“Denis.” The judge’s drawl was warm, laced with a chuckle. “You know I told you to call me Daylon.”
“Alright, Daylon, how you holding up?”
“Funny you should ask. I need someone I know. Someone I can trust. My normal PD is out, the man had some family emergency, but there’s a guy in lockup I want bonded out ASAP. His lawyer’s AWOL.”
Denis leaned forwards, interest piqued. “What’s the charge?”
“Stupid one, but you didn’t hear that from me. Rookie got his feathers ruffled, overreacted. Bullshit resisting charge. I’d cut him loose on his own, but protocol’s protocol, and next year’s an election year.”
“Bond set?”
“Need you to handle it. Can you be here by 10:30 tonight?”
Denis glanced at the clock. The timeline was tight, but doable. “Oh, night court. Fun times. Yeah, I’m in. Who’s the lucky bastard?”
“Tom Palant. IMC guy. You’ll see the file.”
Denis froze, a jolt running through him.Could it be Cherry?“Got it,” he said, voice steady despite the rapid thud of his pulse. “See you soon.”
***
Cherry
The cell was a windowless concrete box, where the kind of quiet pressed in until your own breathing sounded loud. He was almost sorry he didn’t have any company. Cherry sat as he had for several hours, head tipped back against the chilly wall, eyes half-closed, figuring he was stuck in holding till morning. Then boots clomped down the hall, and a voice barked, “Palant. Courtroom. Let’s go.”
He straightened, squinting. “It’s late.”
“Tell me something I didn’t know. What? You got somewhere else to be?” The jailer grinned, clearly amused, and swung the door wide. “Come on.”
Cherry stood, backing up with wrists crossed, a remembered habit from long ago rougher days, but the guy waved him off. “Naw, no cuffs. IMC’s got my respect, man. Y’all fixed my Auntie Joan’s roof out in Slidell few years back. She’d never ask, but after the ‘cane you all just showed up and took care of her. I ain’t forgetting that.”
Cherry blinked as he turned, surprised, and stepped out as instructed. “Thank you.” The hallway stretched ahead, fluorescent lights buzzing, and he followed, boots heavy. Court this late meant someone pulled strings, Busk, maybe, or the lawyer finally waking up. He didn’t dare hope for more.
***
Denis
Denis paced the defender’s room, a claustrophobic closet of chipped paint and flickering light, flipping through the slim folder they’d handed him at the courthouse door.Tom Palant, 49, Marine vet, mechanic, IMC Baton Rouge.No priors worth a damn, a few drunk and disorderly from decades ago. And the rookie’s flimsy charge from today.Resisting, my ass. He was scanning for an alias, something to tie it to Cherry when the door creaked open.
He turned, and there he was—Cherry, in the flesh, all ink and striking storm-gray eyes, rocking back on his heels as if he’d been gut-punched. Denis’ heart kicked, but he played it cool, striding over with a hand out. “Hi.”
“Hi,” Cherry echoed, taking it slow, their palms sliding together a beat too long. Warm, rough, familiar.
“Good to see you,” Denis said, pumping twice before letting go.
“You too. Sorry to drag you out so late.” Cherry’s voice was steady, but his eyes flickered with surprise, maybe relief.
“When Judge Cooper calls, I answer. He couldn’t sort your rep, so he tapped me.” Denis shut the door behind the jailer, gesturing to a chair. “Sit, Cherry.” He paused, grinning. “Hmmm. Nope. Can’t bring myself to call you Tom. Simply doesn’t fit.”
Cherry’s smile was small, but real. “Haven’t been Tom in forever, man. You’ve got the real me.”
***
Cherry
The fuck?Cherry stared at Denis, the man he’d connected with on a raw level, and had been fighting to forget. The man now standing there in a rumpled shirt and a grin that could smack the sense out of him. Lawyer, yeah, he’d said that, but public defender? He was sure Denis had said he was in private practice, which made way more sense. Denis was private money, not living off county scraps. Cherry rocked back, caught off guard, but the memory of Denis’ hand in his grounded him, that slow slide of skin sayingwe’re not strangers. Okay. He’d roll with it.
He hooked a boot around the chair, swinging it to straddle the seat, arms crossed over the back. Denis sat too, close enough to feel, and Cherry let himself breathe. There was still the trouble he’d landed in, and his bike was still in impound, but just having Denis here, no matter what questions it raised, felt like a stable line back to good.
