Page 19 of Infinite

Chapter Four

Hale

You ever watch the People’s Court? Judge Judy? That kind of thing? Okay, picture it in real life. Instead of a few rows stuffed with nosey people likely paid to be there, imagine multiple rows of nosey reporters waiting on Judge Stein here to beat my balls with the gavel.

Judge Stein could have her own show. Not because she’s pretty or elegant, but because she has that, “Take no prisoners, I don’t care if you die, attitude,” required of all T.V. judges, near as I can figure.

“How do you plead?” she asks, her hawk-like stare targeting me.

“My client pleads not guilty,” Mason answers for me.

I have to give it to Mason. He’s a criminal trial attorney representing gangbangers from some of the shittiest communities in Philadelphia. He has no experience defending anyone charged with a white collar crime. But he’s my friend, who passed the bar in both PA and NY. For now, that’s good enough for me.

“Bail is set at five-hundred thousand,” Judge Stein declares, more like a warning than a ruling. She narrows her eyes. “I’ll allow the defendant to return to Kiawah, South Carolina, under the condition his bank and credit accounts are frozen and all assets, including properties, electronic devices, vehicles, and personal belongings, are barred from sale once bail is set.”

Are you fucking kidding me? My glare on the judge turns on Mason. He gives me a firm shake of his head. In other words, don’t argue, this is as good as it’s going to get.

The Feds argue flight risk, etc., just as they did the first time Mason made a motion to return me to Kiawah. Where am I going to go? Judge Stein stripped me of every dime I have.

Thank God, the reporters are still waiting on me when Mason, Sean, and I walk out. I haven’t had enough humiliation for one day.

Sean leads the way, the long arms of his lanky body swinging casually, even as he narrows his eyes at anyone who dares to get too close.

Mason takes a protective stance beside me, his deep, booming voice assuring the press of my innocence, affirming that justice will be served. What he should say is that I’m going to find the fuckers who did this and bash their damned faces in.

The door to the limo Sean secured slams shut behind him. And since Sean was in charge of securing the limo, there’s a damn stripper pole right in the middle.

Sean lifts his arm, gliding his hand up and down it. “I feel sorry for dem strippers who have to perform in here,” he says thoughtfully. “I mean, there’s like, not much room to spin.” He frowns, glancing up. “Not to mention, they must have to wear helmets or some crazy shit so as not to bang their heads too hard. Helmets can’t be an easy thing to pull off as sexy, s’far as I’m concerned. What do y’all think?”

If you think Sean’s epiphanies are flying out of his mouth because I’ve had a rough few days, he thinks I could use a laugh, or is trying to distract me, y’all are giving Sean too much credit. Sean is being Sean and he’s damn good at it.

I look at Mason. Unlike Sean, he’s not contemplating the dangers of pole dancing in limos. “You’re fucked,” he says quietly.

“That’s the spirit,” I mutter, rubbing my face and leaning back against the seat. I don’t think a minute passes before I sit up again. Unlike Sean, whose added bulk has only gone to his stomach, the muscles lining Mason’s shoulders, back and chest, make him look more Marvel hero than lawyer.

“I’m serious, Hale,” Mason says. “I’m the last person you should have called to represent you.” He flips through his phone. “Trin and Callahan opened up an account in her name for your legal defense fund. They dropped a hundred grand in it, her brother, Landon, dropped in another hundred grand, and their daddy is texting he’s adding another two and to let them know when you need more.”

I mutter a curse. “They didn’t have to do that.”

“Yes, they did,” Mason says. “They’re your friends. Friends who recognize you need the cash for a lawyer who can help you out of this mess.”

I meet him square in the face. “I’ve got one. I trust you, Mace, and that’s good enough for me.”

“Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if the helmet was clear to match the heels those ladies like to wear,” Sean adds, giving the pole another stroke. “That’ll work better, won’t it? Women like to match their outfits.”

Mason ignores him, scrolling through his messages. “Trin’s letting you stay at the house she and Callahan flipped last summer. It’s by the water. She says you’ll love the view.”

Trin and her family hooked me up with funds and a place. Not Emer and Carson, my brothers. They’ve waited years to watch me fall on my face. I can’t imagine which one of them is laughing the hardest or celebrating my downfall more. Then again, they probably don’t care enough to do either.

“Trin’s a good friend,” I manage. I should ask Mason to reply with a thank you or call her to tell her as much. But with Trin always comes Becca and . . . God damn it. Becks is the last person I should be thinking about. It wasn’t okay to think of her during the best of times. When I had money, a reputation, and women ready to claw eyes out to get to me. It’s sure as hell not good to think of her now when I’m being framed for shit I’d never do. I may be an anaconda like Wall Street dubbed me—never backing down and crushing my opponent—but I’m also ethical. I’m not sure what upsets me more. These charges or what these charges have done to my reputation.

“Do you think they should charge more?” Sean asks. “To cover the cost of the helmets? They can’t be cheap if they’re clear. Otherwise, more strippers would wear ‘em. The floor in here is hard. But a stage strikes me as harder and more dangerous.”

Mason glances up, grimacing. “Sean, I don’t think now is a good time.”

“I know.” Sean’s expression grows sad and weary. “Just worried, y’all.”

It’s not his comments that make Sean a real friend. It’s his heart. “Me, too,” Mason agrees, nodding softly.

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