Page 2 of Savage in the Streets
His words shouldn’t sting as badly as they do. Maybe I’d be at Harvard too if I’d grown up with two loving parents, in a safe home with better schools.
But instead, my mother died when I was nine, my father was a drunk, and I dropped out of school at fifteen.
That’s not to say I’ve been unsuccessful in life. At nineteen, me and two friends were able to get enough crowdfunding to open Savage Beauty, a hair, makeup, and tattoo shop that sees quite a lot of foot traffic.
Unfortunately, one of my friends fell in love with the needle and is now buried six feet under, and the other is stuck in their own downward spiral.
I’ve been trying to keep the lights on, but it was never meant to be a one-woman show.
“Look, Bailey, I don’t like seeing you like—”
The door opens, interrupting Detective Brawner.
A tall, suited man walks into the room, setting his briefcase down on the table and directing his attention at the detective.
“I’m going to have to ask you to disengage from my client.”
His client? Wow, this guy’s certainly a step up from the last public defender assigned to me.
The detective dons a sour look. “You must have the wrong interrogation room, Mr. Ward?”
Inwardly, I sigh. My heart sinks to my stomach, threatening to expel the contents. There’s no way that Mr. Ward, in his expensive suit and cocky grin, is a public defender.
“No, Craig,” the lawyer says. “I’m here to represent Ms. Savage, who is to go before the judge shortly.”
The detective scoffs. “That’s a load of horse shit, and you know it. There are at least a dozen other people waiting for their arraignment.”
“What? Are you surprised that someone like Bailey Savage is afforded the same privileges as, say…your son?”
Detective Brawner’s face flashes red. “My boy didn’t hurt no one! He was young and made a mistake.”
“Your son got behind the wheel of a car at three times the legal limit of intoxication. He could have killed someone, while Ms. Savage put no one in harm’s way.”
I cock a grin, lifting an enlightened brow at my foe.
Turns out you aren’t so perfect after all.
Detective Brawner’s lip curls into a sneer, but he says nothing.
“If you could be so kind as to secure her a police escort to the courthouse, we can be on our way.”
For a moment, it looks as if Detective Brawner is going to tell Mr. Ward to shove off, but instead, he takes a key from his belt and releases the lock chaining me to the table.
“I’ll be right back,” the detective says.
“Oh, and move us to another room. A private one that’s not being monitored,” Mr. Ward commands.
Detective Brawner complies, taking us to a corner room with a small table and two chairs.
A million questions bombard my brain, but before I can manifest one into speech, Mr. Ward says, “When we go before the judge, all you have to say is not guilty.”
“Don’t you want to know what happened?” I ask.
“I know why you’re here. We’ll talk about it later.”
“Who are you? I mean, the detective called you Mr. Ward, but how is it you can get special favors from a judge? And why would you do that for me?”
“My father is Preston Ward, who once upon a time, represented your grandfather. But that’s neither here nor there. I’m here because of your brother,” he says sharply.
