Court
"Man, Kenny was on fire tonight," Arell said, shaking his head in disbelief. "That no-look pass in the fourth? Straight nasty."
Cam nodded enthusiastically. "For real. NBA scouts gotta be taking notice. Wouldn't be surprised if he starts getting offers soon."
Geoffrey's lips curled into a knowing smile. "Oh, they've noticed. In fact, I've already fielded a few calls."
Arell's eyebrows shot up. "Hold up. You're fielding calls about Kenny? Since when are you his agent?"
"Since he asked me to be," Geoffrey replied smoothly. "About a week ago, actually. He wanted someone he could trust to navigate the waters."
Arell let out a low whistle. "So you're gonna be an NBA agent now too? You really don't sleep, huh?"
Geoffrey's eyes glinted with amusement. "Sleep is overrated. There's too much work to be done."
As they drove deeper into the city, the gleaming high-rises gave way to more modest neighborhoods. Arell's mind drifted to Saaheem and the boys. It had been a minute since he'd checked in.
"Let's pull up on Saaheem," Arell suggested, leaning forward.
The driver nodded, adjusting their route. As they turned down a familiar street lined with weathered apartment buildings, Arell's eyes caught movement in the shadows. He leaned forward, squinting through the tinted windows.
"Hold up," he said sharply. "Pull over."
The SUV slowed to a stop, and Arell's stomach dropped as the scene came into focus. A group of boys – couldn't have been more than 14 or 15 – had a younger kid cornered against a chain-link fence. One of the older boys was waving something that glinted in the dim streetlight.
"Shit," Arell muttered, recognizing the aggressors. He'd given them chains not to long ago, trying to show some love to the neighborhood kids. Now they were out here robbing folks?
Arell was out of the car soon enough, his own gun in hand. Behind him, he heard car doors slamming as his security scrambled to catch up.
"Ay!" Arell's voice boomed across the street. The boys froze, heads whipping around. "The fuck y'all think you're doing?"
Recognition dawned on their faces, a mixture of awe and fear. The ringleader – Darius, Arell remembered – took a step back, lowering the gun.
"A-Arell?" Darius stammered. "We was just—"
"Just nothing," Arell cut him off, closing the distance in long strides. He could hear his security fanning out behind him, but he kept his eyes locked on the boys. "Give me that," he said, holding out his hand for the gun.
Darius hesitated for a moment before sheepishly handing it over. Arell checked the clip – loaded. His jaw clenched.
"The rest of 'em too," he said. The other boys quickly produced two more pistols.
Arell turned to the young kid they'd been robbing, a scrawny boy no older than 12. "You alright, lil bro?"
The boy nodded, eyes wide.
"Good. Go on home now."
As the kid scampered off, Arell turned back to Darius and his crew. The anger that had been simmering now boiled over.
"What the fuck is wrong with y'all?" he exploded. "I give you chains, try to show some love, and this is how you repay it? Robbing little kids? Carrying straps?"
The boys shuffled their feet, unable to meet his gaze.
"You think this makes you hard?" Arell continued, his voice dripping with disappointment. "This ain't it. This is weak shit. You wanna be men? You do better than this."
He held up the guns. "These? These ain't the way. All they gonna do is get you locked up or laid out. Is that what y'all want?"
A chorus of mumbled "no's" answered him.
Arell softened his tone slightly. "Look, I know it's rough out here. But this ain't the answer. You're better than this. You gotta be."
He turned to one of his security guards. "Take these." he said, handing over the guns.
Facing the boys again, Arell's expression hardened. "I see any of y'all pulling this shit again, and we're gonna have a real problem. You understand?"
They nodded vigorously.
"Good. Now get your asses home."
As the boys scurried off, Arell felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned to see Geoffrey, his expression unreadable.
"A word," Geoffrey said quietly, steering Arell back toward the SUV.
Once they were out of earshot, Geoffrey's tone turned sharp. "That was reckless, Arell. You can't just jump out like that. What if one of them had panicked and started shooting?"
Arell bristled. "What, I'm supposed to just drive by? Let that shit happen?"
"I'm saying you need to be more cautious," Geoffrey replied, his eyes boring into Arell's. "You're not invincible. It only takes a split second for things to go wrong. One stray bullet, one nervous trigger finger – that's all it would take."
The weight of Geoffrey's words sank in, and Arell felt a chill despite the warm night air. He nodded slowly. "Yeah... yeah, I understand. I'll be more careful."
Geoffrey's expression softened slightly. "Good. Now, shall we?"
They made their way into the apartment complex, the security detail spreading out to secure the area. Saaheem's door swung open before they could knock.
"Bout time y'all showed up," he said, ushering them inside. The small apartment was crowded with familiar faces – Saaheem's crew lounging on worn couches and chairs.
"What's good, Bab?" Arell asked, clasping hands with his friend. "Everything alright?"
Saaheem ran a hand over his face. "Nah, man. We got problems. Big ones."
He jerked his head toward a coffee table covered in papers. "That file the detectives had? The one y'all said not to worry about? They ain't playing, bro. They pulled T3 in again today."
Arell's brow furrowed. "Again?"
"So did I," Saaheem replied, his voice tight with worry. "But they came at him hard this time. And..." he hesitated, glancing at Geoffrey. "They found some shit at his place. Bad shit."
Geoffrey stepped forward, his calm demeanor completely different from the tension in the room. "What exactly did they find?"
Saaheem lowered his voice. "A burner phone. Some cash that don't add up. And... residue. You know what I'm saying?"
Arell felt his stomach drop. Even with a good lawyer, that was a tough combination to explain away.
Geoffrey, however, remained unruffled. "Where are they holding him?"
"Downtown precinct," Saaheem replied. "But visiting hours are long over, man. What you gonna do?"
Geoffrey's eyes flickered with determination. "We're going. Now."
The group moved swiftly, piling into the waiting SUVs. As they sped towards downtown, Arell's leg bounced somewhat… nervously.
"You sure about this?" he asked.
Geoffrey's gaze remained fixed ahead, his posture relaxed despite the tension in the air. "Of course I am."
The streets of Atlanta blurred past as they weaved through late-night traffic. Arell couldn't shake the gnawing worry in his gut. "But what if they don't let you see him? What if they've already processed him?"
Geoffrey turned to Arell, his expression unreadable. "There are always ways, Arell. The key is to understand the game being played and to stay several moves ahead."
As they pulled up to the precinct, Geoffrey straightened his already immaculate tie. "Wait here," he instructed. "This requires a... delicate touch."
Arell opened his mouth to protest, but Geoffrey was already striding towards the entrance, his gait purposeful and unhurried.
Inside, fluorescent lights cast harsh shadows across the bustling lobby. Officers shuffled paperwork, the occasional handcuffed suspect shuffled through. Geoffrey approached the front desk, where a heavy-set sergeant peered at him over reading glasses.
"Can I help you?" the sergeant asked, his tone suggesting he'd rather do anything but.
Geoffrey leaned in slightly, his voice low and measured. "Good evening. I'm here regarding Tyson Johnson."
The sergeant's eyebrow arched. "Visiting hours are over, sir. And Johnson's not cleared for visitors anyway. You'll have to come back in the morning."
Geoffrey's expression didn't waver. "I understand the hour is late, but I believe you'll find it's in everyone's best interest to make an exception. If you could inform Detective Harrison that Geoffrey Rose is here to see him?"
Something in Geoffrey's tone made the sergeant hesitate. After a moment, he reached for the phone, murmuring into the receiver.
Minutes ticked by, the background noise of the precinct fading into a dull hum as Geoffrey waited patiently. Finally, a door swung open, and a disheveled man in rumpled shirtsleeves emerged. Detective Harrison's eyes narrowed as he took in Geoffrey's impeccable appearance.
"Mr. Rose," he said, his tone wary. "This is highly irregular. What exactly are you doing here at this hour?"
Geoffrey's lips quirked into a small smile. "I think you know why I'm here, Detective. Perhaps we could speak somewhere more private?"
Harrison hesitated for a moment before nodding curtly. "Follow me."
He led Geoffrey to a small interview room, closing the door behind them. As soon as they were alone, Harrison's professional facade cracked.
"How the hell did you even know we brought Johnson in?" he demanded. "That information hasn't been made public."
Geoffrey settled into a chair, his posture relaxed but alert. "I have my sources, Detective. Just as I'm sure you have yours. Now, shall we discuss the matter at hand?"
Harrison's jaw clenched. "There's nothing to discuss. We have solid evidence this time. Johnson's going down."
"Ah," Geoffrey said, his voice tinged with amusement. "You mean the burner phone? The cash? The alleged residue? Interesting how that evidence materialized so... conveniently."
Harrison's eyes widened. "How did you—"
Geoffrey held up a hand, cutting him off. "The details of my knowledge aren't important, Detective. What is important is whether that evidence will hold up under scrutiny. Proper chain of custody maintained? Warrant airtight? No corners cut in your eagerness to close this case?"
Harrison leaned forward, his voice low and dangerous. "Are you implying something, Mr. Rose?"
Geoffrey's gaze locked onto Harrison's, unwavering. "I'm not implying anything, Detective. I'm simply pointing out that cases built on shaky foundations tend to crumble. It would be a shame if all your hard work was undone by a few... procedural oversights."
Harrison's fist clenched on the table. "Listen here, you can't just waltz in and start throwing around accusations. We did everything by the book."
"Did you?" Geoffrey asked, his tone maddeningly calm. "Because from where I'm sitting, there seem to be quite a few questions surrounding this case. Questions that, if brought to light in court, could prove quite... problematic."
Harrison's face flushed with anger. "Is that a threat?"
Geoffrey leaned back, his expression neutral. "Not at all, Detective. I'm simply laying out the facts as I see them. Now, here's what I propose: You release Mr. Johnson pending further investigation. Review your evidence, carefully. I think you'll find some... inconsistencies that need addressing."
Harrison scoffed. "And why the hell would I do that?"
Geoffrey's eyes narrowed slightly. "Because, Detective, I don't think you want certain... indiscretions on your part to come to light. Indiscretions that, if exposed, could be quite damaging to your career."
The color drained from Harrison's face. "You're bluffing."
"Are you willing to bet your career on that?" Geoffrey asked, his voice soft but carrying an unmistakable edge.
The tension in the room was palpable as the two men stared each other down. Finally, Harrison's shoulders sagged.
"Fine," he muttered. "I'll review the evidence. But this isn't over, Rose. If Johnson's guilty, he's going down, no matter what strings you try to pull."
Geoffrey stood, straightening his already impeccable suit. "I wouldn't expect anything less, Detective. I look forward to seeing you in court."
As he turned to leave, Harrison called out, "How do you fit into all this, Rose? What's your angle?"
Geoffrey paused at the door, a small smile playing at his lips. "Let's just say I have a vested interest in seeing justice served, Detective. Have a pleasant evening."
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New Novel: A Quiet Place: Day One
This has me burnt so I'm in need of a break, from this.