Page 85 of Claimed By the Biker Brothers

Knox

“I’m sorry it took me so long to get here,” James Faraday says.

We’ve been sitting in an interview room on the ground floor of the station for the better part of an hour. It beats rotting in a cell.

“What the hell happened?” I ask him with a furrowed brow.

“Hurdle after hurdle is what happened,” he replies. “It’s like someone’s pulling every string through the system to make sure you stay here for as long as possible. I had injunctions to fight, a raucous DA’s office, a surly judge… motion upon motion. Then the DEA fellas kept me in the station’s reception area forever, stalling. Something hinky is going on here.”

“You can say that again,” I grumble.

“But I’m here now,” he says as he takes several documents out of his briefcase.

James Faraday is in his mid-fifties and always impeccably dressed. Neatly tailored suits, gel in his curly grey hair, and black-rimmed glasses atop his aquiline nose. He’s one of the sharpest and most ferocious attorneys in all of Oregon, and he charges accordingly. We usually get to deal with one of his underlings, but for this particular occasion, Faraday decided to come himself.

“I’ve asked an independent investigator to join the defense team,” he says, going over the court documents he’s put together so far. “The warrant is valid, the execution of the search not so much. I will challenge chain of custody for the drugs they recovered.”

“Have them check every one of those goddamn bags for prints,” I say. “I swear to you, James, we never touched that crap. We had no idea it was there.”

“We’ve got our guys looking through the CCTV footage as we speak,” Jagger adds. “Somebody snuck that shit in. It was planted.”

“I believe you,” James says, looking at each of us with genuine intention. “Several aspects of this investigation have raised red flags for me, hence the reason I’m here. How are you holding up?”

I shake my head firmly. “We have to get out of here.”

“Arraignment is first thing tomorrow morning,” he replies. “It took some arm twisting and some not-so-subtle threats to make it happen.”

“Threats?” I ask.

“I know the judge. I know where he likes to play poker and how much he tends to lose on a weekly basis,” he says with a smirk. “It’s good practice for a defense attorney to have such intel handy precisely for situations like this.”

“You’re really giving us our money’s worth, huh?” Diesel chuckles dryly, then grimaces from the pain.

Faraday gives him a concerned glance. “Have you been seen by a doctor yet?”

“No, but I can breathe alright, I’m good. No nausea or dizziness, no concussion symptoms. Nothing I won’t sleep off.”

“You’re a hard man.”

“I’ve seen worse,” Diesel says.

“He means he’s been beaten worse,” Jagger jokes.

“Yeah, but I retaliated accordingly.”

I shudder solely from remembering those incidents. It’s true. Diesel turns into a veritable killing machine when he’s appropriately challenged. It was an honor, a pleasure, and a true horror to serve with him.

“James, there’s something weird going on here,” I say, drawing focus to our main issue. “We have reason to suspect there might be a link between the DEA’s investigation and Marlo Hughes.”

He frowns slightly. “Marlo Hughes?”

“Yeah.”

“My firm had dealings with hers in court on separate matters,” Faraday says. “But I can agree she’s a concerning character, to say the least.”

“There’s too much of a coincidence here,” I say, then proceed to tell him all about Marlo’s approach, the pressure she applied, the demands she presented, culminating with the DEA’s search and the drugs found in our clubhouse basement. I end with the incident from earlier, leaving Faraday looking strenuously concerned.

“I agree,” he mumbles. “It’s too much of a coincidence. But if you suspect ties between a DEA agent and a local drug dealer, you’ll need irrefutable proof. And then there’s the issue of the other agents present throughout Spalding’s investigation and the clubhouse search. Were they aware of the connection? Were they simply following orders? Plenty of difficult questions to ask, and I guarantee nobody in the DEA’s office will want to answer. They’ll tighten their ranks.”

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