Free Here Comes the Night by Linda McDonald

Several had already wise-cracked about her expensive bleach job.
    “Angie Wesner?” The female cop was opening the cell door,
which caused a cacophony of voices from the rest of the women, asking where
their help was. Where their phone call was.
    “Why’s this bitch gittin’ out when I cain’t?” one of them
demanded as Angie moved to the door.
    “That’s me,” Angie told the officer.
    “Come with me.” She handcuffed Angie in front and led her to
a meeting cubicle. “I guess you know you’re one of the lucky ones,” the cop
said as she ushered her inside.
    Indigo Fisher, Gordon’s bold and black lawyer, sporting a
headful of braids and beads, was waiting for her. There had never been any real
fondness between them, but Indigo looked genuinely concerned for her now. “My
God, you look terrible. How are you holding up?”
    “This was all so stupid.” Then Angie asked, “Does Gordon
know yet?”
    Indigo shook her head. “I was hoping you could tell me where
he is. I can’t get him at home, at his office, or on his cell. That’s not like
him.”
    After a moment, with no explanation coming from Angie, she
asked, “What happened to your hand?”
    “I cut it. It’s not as bad as it looks. Mainly my head is
killing me.”
    “I might have some Ibuprofen,” Indigo offered, going for her
purse.
    “They wouldn’t give me anything when they bandaged my hand,”
Angie said. “I haven’t heard from Gordon either.” She paused. “Gordon and me
had a fight.”
    “That’s none of my concern. I just wanted to make sure he
was alright. It’s not like him not to check in.”
    Angie gave an I-don’t-know shrug.
    Indigo moved on to business. “Now, I went outside my usual
area as your husband’s personal attorney and spoke with the bar owner. He’ll
settle for damages if he sees a little additional sweetener for the pot. Which
is no problem.”
    “How about the asshole?” Angie asked.
    “I just finished with him. He’s still hot and bothered, but
he’ll come around when he sobers up and sees green.”
    “Fine,” Angie said. “When can I go?”

Chapter 37
    Outside the motorhome, Tony listened for anything from
inside. But it was soundproof, other than a polite hum from the dual 50-amp
feeds snaking into the monster. He didn’t really want to stick around.It
would just mean Erika giving him hell.
    But he couldn’t keep his eyes off Dell’s Porsche. It looked
like it was solid gold in the light from a nearby security lamp. As noiselessly
as possible, Tony opened the driver door with the keys he’d snagged from the
R.V.
    He eased into the sand-colored leather seats, and admired
the dashboard that looked like a plane’s cockpit. He glanced again at the R.V.
then carefully inserted the car keys into the ignition.
    Tony entertained the possibilities. Dell could come out
shooting as he drove off. If he got stopped, the cops wouldn’t waste ten
seconds on him before hauling him in. But there was the lush smell of the
leather, the sensuous stretch of his legs toward the accelerator. And he wanted
to see that world class dashboard lit up.
    Without thinking it through any further, Tony turned the
ignition key.
    Instead of roaring to life, there was only a dull click.
    He frowned and tried again. Click .
    A moment later, the door to the R.V. opened. Dell stood
there, bare chested but in his pants, with a 9mm in one hand and a beeping
remote in the other. He smiled and shook his head, as though to a mischievous
child. “Come on, kid. Did you really think I’d park a car like this outside
without a kill switch?”
    “And a silent alarm,” Tony grimaced. “You prick.”
    “You weren’t going to leave your girlfriend, surely.”
    Tony’s body constricted with anger at being caught. Growing
up, he’d watched the rich boys do the same shit as him, but with their high
dollar lawyers always showing up and making it go away. All he’d ever got was another
beating when he got home and the threat of