A Well Lived Life Book 7 Kara IIChapter 28 Sweet Home Chicago
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If you look up naïve in the dictionary, you'll see my picture.
At the police station, I was placed under arrest before I could press charges against Tremont for assaulting his step-daughter.
While a detective wearing a three-piece suit manhandled me into leaning against a wall with my hands and with my legs spread, another detective crudely frisked me for weapons and cuffed me. Shelly protested, but she was ignored. My dad looked like he was about to explode, so told him to calm down, that I'd be fine—another gross example of my naiveté.
After the fingerprinting and the picture taking, the detectives marched me to a jail cell. Two large, rough-looking women already occupied the cell when a uniformed officer removed the cuffs from my wrists and pushed me inside with them. The cell door clanged shut, and the uniformed officer disappeared.
"What have we got here, Hazel?" one of the women said. She looked butch, so I dubbed her Butch. She wore tight blue jeans over her wide hips, a soiled t-shirt under a denim vest, and displayed some crude home-made tattoos on her arms,
"Some fresh meat, I'd say," Hazel said. Hazel wore leather, and stainless steel studs or rings glinted from her eyebrows, nose, lips, and ears, and when she talked I noticed a stud through her tongue. I shuddered. That had to hurt.
"Good afternoon, ladies," I said. "Here's the deal. I don't want to hurt you, but if you come within two feet of me, I will."
Butch laughed raucously and stepped forward, well within my two-foot limit. Hazel came at me from my left side. As large as they were, I had to admit they were fast. I was faster, and in a couple of seconds, Butch and Hazel were writhing in pain on the concrete floor of the jail cell.
"Oh, stop it," I said as I sat on the bottom part of a steel bunk bed without a mattress. "I didn't hurt you that badly. Would you like me to fix your shoulder, Butch? It's just dislocated. I can put it back in place."
"Don't touch me, bitch," she hissed.
"Tsk, tsk," I said. "Name calling could get you hurt worse, Butch."
"You broke my leg," Hazel whined. She was sitting up, her back against the cell wall, while she gently held her knee with her hands.
"It's just bruised. I pulled the kick," I said. "It's time for a chat. I'll ask some questions. You answer them. If you don't, I'll hurt you some more. Okay?"
"Fuck you!" Butch huffed.
I said, "I'm naïve, but not so naïve that I can't recognize a setup, especially one as blatant as this one. Someone either paid you or made some kind of deal like a get-of-jail-free card to teach me a lesson. Question number one: who paid you or made a deal with you to hurt me?"
Neither said anything.
I stood up and walked toward Butch. She scuttled away from me like a crab on a sand beach, and then screamed with pain when she banged her dislocated shoulder against the cell bars.
"A name, Butch, or I'll dislocate your other shoulder," I said.
"Detective Swann," she said, gasping and with sweat dappling her forehead.
"Was it money or a deal?" I asked.
"Like you said, a get-out-jail-free card," she said.
"Thank you. I really can fix your shoulder," I said. "It'll hurt like the dickens for a second or two, but then there will be blessed relief. What's your name?"
"Noel Chambers," she said.
"Noel, how about I give you some blessed relief?"
She nodded, and then she screamed bloody murder, and finally she sighed as the pain slipped away.
I looked at Hazel. "I can't fix your knee, but you'll be fine in a day or two. Did Detective Swann make the same deal with you, Hazel?" I said.
"Yes. We'll admit it to you, but that's it. Compared to Swann, you're a wimp. That fucker's mean to the bone."
"Describe Swann, please," I said.
"Big, ugly, and mean," Hazel said.
I laughed. "Two detectives brought me to the holding cell. One was shorter than the other, fairly good-looking, and wore a three-piece suit. The other detective was taller, maybe six feet, stocky, with a face like an orangutan, and he was coatless."
"The stocky one sounds like Swann," Noel said. "What was that you used on us? Some kind of kung fu shit?"
"Krav maga, not kung fu. Here, let me help you over to the bed." When I had Hazel and Noel sitting comfortably on the bunk bed, I said, "Maybe if I tell you why I'm in here you'll be able to help me put more pieces in place." I detailed my altercation with Councilman Dale Tremont. When asked, neither of them knew Tremont. "I suspect that Detective Swann knows Tremont," I said, mostly to myself.
"Probably," Noel said.
Jail doors clanged, and shortly a different uniformed officer stood in front of the jail cell. "Debra Oakman?" he said as he opened the cell door.
"I'm Debra Oakman," I said.
"Attorney meeting," he said.
"I wish you luck with Swann, ladies," I said and waved to Hazel and Noel as I stepped out of the jail cell. They didn't wave back.
"Tell me," I said to my attorney, "if it's a he-said/she-said situation, why was I arrested but the police won't arrest Tremont if I press charges?"
"Because he drummed up a couple of phony witnesses to eliminate the he-said/she-said situation for him," Shelly said.
I groaned and muttered, "Naiveté though name is Debra."
Shelly laughed.
"I'm beginning to understand the game Tremont is playing. He filed the law suit against me to force my next move in the game, which would be pressing assault charges against him," I said.
Shelly frowned and said, "I don't understand."
I continued, "Detective Three-Piece Suit and Detective Swann didn't jump into their unmarked police cruiser and drive to the inn to arrest me, Shelly. They were waiting for me to walk into the police station to press charges against Tremont. When as planned I obliged them, they arrested me and pushed me into a holding cell occupied by two large women wearing home-made tattoos and rings and studs pierced in various places on their faces. Recidivists, Shelly, they are recidivists, women who could and probably have handled large violent women in prison with ease. Detective Swann gave them get-out-of-jail-free cards if they beat the hell out of me. That didn't happen, and by then I was starting to understand Tremont's game, so I didn't hurt them very much, just enough to stop them. You see, in Tremont's mind, he wins the game either way it goes. Either I get my comeuppance with the beating the prison babes give me or I'm arrested for assaulting them." I paused. "No, I got the last part wrong. That I wouldn't be beaten probably didn't cross Tremont's mind. Hmm, I wonder what his next move will be."
A knock sounded on the closed door to the interview room where Shelly and I were sitting. Detective Three-Piece stuck his head in the door. "Mr. Tremont has graciously dropped the charges against your client," he said to Shelly. "She's free to go."
"What is your name, Detective?" I said.
"Albert Bastian," he said.
"And what is Detective Swann's first name?" I said.
"Bob ... ah, Robert," Bastian said. "Why do you want to know our names?"
"To save my attorney some research time when she sues you and your partner for unlawful arrest and whatever other charges she can dream up and make stick," I said.
I thought my statement would worry him. It didn't. He laughed and said, "Have fun and have at it, Ms. Oakman."
Dad wrapped me in his comforting arms when Shelly and I walked into the waiting area. As the three of us walked out of the station, Shelly said, "Were you serious about suing Bastian and Swann?"
"No," I said. "Tremont won this round, didn't he?"
"He did," Shelly said. We took a few steps in silence. "And he didn't. You didn't get the beating he planned for you. I'd call the round a draw."
"What beating?" Dad said. I detailed what happened in the holding cell while Shelly drove us back to her office. Dad started out looking angry and worried; when I finished my story he was grinning.
"What's next?" I asked Shelly as she slid her vehicle into her reserved parking place by her office building.
"If the civil law suit was a ploy to put you next to a couple of recidivist prison babes in a holding cell for a beating, I think he planned to drop the law suit after the beating," she said. "The ploy worked, but the prison babes didn't perform, so in Tremont's mind you still haven't been punished for thwarting his intent with his step-daughter and for inflicting bodily harm on his person. Ultimately, I don't see Tremont taking his civil law suit to trial. Trials are expensive, and Tremont is known for being ungenerous, greedy and selfish, in a word, miserly. With that said, I still don't think he'll drop the civil suit right away. At this stage, the law suit costs him nothing."
"Let's assume he takes the law suit to the courts. What would you do to prepare for the trial?" I asked.
"Mostly depositions," Shelly said. "I'd depose Tremont, his phony witnesses, Marlene Heston, the EMT personnel and police officers who answered your call to 911, and I'd get a copy of the your 911 call. All 911 calls are recorded. Then to discount your arrest today, I'd depose Detectives Swan and Bastian, the prison babes, and any uniformed officers involved. And, I'd probably recommend that you hire a private investigator to prove some blatant lies made during the depositions."
"Tremont will lie through his teeth," I said.
"I don't think so," Shelly said. "Depositions are taken under oath. Lying under oath is perjury, a class four felony or a class one misdemeanor. Tremont won't lie; he'll remain silent, or use waffle words that won't get him in trouble, or possibly even take the fifth. I'll probably have more success with his phony witnesses."
I grinned and said, "Depose them first."
"What about Marlene Heston? She's the key witness for your case," Shelly said.
I nodded. "I'll speak with her again, but if you can't get Tremont to back off by deposing his phony witnesses, depose Marlene next."
Like a dumbbell, I'd given Marlene my cell phone number, but I didn't get hers, but Dale Tremont's home phone was listed, so I called that number. A woman answered, and I asked for Marlene.
"She not here," the woman said in broken English with a Spanish accent.
"When will she return?" I asked.
"Gone to college," she said.
"Which college?" I asked.
"I not know. Would you like speak to Marlene's mother?"
"Yes, thank you," I said.
Clunk went the phone. I waited.
"Hello," a woman said.
"Mrs. Tremont?" I said.
"Yes."
"I'm trying to reach Marlene. I understand she decided to go to college."
"That's correct."
"Do you have her phone number at college? I need to speak with her."
"Who are you?" she said.
A lie was necessary. "I'm Ms. Carter, a guidance counselor at Red Rock High School. There's a problem with her transcripts."
"Oh, okay then. Just a minute. I have her cell phone number written down somewhere. Ah, here it is." She recited the number.
I thanked her, hung up, and dialed the number. My call was answered by Marlene's voice-mail system. I hung up without leaving a message. She answered my third attempt two hours later.
"Marlene, it's Debra Oakman," I said.
"Hi, Debra. I did it! I'm going to college!" she said.
"Congratulations," I said. "I'm calling because your step-father reneged on our agreement."
"I figured," Marlene said with a sigh. "It wasn't discussed openly, but his sudden turnaround regarding paying my college tuition was so unusual that I suspected he had ulterior motives. What did he do?"
I told her about the civil suit, my arrest, and the prison babes."
She sighed again and said, "What you just described is vintage Tremont, Debra. He boasts that he never merely gets even for any slight, but rather gets ahead."
"He reneged, Marlene. Will you testify for me in the civil suit?"
She said nothing.
"He paid your tuition. Is he covering your other expenses?" I asked.
"Some of them. I'm looking for a part-time job to pay for the rest."
"And if you testify against him, he'll cut off the expense money. Right?"
"As I said, it wasn't openly discussed, but that would be my guess. I'm sorry, Debra."
It was my turn to sigh. "You know him, Marlene. Has he punished me enough to give him reason to back off again?"
"If the prison babes had done their job and put you in the hospital, he would have backed off. But they failed, so I'd guess he isn't finished with you yet. He isn't even let alone ahead."
"That's the way I figured it, too. If the civil suit goes to trial, you will be called to testify under oath about what really happened, so for both our sakes, let's hope he backs off. Good luck in college, Marlene."
After I hung up, I called Shelly and filled her in on my conversation with Marlene.
"How is the house hunting going, Mom?" I asked after we finished our morning workout with free weights.
"I'm discouraged. The asking price of very house I've seen that would fit our needs has been more money than I wanted to spend," she said.
"Have you looked at acreage?" I asked.
"Land?" Dad said. "What good would that do us?"
"You could build a custom home on the land. The home would be another example of your expertise as a developer and general contractor," I said.
"Where would we live while the house is under construction?" Mom said.
I shrugged. "We could rent. Seems to me we should be designing and building our dream home, not just looking for a house to live in. Besides a home for you and Dad, I'll want my own home on the land, and an artist and architectural design studio. And, Dad, you'll want an office separate from your house to meet with sub-contractors, and I'd guess you'll also need substantial equipment and storage space for your development and contracting business. Plus, the land should support a horse or three. Do you guys like horses?"
Dad hooted with laughter and said, "Waddaya think, Katy. We were just offered another ride on Debra's roller coaster. Should we take her up on the offer?"
I looked at Mom. Her eyes were shining.
"I've always wanted a horse," she said so softly it was difficult to hear her.
Two weeks later, we purchased an 8 acre site for $1,200,000 that backed up to National Forest land. The acreage was located off 179 at the end of Oak Creek Cliff Drive. Utilities were at the property line, and the power was underground. We scheduled the close in ninety day, which would give me plenty time to do the preliminary design work, as well as earn the money playing hold 'em poker to pay cash for the land.
With no social life, I had time on my hands, and since Christmas, I'd been playing three to five tournaments a day, seven days a week, averaging net gains in the neighborhood of $150,000 a week.
The day after we bought the acreage, we paid off the mortgage on the inn, and Mother found an old but large rent house that would take care of our needs until Dad could build our dream house. We planned the move to the rent house on the 1st of March, at which time we would also close the inn.
My attorney turned me on—big time. Shelly was beautiful, smart, accomplished, well-spoken, and sexy. She, on the other hand, appeared oblivious to my interest in her and hadn't sent any signals my way indicating any interest in me. She liked me, though; she thought I was gutsy and laughed at my lame jokes. Still, she was a gifted lawyer while I was a teenager still living with my parents, not to mention that she was svelte while I was still a little chubby. I was altering my appearance, but I still carried about fifteen pounds more than I should. I couldn't do anything about the fifteen pounds, not that day, but I could demonstrate that I was a talented teenager with a bright future as an architectural designer and artist.
I hit speed-dial number three and listened to my cell phone ring.
"Hi, Shelly, it's Debra," I said.
"Hi. Great minds, etcetera; I was about to call you. Tremont dropped his law suit."
"Hooray!" I gushed. "What caused him to act?"
"After deposing his so-called witnesses, who couldn't get their stories straight, by the way, I told his attorney that I'd started the paperwork to depose Tremont next."
I chuckled. "That'd do it. We should celebrate. Do you have a favorite restaurant? My treat."
"L'Auberge' de Sedona," she said.
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