Page 50 of Wild Temple
By now, the amber sun filtered through the gap in the drapes. It was a new day, and we were dead-ass tired. The adrenaline rush had died down, but we were both still edgy.
A gentle knock at the door sent a jolt through me. I figured it was Brooke, but I was still a little nervy.
I hurried to the door and peered through the peephole—two cops were at the door.
I hustled back down the foyer and across the room to the balcony. Jack knew by the look on my face it wasn’t good. I stepped onto the balcony, looking for an escape route.
Two cops by the pool below spotted me and pointed. One drew his pistol.
I ducked back into the room. We were out of options.
I didn’t think shooting our way out of this scenario was a good move.
JD and I hid the pistols and ammo in the toilet tank. We were stone-cold busted, but why make it easy for them?
We waited for them to break the door down. They stormed in with weapons drawn, shouting. Angry barrels pointed at us. “Down on the ground! Now!”
JD and I complied.
Soon, cold steel ratcheted around our wrists.
The runts had a hard time getting me on my feet. I didn’t make it easy for them.
Nobody read us our rights. It wasn’t like that here. The best course of action was to just keep our mouths shut and ask for an attorney. But I wasn’t optimistic about our prospects. It could be days, weeks, or months before we got access to a lawyer—and then he might not be any good. Probably on the payroll.
We had done some pretty messed up things, albeit with the best of intentions. But you know what they say about the road to hell. We were certainly headed there. I dreaded the worst.
The cops escorted us out of the room and down the hallway to the elevators. We plunged down to the main lobby, and they perp-walked us outside.
I looked around for Brooke but didn’t see her. I worried they had already arrested her, though I’m not sure for what crime. Around here, you might not need to commit a crime to get arrested.
We were about to get a crash course on due process, or lack thereof.
29
Iknew things weren’t going to go our way when the cops drove us in the opposite direction of the police station.
We headed out of town, sweating in the backseat of the tiny patrol car. Another cop car followed behind us. The dense foliage whizzed by on my right, the teal waves crashing against the white sand beaches on my left. Paradise had never been so horrible.
After a few miles, we turned onto another road, then drove for a bit and made another left onto a dirt road. The parade of patrol cars kicked up dust as we headed deeper into the jungle. Lush foliage and towering trees shrouded the road.
We turned onto another narrow dirt road and made our way to a rusty old warehouse made from corrugated tin.
Tires crunched across gravel, grinding to a halt.
The cops hopped out of their vehicles, pulled open our doors, and motioned us out with the barrels of their pistols.
"Move!"
A black SUV was parked outside. It was shiny and new and had just been washed. The road grime had kicked up a little dust on the rocker panels.
The cops forced us into the dim shack, where we met our true adversaries.
Two big bruisers in gray suits flanked a smaller man in between them. I recognized one of the bruisers from the Black Opal.
The man in the middle was short and lean, with the ropey muscles of a martial artist. He was a local man with a stylish black collared shirt and grey slacks. Slim wore dark aviator sunglasses and maintained a stoic demeanor. "So glad you could join us.”
“On the ground!” A dirtbag cop kicked me in the back of the knee, but I didn’t go down as anticipated.
