Rawlings exchanged another look. Rawlings nodded.
“Okay, but it’ll still be a minute, Doc Johnson is checking him,” Brower said.
“No, he’s not, we saw Doc driving down the street not ten minutes ago,” Navajo Joe said. “Can we dispense with this happy horseshit and get this lawyer to his client, please? Some of us actually have to work for a living.”
Rawlings didn’t want to give in, but he was trapped. “Lawyer only. You other two stay here, where I can see you.”
Brower snapped his fingers and led Melvin on back. Rawlings turned to Moore. “Call the DA’s office, have them get someone down here.”
“Already did, Sheriff, but…”
“But what?”
“The only ADA currently available was Dubya De—” Moore stopped himself before finishing. Navajo Joe heard the slip and laughed.
“Camilla ‘Dubya Dee’ Leon, the one and only brown person working in the DA’s office. This ain’t your day, is it, Ted?”
Brower returned, stood next to Rawlings as the sheriff seethed.
“What about bail? You gonna cite him out?” Joe asked.
“Not a chance, violent offender.”
“What? What’s he charged with?” Thumper asked.
“Obstruction of justice, assaulting a law enforcement officer, resisting arrest.”
“My ass. Who’d he assault? Who arrested him?” Thumper said.
“He assaulted me,” Rawlings said. “And the two of us arrested him.”
“That’s a goddamn fucking lie. If Slick assaulted you, you’d be walking in plaster, if you could walk at all, and if he decided to resist arrest, you wouldn’t even have gotten the cuffs on him. You’re a bald fucking liar, Sheriff,” Thumper said.
Rawlings involuntarily put his hand on the baton at his belt, his intent clear. Navajo Joe slid between the two.
“For an assault victim, you have nary a blemish, Ted,” Navajo Joe said.
“He’s also suspected of drug trafficking.”
“What! That’s a hot crock of shit, you fuckers!”
Navajo Joe held up his hand to keep Thumper at bay, glanced at Rawlings.
“You find drugs on him?”
“No, but there were other indicators—” Brower began.
“Then you’ve got nothing on that, you’re reaching,” Navajo Joe said. “I’d be happy to call the state’s narco specialist to help you figure that out, if need be. He owes me a favor. All that’s left is the assault and resisting arrest charge.”
“And obstruction of justice.”
“If you’re not gonna cite him out, what about bail?”
“Not up to us, up to the judge.”
“That’s another crock and you know it. Think I just got off the reservation? Try again. You can bail him out now if you want to. You got cash, Thumper?”
“I got cash, I got bond, security, I got it all.”
Thumper plopped a bag on the counter. Unzipped it. Loaded with money.
“So why not take the way of less stress, Ted? Bail our friend out and then we’ll be out of what little hair you have left on your head,” Navajo Joe said.
“I’ll think about it.”
“While you think about that, also think about this. I might ask a few of my fellow troopers to join me for lunch here in town at the diner every day. You remember Mohammad Jones, played tackle for the Chargers for a few years? He’s a trooper now. He remembers you, Ted, and none too fondly. You pulled him over for a busted taillight one night, years ago when he was driving back to college after winter break, except it wasn’t busted until after you stopped him. Like I said, he remembers you none too fondly. There’s quite a few fellows I know like that, big, dark and unreasonable when the subject turns to Sheriff Ted Rawlings. We can congregate here every day, for lunch.
“You know they have a size requirement for the staties, right? You gotta be a big bastard to be considered for State Patrol, not like being a deputy where the sheriff hires whoever he wants regardless of qualifications or their physical condition or mental capacity. You actually have to be able to do the job to be a
“Okay, but it’ll still be a minute, Doc Johnson is checking him,” Brower said.
“No, he’s not, we saw Doc driving down the street not ten minutes ago,” Navajo Joe said. “Can we dispense with this happy horseshit and get this lawyer to his client, please? Some of us actually have to work for a living.”
Rawlings didn’t want to give in, but he was trapped. “Lawyer only. You other two stay here, where I can see you.”
Brower snapped his fingers and led Melvin on back. Rawlings turned to Moore. “Call the DA’s office, have them get someone down here.”
“Already did, Sheriff, but…”
“But what?”
“The only ADA currently available was Dubya De—” Moore stopped himself before finishing. Navajo Joe heard the slip and laughed.
“Camilla ‘Dubya Dee’ Leon, the one and only brown person working in the DA’s office. This ain’t your day, is it, Ted?”
Brower returned, stood next to Rawlings as the sheriff seethed.
“What about bail? You gonna cite him out?” Joe asked.
“Not a chance, violent offender.”
“What? What’s he charged with?” Thumper asked.
“Obstruction of justice, assaulting a law enforcement officer, resisting arrest.”
“My ass. Who’d he assault? Who arrested him?” Thumper said.
“He assaulted me,” Rawlings said. “And the two of us arrested him.”
“That’s a goddamn fucking lie. If Slick assaulted you, you’d be walking in plaster, if you could walk at all, and if he decided to resist arrest, you wouldn’t even have gotten the cuffs on him. You’re a bald fucking liar, Sheriff,” Thumper said.
Rawlings involuntarily put his hand on the baton at his belt, his intent clear. Navajo Joe slid between the two.
“For an assault victim, you have nary a blemish, Ted,” Navajo Joe said.
“He’s also suspected of drug trafficking.”
“What! That’s a hot crock of shit, you fuckers!”
Navajo Joe held up his hand to keep Thumper at bay, glanced at Rawlings.
“You find drugs on him?”
“No, but there were other indicators—” Brower began.
“Then you’ve got nothing on that, you’re reaching,” Navajo Joe said. “I’d be happy to call the state’s narco specialist to help you figure that out, if need be. He owes me a favor. All that’s left is the assault and resisting arrest charge.”
“And obstruction of justice.”
“If you’re not gonna cite him out, what about bail?”
“Not up to us, up to the judge.”
“That’s another crock and you know it. Think I just got off the reservation? Try again. You can bail him out now if you want to. You got cash, Thumper?”
“I got cash, I got bond, security, I got it all.”
Thumper plopped a bag on the counter. Unzipped it. Loaded with money.
“So why not take the way of less stress, Ted? Bail our friend out and then we’ll be out of what little hair you have left on your head,” Navajo Joe said.
“I’ll think about it.”
“While you think about that, also think about this. I might ask a few of my fellow troopers to join me for lunch here in town at the diner every day. You remember Mohammad Jones, played tackle for the Chargers for a few years? He’s a trooper now. He remembers you, Ted, and none too fondly. You pulled him over for a busted taillight one night, years ago when he was driving back to college after winter break, except it wasn’t busted until after you stopped him. Like I said, he remembers you none too fondly. There’s quite a few fellows I know like that, big, dark and unreasonable when the subject turns to Sheriff Ted Rawlings. We can congregate here every day, for lunch.
“You know they have a size requirement for the staties, right? You gotta be a big bastard to be considered for State Patrol, not like being a deputy where the sheriff hires whoever he wants regardless of qualifications or their physical condition or mental capacity. You actually have to be able to do the job to be a
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