Page 40 of Pen Me

“You’re shaking,” she pointed out.

Damn. I was.

“Which one?” I tried to change the subject.

“Huh?”

“Which public pretender did they assign to my case?”

She snorted at my fondness for the term, “Tim Schooly.”

“Jesus.” I grunted, unable to really drum up too much disappointment. I didn’t have any faith in them to begin with, after all.

Still...

I’d rather have a used car salesmen plead my potential murder case than trust the matter to Tim Schooly, and that was on his sober days. It wasn’t even lunch, and his eyes were already bloodshot. His hair was disheveled, and he had a slightly sour, acidic smell about him that left me pinching my face up and staring longingly at the door.

I wanted to burn that green bike, and Griz right along with it. The fantasy of doing so was vividly playing in my mind, distracting me from the shuffling of papers and that acrid smell.

What type of shit was that, anyway? Ziggy had a fit that I wrote her a damned letter, but it was okay for her to be sprawled half-naked over a lesser Savage’s bike?

No fucking way.

She was mine, damn it!

“Mr. Zade?” I blinked and slowly returned my attention to him. “Mr. Zade, did you hear what I said? Keefe Kilbride died a few hours ago. Your charges are going to be elevated to homicide.”

I let out a breath that sounded more like a scoff when it blessed the air.

“So, I’m to be executed?”

“Capital punishment was abolished in this state long ago, son.”

I laughed and shook my head, “Tell that to the Irish, see if it buys me any time, would ya?”

Schooly stared dumbfounded across the length of the table.

“Right.” I nodded. “Tell you what, I’m sure you got a busy day with the bottle ahead of ya, Tim. Why don’t you get to it, and I’ll get to what I got to do.”

The paper shuffling instantly stopped, and he stared at me with those bloodshot eyes.

“And what is it you think you have to do, Mr. Zade?” Schooly asked, his nasal tone droning on until that one question stretched for miles.

“Survive, dumbass. What the fuck else would I do?”

What type of new blood did this bastard think I was? I wasn’t going to go shouting out any plan of action to him, even if I had one. The state was paying him, not me. I didn’t give a fuck what they said about attorney privilege.

“Guard.” I barked, slapping on the table.

Schooly shot out of the room with his shoddy briefcase the minute the door sounded, leaving me to inwardly curse him for his uselessness. I turned, bringing both hands behind the small of my back for cuffing. I could hear the heavy meal cart they brought the trays on in the distance. It grew louder and louder. Then hands roughly grabbed either of my arms and I was flung backwards.

“What the fuck?” I snapped, twisting in their grip.

It was pointless, there was a team of officers on me in minutes, restraining me to the chair.

“Hey, I didn’t do anything,” I pointed out, as the straps were made tighter. “Stop!”

Of course, they didn’t stop, the biggest of them got behind the wheeled restraint chair and I was pushed from the room in acalm, procedural manner. Well, for their part. I was screaming like a goddamn banshee, but I’m sure that was a normal sight for those being strapped to the chair.

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