It's Just a Fantasy

It's Just A Fantasy

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Looking back, I still find it hard to believe how my life changed because I was targeted by a delusional madman who was wrapped up in a fantasy. Custer, my ass!

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I sighed when the blue lights came on, and turned into a parking lot. I pulled my wallet out and grabbed my license, making sure he could see the motorcycle endorsement. Idly wondering why he pulled me, I noticed the pissed off look on his face. Some just don't like bikers.

My helmet was off, to make sure he could match the face to the license. I was pulling it out when I looked up, just in time to see the fist coming. He hit me right between my eyes and it knocked me completely off the motorcycle, and when I hit the ground he put the boots to me. I was unconscious in five minutes.

I woke up in a jail cell, aching all over. When I got cognizant, I asked a jailer why I was there. He looked through his computer and came back to me.

"Driving while impaired. Speeding. Resisting arrest. What were you thinking?"

"I'm thinking I need a phone call." It took a little convincing, but when I told him I was a lawyer, well versed in my rights, and that anyone who denied them to me was in a world of shit, he called his supervisor and they couldn't get me a phone quick enough.

I got to call my boss. "Hey Glen, what's up?"

"I'm in jail, facing a shit load of charges, none of which I've done. I need help fast."

I heard his feet hit the floor with a thump. He tended to lay back in his recliner when he was relaxing. "Where are you?"

"At the city jail. I'd tell you what happened, but I don't know. I've been unconscious for two hours. I've also been beaten. My head hurts, my body hurts, and I'm not thinkin' too good right now. I need you in a major way."

"Unconscious? Why? Never mind. I'll be there in thirty minutes."

He was true to his word, and he didn't show up alone. All of the partners were there, and none of them looked happy. Harry went to the desk captian, and soon I was in one of the interview rooms. I told them all I knew, that I had been pulled over and the cop started beating on me as soon as he got out of the car.

Harry grunted, made about six phone calls, got me released, and took me straight to the hospital for blood work. I had zero percentage of alcohol in my system, and if I had been drunk three hours ago, there would have still been traces in my system. Monday we met with the DA. Harry didn't give him a chance to say hello. "We need the arrest report, a copy of the breathalyzer test, and most importantly, the body cam footage. Somebody stepped in shit, Bill, and they're about to splatter it all over you."

Bill, the DA, looked a little pale. "I have the report in front of me. It says your client was combative and uncooperative, and had to be subdued by force for the protection of the officer."

"My client has a hairline fracture of the jaw, a broken rib, two bruised ribs, a black eye, and assorted bruises and contusions. If he hadn't had that heavy leather jacket with kidney pads, it would have been a lot worse. I see nowhere in the arrest record where he was seen by a medical professional or offered assistance. He was in the hospital overnight to treat his injuries, and placed on concussion protocol. Bodycam footage, Bill, within 24 hours."

We got up and walked out, and Bill spent a couple hours scrambling before calling back and saying there was no footage. The officer had forgotten to turn it back on after using the restroom. We had expected something like that, and Harry had our investigators going along the route I took, looking for security footage. The parking lot I was pulled over at belonged to one of those 24 hour medical clinics, and they had excellent footage of the incident. It was pretty obvious what had happened.

I was fairly calm until I asked where my bike was, and they told me it had been stolen before the impound wrecker could get to it. I shouldn't have left the keys in it. The clinic footage showed the bike sitting there for seven hours before it was stolen. A guy just walked up, turned on the ignition, and rode away. It was later determined a wrecker was never dispatched.

I had an alarm and antitheft software, neither mattering if the keys were in the switch, but it did have GPS on it. It was traced to a local bike club, and after a warrant was served, they found most of the pieces. The rest had been stripped and shipped away. That bike was a custom job, and I'd sunk a ton of money into it. Somebody was going to pay.

Four days went by, and Harry told them if we didn't reach resolution by Friday, we were going public with the footage, along with a press conference asking pointed questions about the police department and DA office. I wondered what the stall tactics were about, it would seem the department would have wanted this settled as soon as possible, until one of our investigators walked in, grinning.

"Do you have any idea who the arresting officer is?"

"An asshole, sadist, powermad jerk?"

"Probably all that and more. Officer Jenkins is the son of Senator Horace Jenkins, and daddy is up for reelection. This might get a little tricky."

Well now, this put a whole new spin on it. My family were at the forefront of the opposite party. This was getting stranger by the second. I saw the name on the report, but didn't make the connection. Harry called me, telling me to drop by his house. I was home, recovering.

There was a man with Harry that I didn't know. He introduced me. "Glen, I'd like you to meet Morris Adsolum of Adsolum, Frazier, and Harris. He is going to represent you in any preceedings related to your arrest. One of his junior partners will be representing you in the civil suit. You cooperate in any way they tell you, and don't argue. You hear me?"

Know what's worse than having your father be your boss? Work for your uncle. He'll love you, but not enough to let you by with anything. Still, I grinned, shook hands, and signed the paperwork. I asked how I should address him, and he grinned. "Address me as Morris, Mr. A, or use my full name, in the respectful tone I would expect from a man whose ass I'm saving."

"Mr. A it is then."

He had me go over the events of the night. It was pretty simple. I had taken my girlfriend out to dinner, and had the video evidence of what time we came and left. Then it was off to a club, also fully covered by video, where we danced for three hours. It also shows me drinking nothing but mineral water, backed up by the receipts when I closed out my tab.

"What did you do then?"

I grinned. "I spent all evening wining and dining an attractive woman, then I took her home. What do you think happened?"

He tried to hide his smirk and asked if she could co-oberate my movements of the night. "I would, if I could find her. She's disappeared. I've called, texted, and messenged her, but she appears to have ghosted me. The investigators said she left town just after I was arrested."

"If you got her into bed, why didn't she spend the night?"

"She had to be home to take care of her father. Her family has a shift system in place, and Saturday morning was her turn. That's why I was on the bike so late at night. Avery loved to ride it, she said it got her own motor running."

"Have you met any of her family?"

"Just her mother. An unfriendly woman, but if my husband was slowly dying, I wouldn't be happy either."

"How long had you known her?"

"Four weeks. That last night was the only time we had sex, other than that if was kisses and a few light gropes."

"Do you know the officer that arrested you?"

"Never saw him before, and I couldn't pick him out a lineup if I had to. I only saw his face for a few seconds before he started kicking the hell out of me."

Mr. A showed me a photo. He looked vaguely familiar but I couldn't place why. Then it hit me I'd seen him in the papers, af his father's rallies. He often wore his unifrom, and nothing appeals to the law and order base like a cop for a son. I joked when I said it must be politically motivated. Mr. A's ears perked up. "What do you mean?"

I told him who his father was, and he went pale. Then he stood up and snapped his briefcase shut, and looked at my uncle. "Sorry, Harry, but the firm can't represent him. We do a lot of work for Jenkin's family, and this would be a conflict of interest."

Harry got it immediately. Adoslum was their fixer. "Sorry you feel that way, Morris. I would remind you that everything here has been said in confidence and can never be repeated. I want your word."

He held out his hand. "You have it," he said as he shook, then he said something to Harry and left.

"What was that all about?"

"It would seem politics run in their family. Daddy was grooming his son for a run at public office. When what he did hits the paper it could ruin any chance he has of ever achieving that. Buckle up, boy, it might get bumpy. Daddy will do anything in his power to get this to go away."

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Monday afternoon he walked into my office and handed me a card. "Your appointment is for six, they're giving you special consideration by staying late. They got a really good reputation son, and best of all they're not local. Carla will be driving you."

Carla was his administration assistant, a warm woman of forty three. They had been together almost from the time my father started the partnership. That's right, I was a lawyer, but we specialized in business law and rarely saw the inside of a courtroom. Our roles were more of negotiators and arbitrators, specializing in contracts for multinational corporations. It paid very very well, often millions were at stake, and you got what you paid for. We were the guys you hired to make sure nothing ever went to civil or criminal courts.

I apologized to Carla for taking away from her family and she laughed. "I'll get home to empty soda bottles and beer cans, with pizza and dirty dishes all over the kitchen and living room. They consider this a gift, because I prepare healthy meals most of the time. Don't worry about it."

We pulled into a small office building and found what we were looking for on the second floor. One small sign, "Watson & Watson, Attorneys At Law."

There was a young girl at the reception desk, looking bored out of her mind. I saw her shut a book and put it away. I recognized it, an English textbook I had used as a a high school student. She smiled brightly and said, "Hi! I'm Emily, my Dad is expecting you. Right this way."

She led me to a small office, opening the door to see a middleaged man with a cluttered desk. He rose and shook my hand. "Hi, you must be Glen. Harry sent you here via Mr. Adsolum. Interesting trail, that. I asked not to be told the specifics of what you need, so why don't you fill me in."

I still had the remnants of the black eye, and while my bruised and broken ribs were healing, I moved cautiously. I only had to bump them once to teach me not to ever do that again. I started my tale, and he held up his hand. "Before you go any farther, I'd like my partner to sit in."

His partner was a woman. A much younger, attractive woman with a nice smile and the ability to look you in the eye like she was a human lie detector. If she was married, I bet her husband didn't get away with diddly. I shook her hand and started from the beginning, telling them everything, including the political ramifications. Then I provided the video, and watched them as they watched it. The man frowned, the woman looked horrified. When it was over they sat for a second.

"This wasn't a random act of a psycho cop. It was either personal, or political, or both. You sure you don't know this guy?"

"I'd never seen him before that night. Even though my folks are shakers and movers in their party, I stay away from politics. It makes my job easier and to be honest, the events bore me to tears."

The woman asked me about my girlfriend. "That's a bit strange. My firm's investigators traced the video trail of that night back to the restaurant, and they pulled a pretty good photo. They have resources, so we should know something in a day or two."

"What name did she give you?"

"Avery Dixon, why?"

The male lawyer chimed in. "Because it sounds fake, which makes me think she was either setting you up, or hiding something. We have our own resources, so we'll follow up as well."

I signed the forms, gave them a substantial deposit, and shook their hands. They gave me a warning. "Look, we don't know what's going on here, so you need to stay away from dark alleys and keep situational awareness at all times. If something doesn't look or feel right, call someone immediately. Understand?"

"You don't have to worry about that. I've kept a pretty low profile since all this started. I also have a carry conceal permit, but I've never used it, didn't think it was neccesary until now."

Paige, the female lawyer, frowned. "If it's legal and makes you feel safer, carry it. Just so you know, if you shoot somebody, even if you're in the right, it will be a monumental pain in the ass. You'll get charged, have to go to court, and the trial could drag on for months, while your lawyer, and I assume it will be us, can run up some pretty hefty billable hours."

I grinned. "I bought one of those special insurance policies. If I shoot somebody, the insurance company jumps in and handles everything up to a million dollar limit."

"Please don't take that as a get out of jail free card."

I laughed. "Remember, I'm a lawyer as well. I'd rather talk them out of something than shoot them."

Carla was sitting with Emily, who had her algebra book open, helping her with her homework. She looked up at us and grinned. "What? You think I was just gonna sit here bored out of my mind? I saw her book and told her my son went through the same class last year, and she asked for help. It managed to make the hour go by pretty quick."

Emily hugged her, and with handshakes all around, we left.

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I had a meeting with the partners and our lead investigator the next morning. Our investigative arm was pretty talented, but when you dealt with millions at stake, you wanted to be thorough. If one client had done something a little shady, or had a lover on the side, an illigitimate child they was secretly paying support on, or any other skeletons in the closet we wanted to know about them going in. Sometimes it was the difference between taking a client or wishing him the best of luck. Jim, the ex something or other, started it off. A slide of Avery popped up on screen. "Avery Dixon doesn't exist."

He let me digest that before continuing. "However, Andrea Doughtery is alive and well, and living two states over. Currently she's unemployed, but lives in a luxury apartment and seems not to need money. There are a few misemeanors on her record, the product of growing up rich and being something of a wild child. We haven't made contact yet, but we will when the time comes for testimony, if necessary."

It would seem her parents were very active politically, and were close associates of the Jenkins. "Do you think she set me up?"

He grunted. "We can't find motivation. Her parents give her a living allowance, mostly to keep her away from them. Though her parents are very political, she seems to care little for it. Our agents will stay on her."

"This is costing me a fortune, isn't it?"

"The numbers are rolling up, but we'll recoup that and more in the civil suit. Besides, you have the money."

Well, he was right there. My grandparents on both sides were quite wealthy, and Dad wasn't broke when he had the heart attack. It would take a lot to run me bankrupt. I sent all the information we had garnered to the Watson's, and scheduled another meeting with the DA.

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Bill looked like he had aged ten years in the three weeks since I'd seen him last. After the pleasantries were made, Ms Watson got right to the point. "Why haven't the charges been dismissed? There is clear evidence our client was attacked without cause."

"He still has the DWI against him."

"What proof to you have? There was no breathalyzer, no bloodwork, because he wasn't taken to a hospital. All you have is the opinion of the aresting officer. You've seen the evidence, sir. We can bury this office and the police department. We still can't reach a decision in how much to ask for in the civil case, but we assure you the number will be in the seven figures. This is a career killing case, Mr. Adderholt, why are you pursuing it?"

He told us, without coming out right and saying it, that he owed a lot to the Jenkins for support in winning his election, and he was handling it with kid gloves, trying to get it settled as discretely as possible. My anger had been building, and when he stopped talking and looked at us with hope on his face, I gave him the bad news.

"Officer Jenkins attacked me without provocation, caused grevious bodily harm, had me jailed without cause, and managed to let my motorcycle get stolen because he never notified anyone to pick it up. Honestly, fuck discrete. He gets his ass fired without ever being able to hold a job in law enforcement again, I get a full and very public apology from you as DA, and another from The Chief of Police, the replacement value of my motorcycle, all medical bills stemming from this paid in full, double my loss of revenue from this, or the video goes viral in 24 hours. Then I'll hold a press conference and announce my fifty million dollar lawsuit, your reputation will be ruined, making reelection virtually impossible for you, as well as the Chief's badge. I'll also present my evidence to the State Bureau of Investigation, who have whole divisions for situations like this. Since he's white and I'm Native American, I'll get the Feds invovled for hate crimes. You'll drown in the shitstorm coming. Twenty-four hours Bill, and the clock starts when I walk out of this office."

I strode out, leaving a shocked Ms. Watson behind me. She told me later about the brief conversation she had with Bill before she followed me.

"He's pissed, Mr. Adderholt, with good reason. I'm not from this town or county, one of the contributing factors in hiring our firm, so I have no dog in this fight politically. It's evident you're going to do everything in your power to bury this, so I'm going to urge him to go public immediately."

Then she grinned and shared her parting comment to the DA. "I'd tell you to have a good day, but I have a feeling your good days are about to be few and far between. You're holding an empty gun, Mr. DA, while he's got a missile system he can't wait to trigger. Might want to dust off you resume, I have a feeling you'll need it soon."

When she got to the car she chewed on me a little, then grinned. "If I know the DA, he's on the phone right now trying to get that video surpressed. If you can, release it now."

I had it cued up on my phone, and posted it to all the local news outlets, Facebook, Youtube, and Twitter. They could probably get it shut down, but by the time there will be so many copy and paste jobs it will stay viral for days.

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The blowback was enormous. His father denounced it, saying it was all lies. The DA said they were still investigating, and the Chief of Police said the incident was being 'reviewed'.