Absolute Power (Southern Justice #1 (43 page)

Fooling my friends and coworkers was easy, they assumed my foul mood was a direct result from my slow recovery. They didn’t see the tears I shed when I closed my apartment door. They didn’t know I had scrubbed myself nearly raw when I got home that first night in the shower. And what they really didn’t see, would never know, was how I asked myself in the mirror every morning how I could have been so stupid to fall for a guy like Dylan?

Sitting inside my sanctuary, the break room I had discovered long ago, my shift had ended nearly an hour earlier. Lainie would be home tomorrow and I wouldn’t be able to keep this from her for a minute.

I reached inside my bag and pulled my silent and forgotten cell phone out. Pressing the power button, I allowed the screen to come to life with the multitude of new messages I would never examine. I pressed the numbers I knew by heart and waited patiently as the sounds of the impending call went through. As his deep voice reverberated through to my ear, the uncontrollable sobs broke free. He begged me to tell him where I was, but my emotions wouldn’t allow a single word to come through. He waited with reassuring words as the hurt and anguish took over my body. Not once did he ask what was wrong, he knew by the forceful crying.

“Can you meet me at the coffee shop?” My tears let up enough to get out a few words. He would know which one, the only one we ever went to. “And don’t tell Dylan.”

Thirty minutes later, I sat slumped in an overstuffed chair, my bag lying haphazardly at my feet. My back was intentionally facing the entrance, avoidance still lingering. All of these emotions weighed down on me, exhausting me in the process.

“Claire?” Carson appeared from thin air, as I never heard the bell over the door sound. “What’s going on?” He sat on the edge of the coffee table, his hands rested gently on my knees. I leaned forward, the sting of tears behind my eyes. I was sick of crying, allowing another human, and one who thought so little of me, to bring this ridiculous reaction from me.

“I’m sorry to drag you into this.” I sniffed the few tears, which managed to escape. “The last thing I want is to place you between a rock and a hard place.”

Carson wipes the traitor tears away, pulling me up from the chair and wrapping his arms protectively around me. “How about you let me decide what kind of position you’re about to put me in.”

We ordered coffee, Carson pulled out a tiny liquor bottle, a smirk on his face. “I thought this might come in handy.” He dumped half the bottle into my cup, motioning for me to drink up.

With the combination of the alcohol and the company present, my body was finally able to relax. Carson sat back, drinking his own coffee as I started to tell him my side of the story.

Two cups of spiked coffee later, Carson leaned forward, looked to the floor and rubbed his hands over his face several times.

“Claire, honey. I’m so sorry, but this is really my fault.”

Honesty is the highest form of intimacy

~Anonymous

“D
ylan, how am I supposed to tell him?”

The last few days had been a series of shit shows. Austin had phoned me, very cryptically telling me he had discovered something he needed my help with. Then Momma called to tell me the silver comb and brush set was missing from the china cabinet. I asked her if she called the police, but she reminded me I was still technically the police.

Austin’s news was currently dancing on a pole in the center of the stage. With her tits sandwiching the metal cylinder, an old as fuck man chanted for her to, “Show me the pearls!”

“I don’t know, man. How about, Chase your girl should leave her work clothes at work.” Judging by the fuck you look he shot my way, he didn’t share my humor.

“Listen, you and I both know our baby bro. He’ll defend the tramp until he walks in here and sees her.”

Chase for all of his good qualities, he had one major flaw. If the girl he was seeing at the time pissed on his leg and told him it was raining, he’d believe her. Showing him Harmony was actually a stripper would do more harm than good. We could try and bring him here, but knowing him, he would worry about what Harmony thought.

So we snapped a few photos, took two songs worth of video, and then got the fuck out of there.

Carson called me as I was about to pay Momma a visit. He was just finishing out his shift when he responded to a call in his neighborhood. “If you were truly serious about helping this city, meet me in an hour at your house.”

I called Dad and asked him if he could stall her for a couple of hours so I could meet with Carson.

I pulled up to my house to find Carson waiting against the back of his car, ankles crossed with his uniform shirt untucked. He looked upset and judging by the tone he used earlier, this was serious.

“Hey, you okay?” I questioned as I extended out my hand for him to shake, taking him into a man hug.

“Can we go inside first?” His no nonsense tone left no room for discussion. Unlocking the door and disabling the alarm, I headed for the fridge to grab a couple of beers. I popped the tops and handed one to Carson who said nothing before tipping the bottle back and consuming nearly half of it.

I crossed the room, and tossed myself on the couch, inviting him to join me.

“I need to know just how serious you are about this side business you want to start?” He sat in the chair Claire had claimed as her favorite.

“Very, you know this.”

He nodded his head, “Then I have something to discuss with you.” He tossed the remainder of his beer down his throat.

“You recall the couple who lives across the street, the Bensons?” Carson’s eyes were cold; reminding me of the time he found several children abandoned in an old car parked in an alley.

“Yes, he’s a banker, right?”

Carson nodded his head, “Uh huh, same guy.” He confirmed. “Georgia called me right before the end of my shift. Apparently, Francine came over pounding on the door, claiming she was tired of the abuse Franklin was inflicting on her.”

This was certainly news to me as I couldn’t recall ever hearing about any response calls to the residence. “So what’s the deal? Did you file a report?”

Carson face hardened, as he looked at me with disbelief. “No, Dylan. She’s sick of the bureaucratic bullshit and her husband’s ability to buy his way out of trouble.” His admission resounded in my ears.

“She’s willing to meet you at Mickey’s and Millie’s tonight and tell you her story, see if you can help her put an end to this.”

I wanted to help her, but in order to do this, really do this, I would have to lie to Claire. If something happened, I stood a rather large chance of going to prison. If Claire knew, she could be charged as an accessory. I cared for her too much to put her in that position. Yet, there was no way in hell I could ever let her go, allow another man to love her.

“If Claire questions…” I trailed off.

“Claire will be fine for now, tell her what ever you have to. If this goes south, she only knows what you tell her,” he instructed. “But if you choose to continue,” his finger pointed at me, “you tell her everything. If she is the girl I know her to be, she’ll be your biggest supporter.”

I swallowed hard, my heart pounding at the realization of what my thoughts held. “And if she doesn’t agree with what we’re doing?” I tossed out there.

“Come on, Dylan. Her family is a bunch of criminals, but she never once went to the law about them and she didn’t even care for them.”

Austin pulled all the financials on Mr. Franklin Benson; credit cards and bank accounts in three other countries. He and his wife had three children, the eldest had married last year and lives in Connecticut. Middle child, the black sheep of the family, had bounced from job to job and had been arrested several times for bullshit stuff. The youngest, was a sixteen year old girl.

Mickey’s and Millie’s was one of the new trendy restaurants just off Grand Boulevard. A few years ago, a few investors bought up several properties in the area, and offered some pretty good deals on rent. Even with all of the improvements, it’s still not a safe area. But for a meeting such as this one, this is most likely the best location.

Francine Benson, a fifty two year old woman, sat in a corner booth, with a tall, stemmed glass of what I suspected was wine, untouched just beyond her finger tips. By her choice in clothing alone, she would have fit right in with my Momma’s book club.

In all my years being a cop, I’ve seen plenty of abused spouses. Carson had been instrumental in schooling me in reading the face of a victim who was ready to make a change. Francine had ‘done’ written all over her.

I slid into the chair across from her, but she never flinched as my hands come to rest on the table. Years of being punched and cursed at will shut off the body’s auto responses. Her eyes remained downcast, another trait which told her story

“Mrs. Benson?” I began, my voice low and monotone.

“Franny,” she corrected. “Frank hates it when people call me Franny.”

Oh yes, she is so very done.

“Franny,” I repeated, ignoring the proper address. She doesn’t expect it, no doubt she is thinking she has to earn the title once again.

“My name is…”

“I know who you are. Frank hates you,” she responded matter of a factly. “He thinks you and your father take the fun out of this “piss ant town”.”

Frank Benson must have been a member of one of the underground gambling organizations. Right after I graduated college, several departments banded together to infiltrate the organization. My Dad worked his ass off to prosecute the accused. All these years later, he still had some lingering fans.

“Franny, what can I do to help you?”

She closed her eyes tightly, filling her lungs with as much air as she could, and then exhaling slowly as she opened her eyes.

“When I first married Frank, it was at the insistence of my father. I wanted to open my own catering business, but he wouldn’t hear of it.” She shook her head, shrugged her shoulders, and then held the position for a few minutes. “Frank did everything my father told him, until the day he passed away, just months after my oldest was born. Once he became the president of the bank, everything changed.”

A tall waiter interrupted her story, taking my drink order and sizing the two of us up. I know what he thought; we looked nothing alike to be related so she must be a cougar.

“Anyway, the moment I brought the baby home from the hospital, Frank became violent. If the house wasn’t the way he wanted it, he would hit me. When I didn’t fit into the clothes I’d worn before I’d become pregnant, he slapped me.” Not a single sign of emotion; no fear, hate or terror came across her face. This beautiful woman was completely broken, but she wasn’t defeated.

“I stayed with him, because my family expected it. A divorce would have ruined the family name. He never struck the children, only me, and for years I accepted it.”

Pulling something from her leather handbag, a photograph of a beautiful young girl. “This is my youngest, Suzanne.” She slid the photo across the table in my direction.

“She is a beautiful girl,” I responded as I held the picture in my hands.

“Last year, I found out Frank fathered a child by another woman, I asked for a divorce and at first he agreed. Apparently the mother of his child wanted the lifestyle I live.”

“You can dress up a pile of shit with a pink bow and sprinkles, but it’s still a pile of shit”

Granddaddy’s proverbs, told a story with so few words, yet made the situation so much clearer.

“But when Frank’s attorney looked over the paperwork he signed with my father, he called off the divorce, since he would walk away with nothing.”

I pushed the photo back across the table.

“Suzanne was given permission to start dating this year, a boy in her class caught her eye.” She placed the photo back in her handbag, her voice cracking. Now we were at the crux of what brought her here.

“She came home a week ago with a swollen lip. He had pressured her to have sex with him and she’d refused.” Her hands shook, pools of unshed tears building in her eyes.

“When I…” she stopped to catch her breath. “When I told her this was not acceptable behavior, she threw back at me this was what her Daddy did to me.” She pointed her index finger at herself, tears flowing freely down her cheeks.