Chapter Fifty-one
Once again the cell phone was the culprit. Hopeful as I might have been, there was no way it was going to stop its incessant ringing until I answered it. I sat up in bed and took the call.
“You might want to see what’s about to go on here,” Marsha Russo announced.
“What?”
“I’ve just been advised that a legal team representing Robaire Noel is at the Sergeant’s desk seeking to post bond for his immediate release.”
“I’m on my way.”
Noel’s silver BMW had been towed to the Freedom Police Station lot and I parked next to it.
Three well-dressed persons, two men and a woman, were engaged in a heated discussion with Desk Sergeant Mike Marcus when I entered the station.
The conversation came to an abrupt halt when Sergeant Marcus spotted me. He pointed the three persons in my direction. He stood, glared at them for a moment, then quickly stepped away from the desk and disappeared.
The trio focused its collective attention on me. It was one of the men who spoke first. “Are you in charge here?”
“In a manner of speaking.”
The man looked more closely at me and went on. “We’re from the law firm of Munro, Furst and Levin, located in Beverly Hills. My name is Harold Green. My associates are William Herz and Janet Robinson.”
I looked at each of them.
“And you are?” Green asked.
“I am,” I replied.
After several moments, he tried again. “Who exactly are you?”
“Deputy Sheriff Buddy Steel.”
“Is there somewhere we might talk, Mr. Steel?”
“Seems to me we’re already talking.”
Green stood silently for a moment, then looked at his two associates. All three had on black suits and white shirts. The two men wore red ties. Ms. Robinson was open necked. Green appeared to be the eldest, thirty-five perhaps. The other two were younger. They looked like applicants for greeter jobs at a mortuary, each displaying carefully cultivated looks of grave concern as they peered at me.
“I was hoping for a bit of privacy,” Green said.
I motioned them to a corner of the waiting area. “Is this private enough for you?”
The three of them made furtive eye contact with each other.
“How might I help you?” I asked.
Mr. Green continued. “You’re holding Robaire Noel.”
“Robaire Noel,” I said. “Robaire Noel. Hmm. I believe we may have someone by that name in custody. What about it?”
“We’re here to secure his release.”
“I’m so sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but you’ve come to the wrong place.”
“Excuse me?”
“Mr. Noel is being held without bail as per the precepts of local law.”
Green looked briefly at his associates.
“Surely there’s some provision for a security bond. Mr. Noel is an upstanding citizen. His family are valued members of Beverly Hills society. His crimes, if you can even call them crimes, are at best misdemeanors.”
“Mr. Noel is a seriously misguided young man. He’s a chronic vandal who has caused thousands of dollars’ worth of damage to both public and private property. He’s arrogantly unrepentant and a flight risk. If it’s his release you’re seeking, you’ll need to bring your argument to the District Attorney. Now, if there’s nothing else, I have other business that requires my attention.”
I looked at each of them and then stepped away.
“This is bullshit,” Janet Robinson said to my back.
I turned around. “Excuse me?”
“This is bullshit and you know it. Robaire Noel is a noted street artist whose work is on display in any number of American cities. Holding him prisoner is a violation of his First Amendment rights.”
I met Ms. Robinson’s outraged stare with one of my own. “You’re as misguided as your client. This noted street artist is a serial defacer. His so-called work is a blight on property he doesn’t own but sees fit nonetheless to vandalize.
“His thesis as to why he should be celebrated rather than incarcerated is certainly amusing, but the law here in Freedom is very specific regarding the penalties for Mr. Noel’s crimes. And they’re purposely harsh.”
“He should never have been arrested,” Janet Robinson argued. “A settlement should have been negotiated.”
“Not my table. I’m just a lowly officer of the law, charged with enforcing it. I’d suggest you take your issues up with the District Attorney. Or the Governor? Or maybe even the President.”
She sneered at me.
“Allow me to say what a pleasure it was meeting you all.”
I flashed my most insincere smile and left them standing in the hallway.
I overheard Ms. Robinson loudly exclaim, “Asshole.”
I turned around to face her. “That would be Sheriff Asshole.”
As I entered my office the intercom started buzzing.
“What?” I said to Wilma Hansen, the dispatcher.
“You have a number of messages from A.D.A. Alfred Wilder.”
“Thank you.”
“Would you like to know exactly what he said or are you comfortable just knowing he called?”
“What are you driving at, Wilma?”
“Nothing. Nothing at all. It’s just that his last message was quite amusing.”
“Okay. Amuse me.”
“I quote,” she began. “Tell that son of a bitch bastard to get back to me immediately or I’ll rip out his testicles and feed them to my dog.”
“You find that amusing?”
“It made me laugh.”
“You know something, Wilma? You’re a seriously disturbed person.”
“That’s what my husband says,” she exclaimed and disconnected the line.
“It’s about time,” Skip Wilder said when he picked up my call.
“Your dog eats testicles?”
“He’s a sucker for Sheriff balls.”
“What exactly was it you wanted, Skip?”
“The unholy trinity was here.”
“Did you agree to free their client?”
“No.”
“And the D.A.?”
“He stonewalled them.”
“No settlement?”
“He was pretty adamant. Wants to make Noel an example of what’s in store for any taggers who choose to ply their trade here in San Remo County.”
“How did they react?”
“Not well. They’re threatening to file suit.”
“No injunction?”
“They can try. Bunch of high-priced Beverly Hills reprobates. It won’t work, though. Not with the way Helena Madison drafted the law. It’s pretty iron-clad.”
“Good. Was there anything else?”
“Just that I’m looking forward to the game.”
“What game?”
“The one on one.”
“She told you about it?”
“She can’t wait.”
“Aw, hell.”
“When is it, by the way?”
“Unscheduled.”
“Let me know as soon as it’s on the books.”
“Sure thing, Skip. Probably be when I rid my mind of the image of you feeding my nuts to your dog.”