Absolute Power (Southern Justice #1 (4 page)

My family didn’t share my enthusiasm, chastising me for being too good to hang around the trailer all day. Daddy wanted me to run his shine up north, said no one would suspect an innocent girl like me of wrongdoing.

Gigi brought home a young man, Shane, no nickname, just Shane. He was several years older than me, worked at the lumber mill in town. Daddy liked him instantly, as he brought with him names of men who would pay top dollar for his moonshine.

Shane became a recurring fixture in the trailer, although he never moved in, he never missed a day stopping by. Gigi began calling him my boyfriend and he didn’t correct her. We went to a couple movies, but he preferred hanging around the family instead. I didn’t mind him being around, he told me he loved me about a month after we started hanging out. I gave him my virginity and I was pretty sure I took his as well.

Sex with Shane was nothing like the way Gigi and Cheyenne described it. Most of the time, I counted the stars in the sky as he grunted and panted above me. He was always tender and told me how much he loved me. I felt nothing, not a shiver or spark as many described, just…nothing.

I had few friends when I was younger; too embarrassed to bring anyone to see where I lived. So when graduation day came, I chose not to tell Shane about it. Gigi and Daddy had already told me they would be too busy to attend anyway. I knew what they really meant. I had been receiving constant teasing for being an “egghead” wanting to finish school to get ahead in life. Their words made my decision to leave and never return so much easier.

Strangers clapped for me as I walked across the stage in my red and yellow graduation gown, my honors cords dangling in the summer breeze. I applied to every college at least a hundred miles away from here, knowing I wanted nothing to do with ever coming back.

I studied hard, kept my nose clean and managed to graduate third in my class, enough for the University of Kentucky to take notice. I was awarded a full scholarship to study nursing. I packed my belongings in a single suitcase I got from a second hand shop in town and gave a short goodbye to my brothers and sisters. Shane hugged me tight and said he would wait for me. I told him to find happiness.

College was an eye-opening experience. For one, I had my first real shower. Unlike the trailer, the showers in my dorm managed an endless supply of hot water. You didn’t have to brave the cold to wash yourself thoroughly.

I also got lucky in roommate assignments. Melinda grew up barely fifty miles away. She was seeing an older man her parents knew nothing about. She came in, let her mother fix up her side of the room and left a minute after her parents. She tossed me her key and said I could have anything she was leaving behind.

I crawled into the sheets her mother had so delicately placed on her bed, delighting in the fresh smell and unbelievable comfort they provided.

I studied even harder, made friends with the Dean and housing director. These relationships allowed me to stay in the dorms during the holidays and summer vacation.

When graduation arrived, I once again crossed the stage to the applause of complete strangers. I feared my future, because I knew I would have to take the state nursing exam in order to get a job. This meant I would have to go back to my family’s trailer until I could take the test.

As I packed my room, vastly more items to carry this time, I knew I had to contact them and let them know I was coming. I called the only number I had, Shane’s cell phone. Oddly enough, he was sitting in the trailer and handed the phone to Gigi.

She began talking a mile a minute about Daddy being back in prison and new grandbabies running around. However, the one saving grace she managed to give me was the news her brother had just suffered a massive stroke. She insisted since I was already a nurse, it was my responsibility to go and take care of him.

I jumped up and down after I got off the phone. I wouldn’t have to deal with the scrutiny I was certain would come my way now that I was a professional.

Uncle Melvin lived in Charleston, South Carolina in a small house near a major hospital. I spoke with the lady who was currently helping him. She said she would tell him to expect me as soon as he woke from his nap.

Charleston was far enough away from Kentucky I wouldn’t have to worry about the family. Georgia, the lady who was taking care of Uncle Melvin, was the poster child of what a mother should be. She took me by the hand and showed me around the area. She brought over hot meals and even taught me how to cook.

Uncle Melvin, who was a soft-spoken, kind old man, contacted a friend of his in the State Senate to help me obtain my nursing license. He wanted me to thrive and go on to become someone special. He knew his time was limited; the stroke had taken so much from him.

He died on a Friday afternoon. I called Shane’s phone to tell Gigi her brother had passed, but all she wanted to know was when his will would be read. I hung up on her.

“Code blue. Emergency room, bed two. Code blue. Emergency room, bed two.”

The hospital operator announced, ending my walk down nightmare lane. Bed two was Mr. Peterson, my patient and my responsibility.

Show someone hate and malice and it will come back to bite you… show them mercy and love and you’re taking giant steps to building a better humanity.

~ Thomas Pina

M
arket street precinct housed my office and doubled as my second home. In the early years, during the time where horsepower was of the four-legged kind and not mass-produced by the plants in Detroit, the building was known to be a brothel. It served as a refuge to tired military soldiers as they fought proudly for their beliefs, while other gentlemen patrons escaped the drama which filled their Southern plantations.

Not surprising was the circular plate on the front of the building, a banner of sorts, telling firefighters the building was to be protected in case a fire broke out. Not every building in the area could claim the standing; they didn’t supply the same service either.

After my run with Carson, I headed here to get ready for the hellish day the city had planned for me. Celia, my secretary, greeted me with a cup of much needed coffee and a copy of the video footage from last night’s attack. Being division Captain allowed me a few liberties, such as a private shower and pull-out couch in my office.

Once I was rid of the stench of my workout and half a cup of coffee doing its magic to my brain function, I cued up the video and began to watch.

The first few frames showed a vacant Charleston parking lot with the occasional stream of headlights from a passing car. Then, around a minute and a half in, three individuals entered the frame. At first, they seemed to be waiting on something—standing on the corner of the parking lot, heads turning like on a hinge.

Thirty seconds later, a man in a lab coat entered the screen as he passed the three individuals, nodding a hello in their direction. All three watched him without reacting as he walked by.

Then, at the five-minute mark, the man in the lab coat entered the frame again. This time, the three men attacked, hitting him from behind. My anger built as I watched them kicking him repeatedly as his body lay prone on the concrete. It was a full four minutes before hospital security arrived to assist the man.

According to the responding officer’s report, Dr. William Gillman, the victim in the case, was taking a break after treating several car crash patients earlier in the evening. Now, he was one of the patients receiving overnight observation at University Hospital.

Physician examination showed four broken ribs, a mild concussion, and an eye they weren’t entirely certain about. They would need to wait until the swelling diminished before any answers could be given.

“Sir, the hospital called, said to tell you Gillman just woke up.” Celia, spoke from the next room. She had been a street cop for the city until about ten years ago, when a gang shooting ended her career. When she applied for the job; I made a few calls to ensure she was offered the position. I needed someone who could separate important information from the bullshit rumors, which seemed to come through faster.

Her reputation for being a street-smart cop came in handy on many occasions. However, based on the cut and dry evidence on the tape, we wouldn’t need her this time.

“Thanks, Celia. Do we know if the bastards bonded out yet?”

She entered my office, a number two pencil tucked behind her left ear. My guys had once asked her if she ever removed it. Without looking them in the eye, she responded she did everything with the pencil in place, even sucked her husband’s dick at night. She was one of the guys and she never let any of us forget it.

“Nope, but Anderson has already been called in. One of the accused is a member of the Street Crew gang.”

Fuck my life, Corbin Anderson was a well-known attorney in town. He and my father were once partners. Their friendship, and professional relationship, ended when Anderson wanted to become a “voice of the people,” a term he coined. Anderson wanted to have huge billboards around the city, specializing in civil action lawsuits. Primarily dealing with accidental injury, workers’ comp and wrongful death. He wanted to have a paralegal on hand in every emergency room waiting area, to answer legal questions, of course.

My father had a more simple and less corporate term for what he wanted, “Ambulance Chaser.” Anderson opened his own firm, working out of a van for nearly a year. Now he had three offices, several partners and one of those billboards on every street corner.

His third wife just left him for one of my father’s junior associates. Seemed being a “voice of the people” could lead to going without a paycheck, due to court systems taking such a long time to get around to your case or the multitude of appeals adding years to the final result.

My father, Dean Morgan, was the senior partner in the law firm he took over from my granddad, Forrest VanBuren. When he met and married my mother, Priscilla, Granddad made it clear he had aspirations to fill a Senate seat. Once he was comfortable with my father at the helm, he ran unopposed in the election.

“Good luck with the interrogation, Dylan.” Celia returned to her desk; an all-knowing chuckle coating her words. She had been here long enough to know I didn’t always follow the rules when it came to interrogating a suspect. Especially one with a record as long as I suspected for this particular scumbag.

If Celia’s information was correct, one of Anderson’s paralegals would be greeting me the second I crossed the threshold to the jail. Didn’t matter, he or she wouldn’t be the first paralegal I made piss their pants.

Navy blue pinstripes were a signature look for any newly employed paralegal. You could smell the remnants of the cellophane he was pulled from as he received his assignment. Eagerness to please his new boss reflected in the bounce he was trying to hide.

Today I was feeling generous and planned to say good morning and be on my way, see if his boss filled him in on who to watch for. Checking up the street for cars, I headed in his direction. He was looking side to side, hands deep in his most likely empty pockets, hair still pressed back against his head.

As a street cop, a guy like this would worry me, wrong clothes for this part of town. I would have recommended he move along unless he was looking for trouble.

“Mornin’,” I called casually as I opened the glass door. I was greeted by the sounds of phones ringing and arrestees proclaiming their innocence. Against the far wall sat a pair of hookers, their clothes giving their profession and any person for thirty feet a clear view of what they had to offer.

“Mr. Morgan.” A shout from behind me caused a smirk to form on my face; seemed our newbie finally woke up. I ignored the suit on purpose, continuing down the hall in the direction of central lockup.

“Excuse me, Captain.” He shouted a little louder this time. Andrea, the front desk girl, shook her head in amusement. She had seen me do this very thing one too many times.

“Captain,” he tried shouting again. “Captain Morgan.”

My footsteps stopped, but I remained facing away from him. When we first learned I was making Captain, my little brother Chase threatened to buy me a pirate hat and a parrot; he was the funny one among the three of us. Austin questioned if I was going to be bringing rum to the family dinners from then on.