Beneath the Stain - Part 3 Read Online Free PDF

look at Blake’s contract and see if he could force that issue. For one thing, putting Mackey and Blake in the same room for some deep soul-searching might be a way to keep Blake in the music business. Trav was pretty sure that without the family support the Sanders boys had, Blake wouldn’t last long if they kicked him out.
    Trav refused to analyze his lack of regret at that thought—why losing Blake as lead guitarist didn’t pluck a single guilt string while having Mackey descend into the pit Trav had just pulled him out of annihilated him.
    When he got back, Heath was there, carrying a suit bag for Trav and a knapsack for Mackey.
    “God, did you just buy me clothes?” Trav asked. He set the pink donut box down so he could take the bag from Heath. The price tag still dangled from the hanger.
    “How many old friends from the service do you think I have?” Heath muttered. “Now do you have a place you can clean up? Debra sent you a kit last night, but the nurse said you were too out of it to put on your jammies and brush your teeth. I can’t believe you went out like that. You look homeless.”
    Trav groaned. He didn’t even want to look—he was pretty sure Heath was being nice.
    “ Animaniacs ,” Mackey said, clearly delighted as he opened the knapsack and took out a brand new pair of pj’s. “Fuckin’ awesome! I ain’t seen these guys since I was a kid!” He took the pajamas from Heath and swung his legs around to stand up. A look of discomfort crossed his face, and he settled back up on the bed. “I’ll change into these after I eat my apple fritters,” he said, like he was fooling anyone. “Trav can help me into ’em—I’m feeling sort of weak.”
    Trav met his eyes then, and the world stuttered. Weak, sore, and vulnerable. Trav nodded. Yeah, he understood. “Yeah, okay, Mackey. Let’s hear what Heath has to say while you eat, okay?”
    What Heath had to say reflected pretty well on the LAPD, actually. For one thing, the recording studio had security cameras everywhere. The cops had a great shot of this Charleston guy drugging Mackey’s drink and another of him guiding an obviously out-of-it Mackey into the hallway. There weren’t any pictures from the outside of the building, but that didn’t matter—they had the guy’s DNA, and that was all they had to say before he’d called lawyer and the lawyer called deal.
    “What’s the deal?” Trav asked grimly.
    Heath looked at them both. “The deal is, you come down and sign as Mackey’s proxy—it’s in the contract you can do that for just such emergencies, so don’t worry, all real. And this guy goes in for three years, aggravated assault, and nobody breathes the rape charge—not him, not his lawyer, not anybody. But we’ve got his DNA on file—if he does it again, we’ve got him dead to rights.”
    Mackey exhaled unhappily. He put his half-eaten apple fritter down on the little portable table. Trav wanted to sit there and feed it to him, bite by bite. “God. I hate that thought,” he muttered. “I hate it, like I’m a big fucking coward, taking the back door out.” He laughed grimly at his own pun. “Man, what kind of waste of fucking skin am I, I can’t fight on—”
    “Shut up,” Trav said gruffly. “Eat your fucking donut and thank God the justice system runs on wheels greased with money. Mackey, I’ve seen these trials, you understand? I’ve seen women up on the stand facing down their whole fucking platoon—and neither of the lawyers are on their side. The whole world wants them to think the worst of themselves, and by the end of the trial? They do. If you were in prime fighting shape? I’d say go for it. If you’d already come out to the press, were clean and sober? Yeah. You cry rape and get this guy hanged for a scumbag. But right now they’re going to try the victim, and Mackey, I know you’re innocent, but—”
    “You what?” Mackey said, staring at him.
    “I know you’re innocent. Heath knows