Standing By

Kerfuffle In The Lobby

(Austin)

I zipped into the first parking spot I saw, then ended up having to traipse around the building when the front door was not where I expected it to be. Hello, front doors belong in the front—that's why they're called front doors! Not side doors! Checkbook firmly in hand, I pushed the door open. Tim's ticket out. Tim's only ticket now that the bitch had stolen it.

"Yes?" a bored-looking cop at the front desk asked, eyeing me. I realized I probably looked a mess and tried to straighten up, readjusting the ponytail and adjusting my shirt so it wasn't lopsided on me. Another cop paraded a suspect across the lobby, the dude giving him lip the whole way. A tall African-American man shoved the remnants of a sandwich in his mouth, also focused entirely on me.

"Um," I stammered, looking around. I wasn't exactly sure what I'd been expecting, but it wasn't this. I switched my checkbook to my other hand. "Tim Foust. I'm here for Tim Foust."

"Another one?" the cop grunted as a ruckus commenced to our right. "Lewis, can't you control her?"

The black guy scowled in their direction and stood up. "Hi, I'm Elliott, Tim's lawyer. You must be the guy with the checkbook?"

"Yes." I held it up. "I'm ready to get my friend out. Just tell me who to make it out to and I'll do it."

"You need the bursar. Or Ruiz," the cop told me, raising his voice to be heard over Lewis' loud and cranky suspect.

"OK, where can I find them?" I asked. I was anxious to move things along. Any minute Tim spent back there waiting for me to pay this was a minute too long in my opinion.

The cop stood up. "I'll go get them. Can I have your name, please?"

"Austin Brown," I told him, shaking the checkbook at him. "With the checkbook."

"Austin," Elliott said and I spun around, startled. Dang, dude had a deep voice, at least as deep as Tim's. I almost felt like I'd just been scolded. "Sorry, didn't mean to startle you."

I gave him a half-grin. "I'm a bit jumpy. Worried sick about Tim and Adam. I'm just—"

Now it was Elliott's turn to startle. "What? Adam? Not Rupp. Please tell me, it's Adam Chance you're worried about, right?"

I crossed my arms and narrowed my eyes at him. "Not really your business." Granted, I'd probably said too much already, but still. Dude needed to back down. I was a cat in a room full of rocking chairs anyway; the last thing I needed was another aggravating factor.

He blinked as though I'd slapped him and his eyes crinkled up. I'd actually hurt him by telling him to mind his own business. And this was supposed to be the guy defending Tim. Oh Lord. Tim was screwed. "I guess not," he whispered, sounding strangled. "Not anymore." He turned and walked away from me.

"Dude," I began, shaking my head and trying to figure out what the hell his problem was. "What—"

He held a hand out. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. "You're right. I was out of line and overstepped. If it's any consolation, I'm not just a busybody. I used to work with him. Adam Rupp, that is."

I started frowning. "Worked with him? In what regards?" When'd we ever worked with a lawyer? In Tennessee at that? I knew for a fact we hadn't worked with him since I'd joined up with Home Free.

"Base," he said, flipping through his phone quickly.

"Wha?" I asked, mind spinning on police bases, army bases—lawyer bases? On what basis was he referring to bases?