When Al saw Sunny walk into the holding area, he sagged against the bars of his cell in relief. "Oh, thank God," he said.

Sunny smirked and shook his head. "Are you finally taking my advice now?"

"Yes, well, I'm in the shit for real this time."

"What the hell were you thinking, man?"

"Is Lauren out there? Did she tell you?"

He nodded. "It freaked me out when she called and told me you were in jail. Do you think you maybe overreacted when you led the cops on a merry chase through farm country?"

He sighed and nodded. "Yeah, maybe. Is Rachel out there?"

"Yes, she drove with me out here. She and Lauren are talking to the police about the guy Lauren threw. He wants to press charges, and Rachel wants to have a good look at the guy to see if she can recognize anything about him from that night. I don't know how successful she'll be. It was months ago, and she never saw their faces." Sunny paused. "Rachel told me to tell you that you took too much liberty with her instructions. I don't know what that means."

Al chuckled sheepishly. "I was supposed to make sure Lauren got home safe."

"Well, Lauren didn't do much for her own safety either. It was a little erratic of her to go after the guy just because she wanted her sword back."

"Well, I can sort of understand. That sword has a lot of history for her family."

Sunny shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. "This is a big mess, buddy."

Al fought back tears before replying. "Yup. I don't know what this will mean. Will I go to prison? Will I lose my job? Will I lose my license?"

"I'm not totally versed on the statutes, but you don't have a record, so I bet they'll go light on you."

"About that. Are you even able to represent me? You don't do criminal law."

"I've called a colleague of mine. He should be here soon. You haven't talked to the police since they brought you to the holding cell, have you?"

"No."

"Good. I heard you've already said too much, though, implying the police were bad at their jobs?"

"I didn't say that!" Al protested. "I just said that if I did the right thing, too much time might have passed, and Lauren might be hurt right now, or even worse."

Sunny sighed. "Not being your lawyer, exactly, what I'm about to say isn't advice, but..." He leaned in and said, sotto voce, "I'm glad your first priority was to find Lauren and help her. I'm happier no one got hurt, except maybe a couple of cars, but that move was pure LSDC, man."

Al chuckled. "It felt kind of exhilarating, going that fast, having the cops chase me. I felt like an action hero for a while."

Sunny shook his head. "You do know that if it was me behind the wheel I would have been roughed up a little before being put in the car, or even shot."

"Mr. Parhar, are you implying that the police would assume, because of their innate prejudice, that you are a Sikh gang member out of Abbotsford dealing drugs, and that was why you were fleeing, and that maybe you had a gun in your car?"

"Of course I am. Your white privilege pisses me off; I bet you didn't think for a minute anything bad would happen to you beyond getting your hands put roughly behind your back."

Al blinked in surprise. He hadn't. "I'm sorry, Sunny. You're absolutely right. I wasn't really thinking at all, though. All that mattered to me was getting to Lauren when I left the car. They probably thought I was fleeing on foot."

Sunny put a hand over his on the bar. "Once my colleague arrives I'll send him right in. Take it easy and say nothing to them, okay?"

"Gotcha."

Sunny nodded, turned and left. Al sighed and sat back down on the hard metal bench. He realized he had to go to the bathroom, but the only facility was a metal toilet without a seat. It was really just a basin in plain view of everyone else who happened to share the cell with him, of whom there were happily none. A Sunday night in Aldergrove didn't bring in the rowdies, apparently.

He decided he could bear the indignity, pulled down his pants and sat on the basin, trying not to think of how many people had occupied this holding cell, what fluids they might have deposited on the rim, and how often the toilet was cleaned.

He'd just finished and was pulling up his pants when the door to the holding area opened, and a constable escorted a man to the cell and opened the door. Al realized it was the man Lauren had been struggling with. They were putting him in the same cell as Al. Alarmed, Al sat on his bench, trying to think small thoughts. Don't notice me, I'm not here, he repeated in his head over and over again.

Once the constable slid the door shut, the man sighed and seated himself on the other end of the cell, as far away from Al as he could get. Al sneaked looks at him when he wasn't looking. There was nothing very distinguishable about him. He was about as tall as Al was, brown hair, stubble. A heavy jacket and jeans. Rachel was going to have a hard time identifying him if he'd been wearing a balaclava. Maybe if the guy had been wearing the same jacket she might remember it, but that was a long shot.

They sat like that for what seemed like an hour. Al looked anywhere but at him. This was excruciating. He could understand now why prisons made people into animals; everyone around each other all the time, wondering who was going to attack them next, wondering whom they should attack to establish dominance. He knew if this guy wanted to he could establish dominance. Al was a wimp. He could never physically intimidate anyone.

Al leaned his head against the bars, trying to find a comfortable position to rest. He supposed he could try to lie flat out on the bench, but he thought that might look too submissive; Samson exposed his belly only because the cat trusted that Al and Rachel would never harm him, and he thought that was smart, and that he should use the same instincts. This guy had no weapons on him, as the police would have taken all of his belongings, but fists were easy enough to make.

"Did you know that girl?"

The question came out of the blue, and Al was startled by it. He took a deep breath and sat up. The guy was looking at him with a blank stare.

"I'm sorry?" he asked.

"When I was arrested," the guy said, "I noticed you were over by the other police car, I think it ran into your car."

"Yeah," Al said hesitantly.

"And then they took the girl over where you were, and you started talking. Is she your friend?"

There was no percentage in Al lying to this man. He'd just look stupid. "She's in her forties, just like I am," Al said. "She ceased being a girl a long time ago. And, yes, she's one of my best friends."

The guy blinked in surprise. "She looks a lot younger. She said her family was Japanese, maybe that was it, that and she's small."

"She got a lot of that in high school," Al said. "People thought she was a kid who'd skipped a couple of grades."

"She's a fiery one, isn't she," he said, shaking his head. "I bet she's a freak in bed."

Oh, if you only knew, he thought, but he said, "That's my friend you're talking about."

The guy smirked at him. "Defending her honour, are you?"

Al said nothing.

"What's her problem, anyway?" the guy asked. "I was just doing my business when she popped out of nowhere screaming at me."

Al was curious now. "Out of nowhere? What are you talking about?"

"Huh?" the guy asked, his brows furrowing.

"Did you know she's a private investigator, and she was following you since you met Carrie MacDougall at Denny's?"

The guy paled. He looked like he might faint for a second, but then he got hold of himself and said, "I don't know what you're talking about."

The guy was a terrible liar. Al suddenly felt like trying something. "You know she'll throw you under the bus, right?" he asked.

The guy blinked in surprise. "What?"

"Carrie MacDougall. She'll turn on you so fast you won't see it coming. You're nothing but the help to her. Rich people always get guys like you to do the dirty work, it lets them stay an arm's length from the whole thing, and they can say they had nothing to do with it, it was all your doing."

"Guys like me?" he asked, suddenly angry. "What the hell is that supposed to mean? You don't know anything about me!"

"You don't think we haven't been compiling information on all of you?" Al asked, feeling slightly out of body. He hardly ever lied, had no sense of guile, and couldn't act to save his life. But here, in this holding cell, alone with this guy, he suddenly felt like going out on a limb. "You didn't think we'd just let you do what you did and not retaliate?"

"Do what?"

"Like you don't know."

The guy shook his head in confusion. "You're crazy just like she is."

Al shrugged. "Let me guess: you wanted to sell the sword to Carrie MacDougall. She wasn't interested, so you went to your local pawnshop."

"Nope," he said defiantly.

"Okay, so you didn't meet Carrie MacDougall to sell her the sword, but you admit meeting her."

"I admit nothing. I don't even know who she is."

"My friend has pictures of you together. I bet MacDougall only goes to Denny's because she's slumming. Do you know she used to live in the Dunbar-Southlands area of Vancouver? That's, like, old money, super rich horsey set people. You want to know why she moved to Aldergrove?"

The guy was shaking his head at him in exasperation. Al didn't care. "She lost nearly everything. She was in the middle of divorcing her husband at the time, and she hired my friend to entrap him, get proof he was committing adultery. Instead, my friend inadvertently exposed her husband as a rapist who drugged women and brought them home to his secret apartment. They found photos of women he raped. My friend might have become one of them if her husband hadn't intervened just in time."

At the words rapist and drugged, the guy flinched. Al bet Carrie MacDougall had never told him any of this. "As a result," he went on, "the women identified wound up suing him for damages. They ended up first in line for the spoils. Carrie MacDougall lost big time. I don't think she's ever forgiven my friend for that. That's the rich person's mindset, they're in a completely different world. Her husband raped multiple women, but she's the victim because she lost money."

The guy shrugged. "I don't know anything about that."

"That's okay. It has nothing to do with you. You never met my friend before today, so why should you care? So, what can possibly be the connection?" he asked, rubbing his chin. "Where do you fit in?"

"Nowhere, man. As soon as my brother gets here and bails me out, I'm out of here, and I hope I never see any of you again."

"Maybe it's the subdivision," Al said.

"What?"

"Maybe you met at the zoning hearing, both there to oppose the new subdivision. Maybe love blossomed across class lines because you shared a common enemy. Maybe you're her go-to guy when she wants to get down in the dirt."

The guy shook his head, a look a pity on his face. "Like I said, I don't know the woman, and I'm a married man."

"That didn't stop you from pondering the sexual attributes of my friend," Al pointed out. "Maybe Carrie pays you for sex, it helps pay the bills so I'm sure your wife doesn't mind."

"Fuck you!" he shouted, rising to his feet. "You watch your fucking mouth!"

Al flinched a little. He had to watch himself. He hoped there were cameras watching the room, and police officers ready to intervene if a fight broke out. He was getting under the guy's skin, and he kind of liked it. "I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to imply that you're poor and need to earn money by being a gigolo to an older woman."

"I'm not," the guy growled. "And who the hell are you, anyway? I bet you're from Vancouver, you have the look, that pissy better-than-you look you have when you mingle with Fraser Valley folk. I bet you look at me, and you look at my truck, and you've already made up your mind that I'm a redneck. You don't know the first thing about me."

Al shrugged. "You're right. You're absolutely right. Guilty as charged. I live in Vancouver, but only a couple of years. I've lived in New Westminster and Coquitlam most of my life, so I don't know what it's like to live out here. I can't imagine living on so much space, I think I'd feel agoraphobic."

The guy glared at him, but he sat back down. "Most of it's for growing stuff, you know. We do need to grow stuff, you know that, right? Food doesn't just come from the supermarket."

"I know. You're right. I admire people who grow our food. I couldn't imagine that kind of life, getting up before dawn, working until sundown, never getting a holiday. I couldn't do it, but it needs to be done, like you said, or we don't eat." He paused. "Is that why you opposed the subdivision? Was it taking precious land out of agricultural use and jacking up property values? Could it increase your taxes and put your livelihood in danger?"

The guy didn't take the bait, just kept glaring at him.

Al changed tactics. "I'm also married. My wife's name is Rachel. She's tall and blonde. She's out there right now." What he said next was going to be a Hail Mary, but he really had nothing to lose. "I think she was looking in when you were being interviewed, seeing if you were the guy who attempted to rape her and stole her car."

"That wasn't--!" Suddenly the guy realized his gaffe and shut his mouth so hard Al could hear his teeth click together. He sat back, crossed his arms, and stared through the bars. Al thought the guy was done talking to him. It didn't matter. Al had what he wanted, and he was thrilled that he'd been able to get it just by throwing out shit he didn't even know was true or not. For example, how could he have known the guy had been interviewed by the cops, and how would he have known Rachel had watched it? All Sunny had told him was that Rachel was there and wanted to have a look at him.

The door to the holding area opened, and a constable strolled in. "Mr. Speares, your brother is here to pick you up. You're out on bail but you have to appear in court at a later date."

Mr. Speares smirked and stood as the door was opened to him. "See you later," he said.

Al nodded and watched him go, relieved that he was alone again.

If you've read the first novel in this series, you'll know Al is not a very confrontational person, but he's brave when he has to be. Anger on behalf of his friends made him decide to try to draw him out. If you liked what you just read, hit "Vote" and leave a comment. To find out if they can get Al out of jail, click on "Continue reading."