Page 57 of Desert Loyalties
“Hearing your voice, darlin’… it’s the only thing that makes sense right now.”
The door creaks open behind me. The fed leans in, smug as hell. “Time’s up, asshole.”
I glare at him, then soften my voice for her. “Well, counsellor... I’ll see you soon.”
“I love you,” she says fast, just before the pig rips the phone from my hand.
I hadn’t said everything will be okay, cause I don’t know if it will be. And I’m not about to start lying to my lady.
Now I’m sitting on a hard-ass bench outside the courtroom, chains clinking every time I shift. No one’s telling me anything. Just that my lawyer’s on her way.
Don’t know her name, never met her, but if the club hired her, she’s good.
Then I see her. This lady strutting down the hallway like she’s late to a PTA meeting, not a federal court. Tight pantsuit, frilly cream top, glasses perched low. She looks more like a soccer mom than a ringer, and for a second, I wonder if someone got their files crossed. Then she stops in front of the marshal and flashes something, probably a bar card or her middle finger, hard to tell from this angle.
Next thing I know, the marshal grunts and nudges me forward. Leads me into a small interview room. Four walls, no windows, two chairs, table bolted to the floor. He mutters something about “I’ll be right outside” and rests his hand on that oversized Glock, trying to intimidate me.
Tiny-dicked motherfucker.
Then it’s just me and her. She closes the door, drops into the chair across from me, and lays her folder on the table.
“I’m Christina LaGuerta,” she says, cool and clipped. “I’ll be representing you in this case, which, given the charges, will most likely go to trial.”
She doesn’t blink. Just keeps talking like we’ve already known each other.
“Now, today is your initial appearance. The magistrate judge will inform you of the charges, confirm you understand your rights, and decide whether you stay in custody or go home.”
She glances at my chains, then back to me.
“Spoiler alert. You’re not going home today.”
She flips open her folder. I see words likeconspiracy,murder, obstruction, andintimidation. I see dates. Codes. And my name at the top.
“You’ve been indicted by a federal grand jury. Four charges. It’s sealed until the judge reads it. You’ll hear the details in court. I’ll be standing next to you.”
She leans in just slightly, voice dropping.
“Keep your mouth shut unless the judge speaks to you directly. No outbursts, no wisecracks. If you don’t understand something, nod. I’ll explain after. Got it?”
I nod.
“This isn’t state court. Feds don’t charge unless they’ve got something. That means actual physical evidence, informants, surveillance. They’ve been watching you for a while. You should’ve lawyered up the second they started talking. Nothing I can do about that now.”
Her tone softens just a touch, like maybe she’s human after all.
“We’ll get discovery soon. That’s when I’ll see their evidence. I’ll break it down for you, and then we’ll decide. Fight or deal.”
She stands, smooths her top, and gives me a look that saysI don’t lose sleep over cases like yours, but I don’t half-ass them either.
“Now sit tight. We’re up in ten. And remember, stone face in there. Let me do the talking.”
I nod my head, cause what else can I do?
It’s cold in the courtroom. Sterile. Even the walls feel like they’re judging me.
I’m led in through a side door, shackles still clinking, the chain tight around my waist like a leash. The marshal grips my elbow. I scan the courtroom, it’s all wood, marble, flags, pews.
At the front sits the judge, robes stiff, face unreadable. The United States flag hangs just behind him, shadowed by the seal of the court. No jury. Not yet. Just a few people in the gallery. There’s my girl, sitting next to Ranger. Motherfucker is in civilian clothes.
