Philanthropy Part Three
The story is getting darker. Peter Chase has blindly entered a world where the bad guys have no limits to what they are willing to do. Can Peter turn to those who are ready to help him? Can he trust them? Can he keep them around despite his attitude?
Philanthropy starts to examine the legal ramifications of dealing with a crime organisation.
The sex is going to get a little wild in this one... straight sex, lesbian sex, anal sex, and a little inferred incest thrown in to get your juices flowing... The story is a little over the top, but a fun romp. Buckle up and try to enjoy.
You'll need to read Part One: The Carvers, and Part Two: Building the Case, first. Go on. I'll wait. <author taps foot impatiently...>
Constructive comments always appreciated. And voting. And DMs.
Part Three: Reaction and Action
I had been held in the interrogation room in the police department for more than four hours. They had provided a bottle of water and little else. I was still very shaken. Every time I closed my eyes, I could see Amanda lying before me. Abused sexually and physically. Her drugged form barely breathing. She was another victim of the Carvers and their sociopathic ways. I should have seen it coming. It was me who had introduced the Carver daughter Dana to Amanda, and the Carvers had already expressed their anger toward me. I desperately wanted to go back in time and stop the Carvers from moving into my condo building and stop Dana from meeting Amanda.
Now Amanda was in the hospital, hopefully being taken care of and away from the influence of the Carvers. No one had told me anything about how she was. I had even pleaded with them. I wanted to be by her side. Amanda had always been there for me.
Always
, I realised. And now I'm stuck in a police station waiting for anyone to come and speak to me. I was prepared to provide evidence, but no one had asked me anything. And yet they were keeping me here, locked in this room with no company except for one worn table and four shitty chairs. They had taken my phone before they had placed me in a police cruiser despite my protests. I had asked repeatedly for a phone call and I had been ignored. I think I knew more about American rights than Canadian ones and I felt more than a little lost.
The ambulance had arrived right after the police. It had been surreal. Shanti had hidden in her bedroom and I had distracted the police who had swarmed my condo. They entered and immediately had me on the floor and in handcuffs despite my protests and pleading they check on Amanda. They ignored her and I knew right away they weren't interested in her. I had yelled at them to help Amanda, but they had ignored my pleas and one had smacked my head to shut me up. Then the ambulance showed up and the cops were pissed.
The police on the ground floor had led the paramedics up. They wheeled a gurney past me, and I had yelled at them about what had happened and pointed to the bag of clothes. The police had taken the bag and the paramedics saw to Amanda. I watched the police smile at the bag and it left my condo. I had thanked whatever Gods there were that Shanti had taken samples and hidden them. I doubted the evidence the cops had taken would ever be seen again.
I told the paramedics that I had taken blood samples and injected the naloxone. The paramedics had looked relieved and thanked me saying I had probably saved her life. I thought of Shanti then and decided I needed to do something nice for her. One of the cops cuffed my head with a boot and I faded out for a moment.
A paramedic was dabbing at my head and I warned her quietly that Amanda was in danger and to protect her. And from the cops. She nodded at me and I was suddenly being lifted hard from the ground by two cops and my shoulders screamed in agony. I watched Amanda being taken away in the stretcher and sobbed in relief. Then I was dragged downstairs and thrown into the back of a police car. I looked out the window and saw a plains clothes cop talking outside my door window. I heard the cop mention the front door video surveillance and watched the plains clothes cop go back into the building as I was driven away.
I asked for my lawyer en route and was ignored. I asked for my phone and was ignored. I asked for a hand job and was ignored. It seemed I wasn't getting anything I wanted and slouched back in the backseat and watched the city go by. For a moment, I was worried I was being driven to a forest somewhere for a dirt nap - do they still say that? Dirt naps? - and when I saw the police station headquarters, I relaxed somewhat.
Now I sat in silence in the interrogation room, trying not to breathe in the stench of sour sweat and fear, and worked my sore jaw and rubbed the large lump on the side of my head. Both hurt bad but I was certain it was only superficial. I had been beaten worse. I looked up at the video camera in the corner and saw where the red light, indicating it was recording, was not lit.
I am so fucked.
The door to the room burst open and I made an unmanly sound. Two overweight men in cheap suits entered. They looked tough but soft.
Too many donuts and diet cokes
, I thought. I recognised one of them from outside the condo. I couldn't help but notice the glares these men were giving me, and warning bells went off in my head. They sat across from me, dwarfing the small chairs, and said nothing. They were staring at me like I was the worst thing they had ever seen.
I wasn't intimated, but I was starting to get annoyed. "Huey and Dewey. What can I do for you two fat fucks?" I chirped with a cheeriness I didn't feel. "How's Amanda? How's my friend?"
The men just stared at me. I could see thick veins pulsing along their steroid enhanced thick necks. I picked my nose and wiped what I found on the tabletop. It was a little bloody.
"Listen, she's my friend. I'm worried about her. She was drugged and assaulted. Have you given the blood samples to the lab? Her clothes? Semen samples? What is going on here?" I might have faked some sign language at the end.
The bigger cop, the one I had decided was going to be called Huey, growled, and stood and leaned his weight on his knuckles, pressed hard into the table. He leaned forward, trying to tower over me. I worried about the integrity of the table and slid my knees away from under it.
"Keto diet. I recommend it. It will do wonders for you," I smiled up into the greasy face of Huey.
Huey made a sound and then cocked back a meaty arm. I could see what was coming. The fingers of Huey's right hand closed into a fist and he pulled it back past his head. I could see the muscles bunch in the man's arm and jaw and knew I was about to go down for the count.
The door burst open once again, startling everyone. Huey, his fist still cocked, looked toward the door with a snarl. Dewey had his head turned and I saw his jaw drop.
Imani stood there, dressed in a high-fashion business suit that screamed money. Behind her I saw a uniformed cop being pulled aside and away. Imani had a soft leather valise held in one hand. One of those lawyerly things. They must issue them with the bar. Her other hand held a paper cup carrier with two large drinks in it. They looked like coffee from a wonderful local coffee shop I frequented. I drooled. I drooled at her, and maybe the coffee.
