Page 29 of The Wrong Side of the Law

“Not tonight,” Mayfield answers. “Not unless we’re bringing you a roommate, at least.”

My little brother’s eyes go as wide as dinner plates, and he starts making a high-pitched sound.

“Hey! Hey!” I reach through the bars and grab his head, forcing him to turn and face me. “Look at me. You can’t get out of here until your bail’s been set. That will happen at your arraignment and bail hearing. The judge will want you to plead guilty or not guilty, and then he’ll decide how much to set the bail at.”

“Emily, please,” he pleads.

He’s whining, but who could blame him? I’m sure I’d be screaming my throat out and banging my face into the bars in terror by now, if I was in his place.

I shake my head, and the look of fear and defeat that he gives me just breaks my heart.

“There’s nothing that I can do, Francis. Not tonight. I can’t do anything until after your arraignment and bail hearing.”

I don’t even want to mention the other possibility: half a kilo, that’s over a pound of Ecstasy. Could be as many as a thousand pills. The judge could deny bail altogether.

“I swear, Emily, that stuff’s not mine. I got no clue how it got there,” he says. “I don’t do drugs! I don’t sell drugs! I’m not—what did they call it? I’m not a trafficker! I’m not that stupid!”

“I know that.” I pack as much soothing conviction into my voice as possible, but I’d bet he’s passed a joint around with his buddies more than once. This is neither the time nor place to open that can of worms, though.

“And why would I do a thing like that?” His voice is frantic, and he grips the bars so hard that his knuckles are white. “Everything was going great for me. The tour is going so well. I was on my way somewhere, but now? This is going to ruin me.”

“No! It will not ruin you,” I say. “We’re going to work this out, okay? But for right now you just need to stay calm. You’ll be home in no time.”

“Time’s up,” Mayfield says, as gently as he can under the circumstances. “Time to go, Miss Wilson.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, little brother,” I say.

Francis Junior slowly lets go of the bars, one finger at a time, and retreats back to the corner of the cell. He’s fighting tears, and by the way that his lip trembles, he’s going to lose the fight soon.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I tell my brother, and turn away so that we can both pretend I don’t know he’s going to cry. “Tomorrow! I promise!”

But as the door closes behind me I wonder whether I’m in over my head.

I don’t care. He’s my brother. He’s the only family I have left, and that matters to me.

I’m not his only family though, and that’s something else I have to deal with.

Gritting my teeth, I set off to find his mother.

* * *

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