”

Opening your mouth was dangerous, and usually just got you in trouble. Judas always advised his clients to use their right to an attorney because once invoked they had to stop questioning you, but he was feeling particularly cocky.

Judas smirked. “It depends on the degree you are referring to. Grand larceny in the fourth degree is just four years, but first degree can be up to twenty-five. If you want to scare someone, stick with a dramatic threat. It’s more effective.”

He stared at the cop, allowing the boredom and arrogance to show in his eyes. The detective’s face took on a shade of red that matched his glossy eyes.

“Smart asses like you are a dime a dozen. You come from money, I can smell it on you, but you aren’t getting out of this. I have four eyewitnesses putting you at the scene of the crime and stealing a Ducati, and I have you stopped in possession of the bike. You’ll do time, I guarantee it.”

Judas didn’t doubt his words held truth. He probably would do time as the bike had to be worth over twenty grand. His lack of priors and occupation would reduce his sentence, along with a good attorney, but the outcome was unfavorable.

“A pretty boy like you in a cell with rapists and murderers.” He tilted his head, then wagged it side to side. “Confess, and I’ll put you in a cell with the pussycats.”

Judas’s instincts took over. This was just a game, and confession or not, this cop was spiteful enough to throw him in with the worst of Precinct 13.

“I’m not saying anything without my attorney present.”

The cop took a drink of his coffee. “You think you’re hot shit? Well, forty-eight hours in a cell will wipe that smart ass smile off your fucking face.”

He was about to further insult Judas, but a petite woman wearing a pantsuit and black heels entered through the solid metal door. Her hair was red and curly and reached the top of the badge she wore on a chain around her neck. When her brown eyes locked with Judas’s, she smiled, but it immediately faded when Detective Meyers looked at her.

“What do you want?” he spat.

She flushed. “I’m sorry to interrupt you, but Mr. Woods has been released.”

The metal screech of Detective Blackwell's chair stung the air as he pushed it back and stood. “What? How is that possible?”

“I don’t know. I was just told to process him for release.”

The detective’s narrow gaze fell on a surprised Judas, then he stormed from the room. Judas couldn’t imagine Jack had already heard about his arrests, but who else would have the power to get him out of jail less than an hour and a half after arriving? He hadn’t even seen the inside of a cell.

She strode to him, holding a ring of keys. “Sorry about that. He’s got a bad temper.”

“Is he your boss?”

She nodded. “He’s actually a really nice guy. His wife is divorcing him and…”

Her lips thinned. She’d said too much, and he could tell she was surprised and nervous. She was attracted to Judas.

He grinned. She was a sweet girl, but there was only one woman for him. “Don’t worry about it. I won’t say anything.”

“Thanks.”

“In any other situation, I might have enjoyed being handcuffed with a beautiful woman like you around,” he remarked, boldly.

She un-cuffed him and giggled. Women liked to dance with the devil. Their instincts were usually spot on, sensing the danger he represented, but it called to their inner goddess. It was a charm he’d perfected over the years.

Bored housewives… naive college students…inexperienced hearts… They all craved adventure, and he exuded it, but it was all a lie. An unhappy life he was living.

“I’m Hannah,” she said.

“Judas,” he replied.

She smiled and locked the cuffs together, wrapping her fingers around the metal loops. “Follow me and we’ll get you out of here.”

Judas didn’t argue. He might have deserved to go to jail, but that didn’t mean he wanted to. No sane person would want to spend forty-eight hours behind bars, and Detective Blackwell had it out for him and most likely would have requested bond to be revoked for Judas. He followed Hannah to a cubicle. Her desk had stacks of files, a computer and a few photos, but none of her family. There were only photos of her and a black lab, and it made Judas wonder what had made her want to become a cop.

“Have a seat,” she said, trying to be serious and not smile.

Judas waited for her to sit before he did so in a solid plastic chair. He rubbed his wrists as he watched her fumble his items from of a manila envelope, then she began making quick checks on a piece of paper attached to a clipboard.

“Beautiful dog.”

She looked confused for a moment, then glanced at the photo on her desk and laughed. “She’s a black lab, lots of energy.” Her eyes went wide for emphasis, and Judas chuckled. “Her name is Gracie.” His smiled disappeared, and she gulped. “Here are your p-personal items,” she stammered.

Judas leaned forward and took his wallet, keys, cell and gold Rolex. “Thank you.” His gaze locked with hers as he tried to erase the tension from his expression.

She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “I need Detective Blackwell to sign off on this, and then you can go.”

“Of course.”

On cue, the detective appeared next to her cubicle. He plucked the clipboard from the desk, and scowled as he scribbled his signature.

His narrow gaze shifted to Judas. “Next time.”

Judas should have let it go—stayed off the radar and this guy’s attention, but he couldn’t help himself. He let the grim line Grace’s name had set across his lips curve into a confident grin.

“I look forward to it.”

The cops face went several shades of dark red, then with a grunt he turned on his heel and disappeared around the corner. Hannah’s face was blank, her jaw hanging aghast. “The charges against you have been dropped. That’s what this form covers. Please sign at the bottom.” She slid a piece of paper across the table.

He signed it, and watched her reign in her control while she processed him. When Hannah had first met him, she had been intrigued, but now she was hesitant to make eye contact with him and it made Judas feel bad.

After signing several more forms, Judas was able to leave. “Would you like to go out sometime?” He had no idea what sparked the question. Perhaps he felt bad for scaring her?

For the first time in over twenty minutes, she smiled. “I don’t think that would be a good idea.”

“I understand.” He nodded and grinned, then slipped his watch onto his wrist. “Does that answer have anything to do with a boyfriend?”

She blushed. “No.”

“I find that hard to believe, a beautiful woman like you?”

His flattery was working; Judas could see the tension ease from her shoulders as she pushed her chair back from her desk and stood. Handing him one last form, she smiled. Judas took it from her and looked it over—it was his personal items checklist. He slid it beneath the paper clip holding the other dozen forms together and saw her name written in an open area along with a phone number.

“Stay out of trouble, Judas.”

He nodded. “That’s the plan.”

He walked out of Precinct 13. Judas still didn’t know who’d bailed him out. He looked at his phone and saw a few missed calls from Jack, and one voice mail. As he waved his hand to the next cab that passed, a man stepped out of the driver’s seat of a black Town Car across the street.

“Judas Woods?” he asked.

Judas nodded, and the guy walked toward the back of the car, and opened the rear door. Judas took it as an invitation, and assumed it was Jack.
Who else would it be?

Crossing the street, he trustingly slid onto the leather seats and saw Ellis Randall sitting next to him. When he went to get out, the driver shut the door, and Ellis held up his hand.

“Don’t try to get out. I guarantee you’ll want to hear what I have to say.”

“I don’t give a fuck what you have to say.”

Ellis smiled a lopsided sneer that made Judas want to bust him right in the nose. “I can’t believe she would ever be attracted to someone like you.”

Judas’s blood boiled. “Someone like me? You’re the one who’s wrong for her. How much does it cost to buy a presidency these days? Five-hundred million? More?”