Smoked Out (Devil Dogs MC)

SMOKED OUT

The courtroom was full of spectators, cheering and jeering at the show. Directly behind the public defender, Angie Salinas, the audience was clothed in faded leather jackets, scuffed and ripped blue jeans, chains, and tattoos, as members of the Devil Dogs Motorcycle Club sat in support of Angie’s client, Rich Parker. Angie supposed they were grinning and horsing around since Judge Murphy had admonished them to be quiet more than once already.

The prospect of jail time wasn’t too big a deal to these people. She’d represented some of them before against a variety of charges—everything from drug possession to assault. The weird thing was that she didn’t feel at all intimidated by them; but, the scowling faces on the other side of the courtroom were a different matter. Supportive grins on grizzled faces lined one half of the courtroom, but the other half looked like a Lands’ End catalogue. Pastel colors couldn’t hide the hateful looks on those people’s faces, as they glared at Angie and Rich, who’d traded in his motorcycle club jacket for a loose tie and a wrinkled button-up shirt.

Now, as everyone waited for the jury’s decision, Angie could barely contain herself. This was a high-profile drug case with the potential to really garner her some attention. Rich had been arrested as part of a raid on the garage where he worked; but, there was a snafu with the warrant—as in there wasn’t one. Reading between the lines of the situation, Angie guessed the cops thought the Devil Dogs Motorcycle Club were moving their product and went in early to grab them, but they ended up just getting Rich. So, they stuck him with a possession with intent to distribute charge.

The community saw the case as a line in the sand that would either corral the MC or give them free rein. Angie thought a lot of the business leaders were just as crooked, if not more so, than the MC—at least the bikers didn’t hide who they were.  

The foreman stood to speak, and Angie sucked in a breath.

“We find the defendant not guilty on all charges.”

Grumbling erupted from the Lands’ End crowd. The foreman looked sheepish and turned to Judge Murphy, who was busy banging his gavel on the wooden sound block.

“Order in the court!” Judge Murphy yelled. The crowd quieted. “Mr. Parker, it is the decision of this court that you are free to go, but…” He held up a finger to silence any interruptions. “Let me warn you, young man. I don’t want to see you in here again. You are headed down a road that will have a nasty end—and a short one. Next time, it won’t be so easy to get the same verdict.”

He banged the gavel down one final time, and the courtroom burst into frenetic energy. One half of the courtroom booed and grumbled in righteous indignation, and the other half cheered. Most of them got up immediately and headed for the door, as did the judge, already shrugging out of his robe.

Angie breathed a sigh of relief and felt herself relax. She quickly hid her emotions and smoothed down her suit skirt as her client, Rich Parker, turned to her with a rough grin and offered her his calloused hand.

“Never had a doubt,” Rich said, his eyes twinkling.

“I did,” she said, trying to return his smile. “This was a tough one. Judge Murphy had it in for you from day one.”

He studied her, letting go of her hand. “I had faith in you.”

She smiled and held back a self-effacing response.

He turned away. “Back to it, I guess.”

She watched him join the first row of the spectators. A woman who shared his delicate features and blonde hair grabbed him in a hug. Angie assumed that she was his mother. A teenage boy, nearly as handsome as Rich—but lacking his confidence—grinned beside them. He offered Rich a hand, but Rich grabbed him in a hug. Angie remembered Rich had a younger brother and assumed that was him. Rich kept a hand on his brother’s shoulder, as their mother led them out, flanked by the rest of the club.

Her eyes swept the emptying room and settled for a moment on those of the prosecuting attorney, Dan Harmon, who sneered.
Damn,
she thought. She hastily gathered up her papers and started to leave, but he caught her before she could exit the courtroom.

He smelled like he’d bathed in Aqua Velvet. He wore an obviously expensive suit—chosen because it was obviously expensive. His tie was a garish collage of aggressive colors that made her want to wince. He was one of those Ivy League types, born into privilege without ever having to fight for it. Angie’s blue collar roots balked at the sight of him.

“Good work today,” he said. She knew better than to trust his sincerity and waited for him to finish his thoughts. “You let a criminal walk free. Well done.”

“Maybe if you’d done a better job making a case against him, you could’ve shown that. However, your case was weak, and your evidence was weak. Maybe that’s because he didn’t do it.”

His eyes flashed. “Whatever helps you sleep at night,” he said. He leaned in so that the cologne smell was overpowering. “Everybody knows you’ve developed a
close relationship
with your client.”

Angie’s jaw dropped open—which only made Dan smile.

“Nice outfit,” he added. “You know, Judge Murphy is a leg man.”

She couldn’t help but look down at her skirt. It ended just at the knees, showing off her calves.

Dan put his finger to his cheek with a mock-thoughtful look. “I wonder if that had any influence on his decision.” His forced smile turned into an expression of feigned surprise, like that of a baby who’d just knocked over his bottle. “You have a good day.” She watched him walk out, as she stood there, quivering with rage in the emptying courtroom.

***

The bar was well-lit and not at all smoky. In fact, it was clean and cozy. Music played in the background, but not too loudly. Angie loved the idea of a romantic, smoky bar, but the reality was too unpleasant for real life. She hopped on a cushioned stool and ordered a shot of whiskey.

She slapped her cigarettes and lighter down on the bar, telling herself she was just carrying them to test her will. She threw back her drink and slammed the empty shot glass back onto the wood. She couldn’t stop thinking about what that asshole Dan had said.

The TV over the bar was on, and she watched it, trying to distract herself. The news came on, and she saw a picture of Rich. Someone yelled at the bartender to turn up the volume, but she still couldn’t really make out what was being said—though the pictures told enough of the story. It cut from a picture of him, grinning on his bike, to the garage, to an interview with the arresting officer. Then, just to hammer it home, it cut to a man-on-the-street interview with a local busybody in front of the garage, shaking her head a lot and looking over her shoulder in fear at the building. Angie was sure she was saying something along the lines of,
Think of the children
. Next, it cut to a shot of her leaving the courthouse a few hours ago—in the exact outfit she still wore.

“Shit,” Angie said.

The shot went back to the street in front of the garage. The busybody was gone, and the screen was now shared by the picture of Rich and the reporter soapboxing about diminishing community values or something of the sort.

There were cheers from deeper in the bar, but Angie was afraid to even look around, lest someone throw blood on her. She rubbed her eyes and dug a cigarette out and put it in her lips, clicked the lighter and was raising it to the white tube when the bartender knocked on the wood in front of her.

“No smoking, ma’am,” he said.

She held the flame almost to the cigarette for a moment, stunned more over what she’d seen on TV than this.

The annoyance grew on the man’s face, and he put his hands on his hips. “Am I going to have to ask you to leave?”

“Fuck,” she said. “Look, I’m having a really bad day.”

The bartender held up his hands. “Sorry. It’s illegal to smoke in any bar in the state. Aren’t you some kind of lawyer? Shouldn’t you know that?”

She crammed the cigarette back in the pack. “Yeah, I am the most hated lawyer in town.”

The bartender gave her a put-upon look. She held up her hands.
“I’m going outside,” she said. “Save my seat.” She gathered her cigarette pack and lighter and stormed for the door.

The night air was cool on her face. Away from the building, the noise dwindled. She was shaking as everything hit her. She crossed her arms to keep them still and stepped away from the building to light the cigarette. She threw her head back and sucked smoke in. A moan of pleasure escaped her.

“Anything special in those?” a voice said.

She turned and saw Rich Parker leaning against the building, watching her with a bemused but nervous smile. He’d traded in his ill-fitting slacks and shirt for a motorcycle jacket with the sleeves cut off and jeans.

“I haven’t had one all day,” she said.

“Too busy righting wrongs?”

She laughed. “No, well, yeah, but I quit smoking yesterday.”

“How’s that going?”

She exhaled a long line of smoke. “Not too well.”

He chuckled.

“Well, mind if I join you, then, to celebrate?” He held up his own cigarette. “Unless we shouldn’t be seen together, since you were my lawyer.”

“We’ve just been seen together or have you not watched the news?”

“That’s why I’m out here. I left as soon as it started. They showed you, huh?”

She nodded, fighting back tears for a moment.

“I guess we’re both famous.”

He stood, awkward and unsure until she gestured at him. “Go ahead and smoke. It’s a free country. I just came out here to have a moment to myself to process.”

“Cool.” He held up his hands.

She strode out into the graveled parking lot to give herself some distance from the building.

Behind her, she heard rustling. When she looked, she saw that Rich had stuck the cigarette in his mouth and was searching through his leather jacket, working his way from breast pockets down to his jeans pockets. He looked up at her and showed his empty hands.

“Reckon I could borrow that one?” He pointed at her cigarette.

“I thought the club gave you a lighter with membership?” She walked over to him and handed him her lit cigarette. Her hand shook, as she offered it. He took the cigarette, lit his, and sucked in smoke, before handing hers back.

He squatted down to lean against the wall. “Thanks. Cop a squat. I promise I won’t bite.”