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Old 11-12-2014, 08:34 PM   #1
LitShark
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The DA's Baby Girl ((LitShark & WajaLover))

“Foot-gate D, open!” The guard who had a firm grasp on Karl’s shoulder shouted up to his fellow guard in the tower.

“Foot-gate D, opening!” The shouted response came back.

There came a long, loud buzz as a red light above the chain-link and razor wire gate rolled along its track to pull open. The buzzing continued until Karl walked through the gate and out onto the gravel parking lot, after a subtle shove from the guard. Karl glared back, only to find the guard smirking as he stepped back inside the gate.

“Prisoner release is completed. Lock down!”

“Locking down!”

The buzzing continued until the rolling gate rolled back closed, slamming with a metallic crash into its housing, where metal locks fell into place with automated efficiency. At last, the red light cut out and the buzzing stopped. The guard took one last look at Karl before returning to his duties.

“Good luck readjusting to civilian life, convict. I’ll be seeing you again real soon, I’m sure of it.” The guard, Officer Stein mocked, making sure to get one last jab in before Karl left the prison yard, once and for all. “Scum like you always comes back.”

Karl chose not to respond. It wasn’t that he took comments like those lightly, but out of sheer necessity he’d learned not to allow words to penetrate him. Words were irrelevant, only actions mattered. Shrugging his duffel bag higher onto his shoulder, Karl made his way across the gravel lot toward the bus stop feeling uncomfortable in his own clothes, his own boots and his own skin. It had been so long since he’d worn boots with laces that they felt odd on his feet, heavier than the slippers that inmates wore.

The world felt so foreign. It was nothing like the world he’d left.

Rhonda, the love of his life wasn’t on her way to pick him up. She was two states away with her new husband, already knocked up with the daughter he’d intended to have with her, starting his family with another man. She had more important things to attend to than giving a lift to the man she’d once loved, probably busy reading What To Expect When You’re Expecting while soaking her feet. She’d earned that.

Karl knew better than to try and reach Rhonda—hell, he didn’t even know where the fuck he was going, except for the fact that it was NOT back to her. He couldn’t, it wouldn’t be fair, she’d told him so. Karl thought about fairness a lot lately, what was and wasn’t fair—who had earned what and how. Rhonda stayed beside him for a long time—through the trial, through the media, through two of the six appeals. She’d tried, she really had, Karl knew that was true. He tried too, tried to let her go… but for what?

Sitting back on the nearly frozen, metal bench, Karl tried to focus on the future, not the past—but he failed. What did he have left to live for? His life, his future, even his name were all blown to pieces by that one incident—an incident he only knew by the details of his conviction, that he’d had nothing at all to do with.

That he’d been on a call, rewiring Mrs. Cooper’s faulty circuit breaker for the third time that week at the time of the incident was deemed unimportant in the face of the evidence against him. Even sweet, old Mrs. Cooper’s testimony on Karl’s behalf had been shredded by the District Attorney—who grilled her for specific times in cross and asserted that Karl had time between leaving her home and returning to his own to drive downtown and participate in a gangland shootout. Once he started slamming his palm on the edge of the witness box, Mrs. Cooper would have agreed that anything he said was possible.

DA James Cooper… the bought-out son-of-a-bitch. He’d needed someone to take the fall, he couldn’t go into Compton and round up all the bangers who’d really done the shooting—he depended on them to keep things consistent. He took payoffs from both sides, and as long as they kept on killing each other, Cooper would keep collecting. The reason this shooting was so special was that Elizabeth Montgomery happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. The people needed someone to answer for the shooting of Ms. Montgomery and Cooper needed a scape goat.

To that end Karl was just too perfect.

A black man in a blue van—all accounts agreed on that much, and there wasn’t much Karl could say to refute this color of his van or his skin. Sure, Karl’s van had the name of his company printed on the side and Ms. Montgomery had testified that the van involved in the incident was struck by several bullets before the shooter fired the shot that wounded her—but none of that overshadowed the facts. He was a black man in a blue van.

The gun was planted, GSR tests falsified, everything set perfectly in motion by the real culprits and the D.A. himself. By the time it was finished, the evidence against Karl was so great that even he might have started suspecting himself if he hadn’t known better—but he did, know better.

None of it mattered now. The bus was arriving, so Karl gathered his things.

*_*_*

The D.A.’s office was in a constant state of chaos, this day was no different. A.D.A.s flying off to litigations left-and-right, haphazard piles of case files and evidence lists stacked in piles, phones ringing in every corner of the room and every person shouting over each other in their wrinkled, over-worn suits.

At least in his office, James could mostly shut the noise of the main office out, at least then he could relax enough to take care of the important business.

“No, no, no, no—you’re the one who wants a plea bargain here, not me. I’d smoke your fucking ass in front of a jury and you know it. The kid pleads guilty to manslaughter and evasion, does ten years and I’ll drop the murder one… I don’t give a fuck! He does ten or we go in front of a judge and he does life—I don’t care if he says he did it or not, I’d rather see him off the streets for good!” James was barking into the phone. “No, ten’s the deal. Take it or leave it. Call me back if and when you get your head out of your ass. If it’s still up there by Friday, the deal becomes fifteen.”

James slapped the phone back into the receiver and smiled, pulling an exquisite, oily, Cuban Cohiba from his desktop humidor. He snipped the end and began dabbing it with his tongue, twisting it between his lips to appropriately wet the smoking end.

“Mr. Cooper, there’s a call on one from Mr. Blue.” Sarah, the twenty-something receptionist who sometimes sucked his cock alerted him through the speaker-phone.

“Shit, alright. Put him through.” James replied, striking a match on the edge of his desk and puffing the flame into the dry end of his cigar, blooms of smoke issuing behind him. “Darryl, my man! How’s it hangin’ down there on the South side.”

“Don’t use no real names on the phone, bitch! How many times I gotta tell you that?” Darryl seemed irritated already. “We got a bigger problem, though.”

“Problem? What problem? Life is sweet, my man! Things couldn’t be better. Take it easy, enjoy the good life—“

“Shut the fuck up, stupid! Life ain’t sweet. That square you set up, back when I was still bangin’ corners, remember him? Karl somebody. He got out today. Ya hear me? He’s fucking free!”

“So what? He’s a convict? He’s no threat to us, we’re rock solid.”

“What, you don’t think he’s gonna want to know why he just did a dime on some gang shit that he don’t know nothin’ about? Don’t you think he’s gonna want some answers?”

“Fuck it! If he comes after me, I’ll lock his ass back up—if he comes after you, fucking kill him. It’s not rocket science.”

“Yeah, I’m glad you’re so fuckin’ chill about all this. I ain’t so easily reassured, but I can handle my own. You just remember that I came to you with this, and you said you didn’t want any help. I’ll be in touch.” The signal cut out after that.

James flicked the cone of ash from the glowing, red cherry at the end of his cigar, leaning back in his leather armchair and resting his feet up on his desk. It was then that his campaign manager Gary Hornish barged into his office, brandishing the local section of the weekly paper—clearly quite upset.

“Goddamnit James! Have you seen this? This is the last fucking thing that we need—it’s an election year!”

James pulled his feet back down and sighed, pressing the intercom out to his secretary.

“Sarah, get my goddamn daughter on the phone, would ya?”

The paper on the desk had a picture of a young, lovely brunette hanging in the arms of two unamused looking bouncers as they carried her toward the street. The headline read: DA’S DAUGHTER DRUNK AND DELINQUENT AGAIN
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Old 11-14-2014, 04:02 PM   #2
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Amy woke up to the blaring bells and whistles coming from her phone. It was her father. She groaned and hit the phone and it fell to the soft rug under the bedside table, silenced. It had been placed there just to catch it so her Smartphone wouldn't break every week.

"Ugh, is it even morning?" Amy squinted at the windows that were dark. She forgot for the moment they were shuttered so the sun couldn't wake her up.

"Yes, Miss, it is." Carla, a house maid, held out a glass of water and a few pills. Amy took both, grateful. "I imagine it is your father calling about the headlines this morning."

"Please tell me I was brilliant enough not to leave with a guy again." Amy sat back in bed, a hand brushing the hair back from her face. She knew her long brown hair was messy and didn't care.

"No Missy, you came home alone, as usual." Carla smiled and Amy attempted a smile.

"Shall I make you oatmeal? How about eggs Benedict and French toast? I've made tortillas con huevos."

"Nope, I'll just have the blueberry muffins I know you've made me, and a few breakfast bars."

"Ack, bars don't fill you up, they don't last long at all." Carla shook her head and tutted as she folded clothing and put it away.

Amy laughed softly at her enjoyment of the ritual that occurred every morning she woke up in her dad's house hungover. She scowled as her phone rang again.

"Hello Daddy," she said, finally picking up the phone at the last minute. She had plans for some fun and hoped that he didn't interfere with them. She wanted to check out a few hang out places
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Old 11-15-2014, 01:19 AM   #3
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“The call went through to voicemail after five rings Mr. Collins.” Sarah meekly called through the speakerphone.

“Try her again in five minutes, Sarah.” James barked back, misplacing his anger. “And don’t stop until you get ahold of that little bitch!”

“James, you’ve got to calm down. I can spin this, are you listening?” Gary was already in damage control mode, trying to get in front of the situation like he always did. “If this were any other year, she could just apologize in front to some cameras, but this time an apology isn’t going to cut it. She’s going to have to check herself into a rehab facility.

“That way she shows heartfelt contrition, and you get a sympathy bump any time it gets brought up—most American households deal with addiction, people can relate to having a family member in treatment. Without that, she just looks like another spoiled, rich heiress who can’t control herself. You can’t be tied to someone like that, especially not since the money’s less than clean, you follow?”

“Yeah, yeah, I fucking follow. First things first, I’ve got to get the little twat on the phone.”

“Hello Daddy.”

“Hold for Mr. Collins.” Sarah transferred the call in quickly, “I’ve got her on one.”

“Amy! Goddamnit, have you seen the papers this morning? You spoiled little bitch, what the hell were you thinking? In a fucking election year, no less! Are you trying to get me run out of office, because I’ll tell you—things are going to change if I lose this gig. For you most of all!”

“Amy, it’s Greg. I’m really sorry to wake you with news like this, but we’re going to need you to check into rehab, for appearances only, you understand—but appearances are what matter right now. Can you do that for us, sweetheart?”

*_*_*

DA’S DAUGHTER DRUNK AND DELINQUENT AGAIN

Karl read the headline over and over again as he walked down Broadway toward the halfway house that was printed on his release papers. The numbers were going the wrong direction, but Karl was still too thrilled to worry himself over heading the wrong direction—he was flying high on his mind’s busy schemes for balancing the scales for the wrong that was done him.

Turning quickly on his heel, Karl almost skipped the other direction, letting his eyes move back over the picture, taking time to appreciate each individual spot of ink that comprised the image. She’d barely been a toddler when Karl went away, now the DA’s darling little child was all grown up and getting kicked out of clubs with her dress hiked up and drooping low in the front.

The way that she was held by the men who carried her made those luscious breasts of hers cleave together in the most enticing way. He could see his just revenge dangling before him, he just needed to reach out and take it.

The check-in procedure was straightforward, in no time, he’d moved his meager possessions into the cramped single room, with rust stains dripping down at the corners—to Karl it was a palace. It had a bed, and a door that locked—there were only a scant few things missing for Karl to have his revenge on James Collins, the man who’d taken everything from him.

It was almost time to start taking back.
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Old 11-20-2014, 08:33 PM   #4
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Amy growled into the phone.

"No way! No fucking way am I goin into stupid fuckin rehab! You can't make me! You haven't controlled me in years and no way am I about to let you start controlling me now! I'm 24 years old and I don't have a drinking problem. I don't do drugs yet nor do I want to, but maybe I will start if you push me, Daddy. I also don't drink before 4, and I do limit myself. And so far, other than that first time, I haven't involved myself with any guys whenever I drink, other than some harmless flirting."

Carla Rodriguez shook her head and finished refolding clothes that gave her an excuse to stay around for these conversations Amy had with her father. Amy usually asked for some kind of advice when they finished, and while Carla only had the equivalent to a degree in housekeeping, she knew politics and business. Amy only thought that James Collins hadnt been controlling her when he had. She got her duster out and started wiping down shelves and figurines.

Amy heard what he had to say, then slammed down the phone and stood up, paced a bit. She hated election year, it always drove her nuts. He was always so controlling then, and it made her crazy. He acted like he was better than the rest of the people, and he wasn't. She could certainly be better than she acted, but why bother? Being bad was so much more fun. She loved it.

"Well, Carla, what should I do today?" Amy asked, spreading out on her bed, arms wide. "Have any errands for me?"

Carla smiled and nodded, sitting down on a chair. "There are groceries for you to get, and a few things to fix up the house." She didn't give her the list yet, she wouldn't until Amy was ready to leave. She stood up and smiled, then went to the door. "Use a wig today, and a hat."

"Yes Carla." Amy called after her back. She got up and ready, dressing in her first outfit of the day. It was her errands outfit, the type of clothing she always wore when she didn't want to be recognized as the D.A.'s daughter. She put on long ripped bell-bottoms and a UCLA sweat shirt she barely remembered getting for a birthday one year that was well worn. She put on worn out running shoes that she hadn't worn out with white socks.

She went into the connected bathroom and put on blue eye shadow, hot pink lip stick, peach blush, and mascara. Finally, to top it off, she put on a yellow wig and a cowboy hat. Then she packed a carry on sack with purple heels and a skimpy outfit. Smiling, she went downstairs and peeked in the kitchen.

"Breakfast is ready," Carla said from the stove. She put a few things on a plate and set it on the table where Amy sat. She looked at her plate and groaned.

"Bacon and pancakes? Carla, you're killing me here, you know. I can't eat all that!"

"Yes you can, Missy, and you will, or I'll hide all the breakfast bars." Carla shook a finger at her and nodded.

"Fine," Amy groaned and started eating. She shoved down the food and finished quickly. She never had anything to drink for breakfast and took her plate to the sink. Carla gave her a list and a kiss on her cheek.

"Thanks Carla!" Amy said, dashing to get her purse and keys. In no time at all she was going out the back door and driving to a grocery store a few towns away.

A few hours later, she was back at the house briefly to drop off the groceries and other things, and then she headed out to cause trouble and check out the scene. She changed into a skimpy outfit of short red tank and tiny jeans shorts and heels.
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