We stand in the sodium-yellow glow like refugees, a desperate couple with nowhere to run. “I’m so sorry you had to find out about Max,” she says. “This isn’t what you signed up for.”
“I signed up for you. Okay? Remember that, no matter what happens tonight. I wish I could hug you.”
She looks afraid to believe me.
“Oh, I forgot,” she says. “A bunch of calls came in on Max’s phone before I destroyed it. Three from Beau Holland, two from Arthur Pine, one from Wyatt Cash, and one from Claude Buckman.”
“All tonight? What does that suggest to you?”
“Trouble inside the Poker Club. Think about it. Who leaked you that picture of Beau Holland and Dave Cowart with Buck? A lot of people hate Beau, even in the club. Maybe he’s scared the club will throw him to the wolves.”
Something makes me turn and scan the parking lot. A presentiment of danger? I’m suddenly aware of the hard bulge of my pistol in the small of my back.
“What is it?” Jet asks.
“Nothing. I just felt funny for a second. Like we’re being watched.”
She looks over her shoulder. “I’d better get back inside. Kevin’s probably wondering about this, and the helicopter will get here any minute.”
“Will you go to Jackson with them?”
“Probably. To look after Kevin.”
As I fight the urge to take her hand, a black city police cruiser wheels into the entry circle and parks thirty feet from us. Two cops get out: one in his twenties, the other in his forties.
“Oh, God,” Jet murmurs, losing color fast. “I told you. He did it. Max told them it was me.”
The cops are talking to each other across the roof of the cruiser. The older one’s holding a cell phone to his ear. “No way,” I say. “Take it easy. They’re probably just visiting somebody in the hospital.”
“You’re wrong, Marshall. Max must be awake.”
“If he accuses you, then you know what to do. Go nuclear. Incinerate that son of a bitch. Tell Paul everything. I’ll support you in the paper, and I’ll be waiting for you when the ashes clear.”
Now the cops are walking our way. Even so, I feel confident. There’s no way Max invited police into the middle of his family soap opera. After trying to rape the mother of his “grandchild”? Jet’s back is to the cruiser, and she’s standing as stiffly as someone awaiting a bullet from a firing squad.
“Are you Marshall McEwan?” asks the older cop.
“That’s right.”
As he comes closer, into our pool of light, I see that his name tag reads farner. The look on his face makes me acutely aware of the gun wedged against my skin.
“Where were you earlier tonight, sir?”
Jet closes her eyes. She’s so pale that I worry she might collapse. In this moment, I realize that I’m going to lie to protect her. “Is there something I can help you with, Officer?”
“I just told you what I need from you. Your whereabouts earlier tonight.”
“I’ve been at the hospital for quite a while. My father had a massive coronary.”
“Before that.”
Jet opens her eyes, and I see confusion in them.
“I was at my home.”
“Can anybody corroborate that?”
Jet nods almost imperceptibly, by which I gather she means for me to use her as an alibi. But I don’t want to go that way unless there’s no other option. Glancing left, I see Nadine standing at the big lighted window thirty yards away, her face a dark oval against the glass. Kevin Matheson stands just behind her, a cell phone pressed to his ear.
“Officer, do I need to consult an attorney?”
The big cop ignores my question. “I just left the emergency room, where Mr. Max Matheson informed me that you assaulted him with a hammer. He has a skull fracture. That’s aggravated assault, which is a felony. You need to come down to the station with us to straighten this out.”
Jet’s mouth falls open. “Wha—wait,” she stammers. “Where and when did this assault supposedly occur?”
“Let it go,” I tell her, realizing this could end in worse ways than me under arrest. My first priority is finding a way to tell them about my gun without getting killed. “I’m happy to go to the station with you and sort this out.”
“Step out of the way, ma’am,” says Officer Farner.
Jet doesn’t move. “I happen to be Mr. McEwan’s attorney. Where and when did this alleged assault occur?”
“Parnassus Hill, if it’s any business of yours. Now, step back, lady. That’s your last warning.”
“Do you know who I am?”
Farner laughs. “Yeah, I know. Princess Muckety-Muck. And I got a news flash for you. Tonight it don’t make a fuck.”
An alarm goes off deep in my medulla. Did Farner just announce that Jet’s protection has been withdrawn?
“Parnassus Hill is outside the jurisdiction of the city police,” she points out.
The officer heaves a heavy sigh. “We’ll call the sheriff’s department on the way to the station, and they can take custody there.” Farner turns to me, his eyes weary but belligerent. “Marshall McEwan, I’m placing you under arrest for aggravated assault. Put your hands behind your back.”
Jet shakes her head in disbelief. “That’s absurd. My client is innocent. He wasn’t even there.”
“How do you know that?” asks the younger cop. “Were you with him?”
“Did Max say I was with him?”
“Jet, let it go,” I plead. “You can’t stop this.”
Farner turns back to the younger cop. “Floyd? Cuff him.”
“Hands behind your back,” barks the younger cop. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you—”
“Turn off that camera!” yells Officer Farner.
Nadine is walking swiftly across the asphalt circle with her iPhone held in front of her. “This isn’t Russia yet,” she retorts. “I don’t see a body cam on you, and I can film anything I please.”
“You can’t do this!” Jet snaps, taking a step toward Farner.
“Mrs. Matheson,” he says, “both you women are interfering with an officer in the performance of his duties.”
“I’m doing no such thing. This is bullshit.”
“Public profanity, Floyd,” Farner says. “Add that to her list.”
“Jet, please,” I implore.
She’s not hearing me. Jet is obviously racked with guilt that I’m being arrested for something she did. Max pulled a neat trick by accusing me rather than her. It gets him lifesaving medical care without bringing Jet into the equation at all. What I want to know is my supposed motive for assaulting Max.
“Officer,” I say in the most level voice I can muster, “you’ll see that both my hands are in plain view. I need to inform you that I’m carrying a pistol. It’s in the small of my back—”
“GUN!” shouts Farner, whipping his automatic out of his holster and aiming at my chest. His partner does the same, and Jet’s shriek does nothing to defuse the situation.
“Get on the ground!” Farner screams, moving around behind me.