The First Counsel (5 page)

"Let's go!" the officer barks. "Out of the car."

Nora slowly follows his instructions. As she walks around to the driver's side, the officer's partner approaches the three of us. He's a short black man with an arrogant cop stride. "Everything okay?" he asks.

"Not sure yet." The first cop turns back to me. "Let's see 'em spread."

"Spread? What'd I do?"

He grabs me by the back of the neck and whips me against the side of the Jeep. "Open up!"

I do as he says, but not without protest. "You've got no probable cause to--"

"You a lawyer?" he asks.

I shouldn't have picked this fight. "Yeah," I say hesitantly.

"Then sue me." As he pats me down, he jabs a sharp thumb into my ribs. "Should've told her to calm down," he says. "Now she's going to have to miss work tomorrow."

I don't believe it. He doesn't recognize her. Keeping her head as low as possible, Nora stands next to me and spreads her arms across the side of the Jeep. The second officer pats Nora down, but she's not paying much attention. Like me, she's too busy watching the first officer head for the glove compartment.

From where I'm standing, I see him open the passenger door. As he climbs inside, there's a jingle of handcuffs and keys. Then a quiet click near the dashboard. My mouth goes dry and it's getting harder to breathe. I look over at Nora, but she's decided to look away. Her eyes are glued to the ground. It's not going to be much longer.

"Oh, baby," the officer announces. His voice is filled with shove-it-in-your-face glee. He slams the door shut and strides around to our side of the car. As he approaches, he's holding one hand behind his back.

"What is it?" the second officer asks.

"See for yourself."

I look up, expecting to see Nora's brown prescription vial. Maybe even a stash of cocaine. Instead, the cop is holding a single stack of hundred dollar bills.

Son of a bitch. She took the money.

"Now either of you want to tell me what you're doing driving around with this kinda cash?"

Neither of us says a word.

I look at Nora, and she's paste white. Gone is the cocky and wild vitality that led us through the stop signs, out of the bar, and up the embankment. In its place is that look she's had since we got pulled out of the car. Fear. It's all over her face and it's still making her hands shake. She simply can't be caught with this money. Even if it's not against the law to have it, even if they can't arrest her, this isn't something that's going to be easy to explain. In this neighborhood. With this amount of cash. The drug stories alone will shred what's left of her reputation. Rolling Stone will be the least of her problems.

She turns to me and once again opens her soft side. Her usually tough eyes are welled up with tears. She's begging for help. And like it or not, I'm the only one who can save her. With a few simple words, I can spare her all that pain and embarrassment. Then she and the President . . . I catch myself. No. No, it's not about that. It's like I said before. It's not for her father. Or her title. It's for her. Nora. Nora needs me.

"I asked you a question," the officer says as he waves the pile of cash. "Whose is this?"

I take one last look at Nora. That's all I need. Shoving confidence back into my voice, I turn to the officer and say two words: "It's mine."

Chapter
3

Like a judge with a gavel, the officer slowly taps the wad of money in his right hand against the open palm of his left. "Where'd you get it?" he asks, annoyed.

"Excuse me?" I reply. Time to stall.

"Don't yank my chain, boy. Where's someone like you get ten grand in cash?"

"Someone like me? What's that supposed to mean?"

He kicks the rusty bumper on the back of my Jeep. "No offense, but you're not exactly traveling in style."

I shake my head. "You don't know anything about me."

He smirks at my response and knows he's hit a sore spot. "You can't hide who you are--it's written all over your face. And your forehead."

Self-consciously, I touch the cut on my head. The blood's starting to dry. I'm tempted to fight back, but instead let it pass. "Why don't you give me my speeding ticket and I'll be out of your way."

"Listen, Smallville, I don't need to hear your attitude."

"And I don't need to hear your insults. So unless you have some reasonable suspicion of a crime taking place, you have no right to harass me."

"You have no idea what you're--"

"Actually, I have a really good idea. Far more than you're giving me credit for. And since there's no law against carrying money, I'd appreciate it if you'd give me my stuff and write up my ticket. Otherwise, you're risking a harassment suit and a letter to your sergeant that'll be a bitch to explain when you're up for promotion."

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Nora smile. The cop just stands there. The way he scratches his cheek, I can tell he's plenty pissed off. "Vate, do me a favor?" he eventually says to his partner. "They're doing a drug sweep on 14th and M. See if they've broadcasted any lookouts yet. Maybe we'll get lucky."

"It's not like that," I tell him.

He looks at me skeptically. "Let me tell you something, Smallville--pretty-boy, clean-cut white boys like you only come to this neighborhood for two reasons: drugs and whores. Now let's see that license and registration." I hand them over and he turns back to his partner. "Any word yet, Vate?"

"Nothing."

The cop walks away from me and heads back to his car. Five minutes go by and I climb into the driver's seat of my Jeep. Nora's next to me, but she's brutally quiet. She looks my way and offers a faint smile. I try to smile back, but she turns away. I could kill her for taking that cash. Why the hell would she be so stupid? I mean, what would she even use it for? My mind jumps back to her so-called aspirin, but I'm not ready to believe the worst. Not yet.

Staring vacantly out the window, she's resting her chin in the palm of her hand. The way her shoulders sag, I realize the eyes of the world are always on her. It never lets up. Eventually, the cop returns with a pink slip that's marked "Confirmation of Receipt."

"Where's my money?" I ask.

"As long as it's clean, you'll get every cent of it back." Reading my confused expression, he adds, "If our boys on the street are unavailable to make an ID, we can legally hold your cash as the likely proceeds of a criminal act." He's not smiling, but I can tell he's loving every minute of this. "Now does that check out with you, Mr. Attorney-at-Large, or do you want to speak to my sergeant yourself?"

I shake my head, calculating the consequences in my head. "When do I get it back?"

"Give us a call next week." He knows we're not selling drugs; he's just doing this to bust my chops. Leaning in toward the window, he adds, "And just so we're clear . . ." He motions to Nora, who's still sitting next to me. "I'm not blind, boy. I just don't need the headache that comes along with this."

Unnerved by the confidence in his voice, I shrink down in my seat. He knew who she was all along.

"And one last thing . . ." He reaches in the window and slaps a piece of paper against my chest. "Here's your speeding ticket."

* * *

Ten minutes later, Nora and I have returned to downtown D.C. and are heading straight for the White House. The adrenaline bath with every spigot open is now finally over. The cut on my forehead hurts and my stomach's churning, but all I really feel is numb. Numb and out of control. My eyes are locked on the road, while my thumbs are shaking as they tap against the top of the steering wheel. The casual repetition is a vain attempt to fight fear, but it's not fooling anyone. Including me. Being nailed with the cash, I'm not only known by the cops--I'm officially, on paper, tied to that money and whatever it was paying for.

Neither of us has said a word since the cops left. Watching me, Nora sees the pace of my thumb-tapping quickly increase. Finally, she breaks the silence. "You doing okay?" she asks.

All I do is nod.

"I appreciate what you did for me back there," she offers.

My eyes stay glued to the road. "It's okay," I say coldly.

"I'm serious."

"I told you, it's okay. It's not that big a--"

"It is a big deal. It really is--that's not something that happens to me every day."

"I would hope not," I blurt angrily.

She pauses for a moment, sensing I'm about to boil. "You know what I mean, Michael. The way you acted . . . it wasn't just for you. You did it for--" She once again stops--this doesn't come naturally for her. "Thank you, Michael. It meant a lot to me."

An hour ago, I would've done anything to hear those words. Right now, though, I couldn't care less.

"Say what you're thinking," she says.

I brake to a sharp stop at a red light. Turning to my right, I take a long, hard look at her. "What do you think I'm thinking? Why the hell'd you take the money?"

She crosses her arms and lets out that little girl laugh.

"You think it's a joke?" I shout.

"Not at all," she says, suddenly serious. "Not after what you did."

I'm not in the mood for compliments. "Just tell me why you took it."

"Honestly? I'm not sure. I ran up, grabbed the flashlight, and saw the envelope. Part of me thought we should take it as evidence, so I went for it. I thought it'd be an easy way to prove Simon was there--but after the first ten grand, I got scared and ran."

It's not a bad explanation, but it comes too easily. For Nora, it's too rational. "So all you wanted was some proof?"

"I'm telling you--that was it."

I keep staring at her.

"What? You don't believe me?"

"Are you kidding? Give me one good reason why I--"

"Michael, I swear to you, if I could take it back I would. There's no easier way to say it." Her voice cracks, catching me by surprise. Right there, her guard drops--and the gnawing feeling inside my chest subsides. "I'm sorry," she cries, leaning in next to me. "I'm so sorry I put you in that position. I never . . . I should've just left it there and walked away."

In the back of my brain, I still picture that brown vial of aspirin . . . but in front of my eyes--all I see is Nora. The look on her face . . . the way her thin eyebrows rise and wilt as she apologizes . . . she's as terrified as I am. Not just for herself. But for me. Glancing down, I notice her hand tightly clutching my own. From there, the words come out of my mouth almost instantly. "It was an impulse. You couldn't have known."

"You still didn't have to do it," she points out.

I nod. She's right.

As we once again start moving toward Pennsylvania Avenue, I have a perfect view of the White House. When I make a left on H Street, it disappears. One sudden move and it's gone. That's all it takes. For both of us.

"Maybe we should . . ."

"We'll take care of it first thing tomorrow," Nora promises, already two steps ahead. "Whatever he's up to, we'll figure it out." Despite her confidence, I can't stop thinking about Simon. But for Nora, as soon as she sees her big white mansion, she's back to her old self. Two people. One body. As I make a sharp right turn, she adds, "Now pull over."

I stop the car on 15th Street, around the corner from the Southeast Gate. At this hour, all of downtown is dead. There's no one in sight.

"Don't you want me to pull up to the gate?"

"No, no--here. I have to get out here."

"Are you sure?"

At first, all she does is nod. "It's just around the corner. And this way I save you from a confrontation with the Service." She looks down at her watch. "I'm in under two hours, but that doesn't mean I'm not going to get my head ripped off."

"That's why I always leave my bodyguards at home," I say, trying to sound half as calm as my date. It's all I can do to keep up.

"Yeah, that's why I picked you," she laughs. "You know how it really is." She's about to say something else, but she stops herself.

"Everything okay?"

Moving closer, she again puts her hand on mine. "People don't do nice things for me, Michael. Not unless they want something. Tonight, you proved that wrong."

"Nora . . ."

"You don't have to say it. Just promise me you'll let me make it up to you."

"You don't have to . . ."

She runs her short nails up my arm. "Actually, I do."

I see that look in her eyes. It's the same one she gave me in the bar. "Nora, no offense, but this isn't the time or the place to--" She wraps a hand around the back of my head and pulls me toward her. Before I can argue, she grips my hair in a tight fist and slides her tongue in my mouth. There are probably ten heterosexual men in this world who would pull away from this kiss. Again, I'm not one of them. Her smell . . . her taste . . . they instantly overwhelm. I reach up to touch her cheek, but she lets me go.

"Doesn't taste like pumpkin to me," she says.

"That's because I have five more minutes."