Press Release

11: Press Charges

When the phone rings at nearly three in the morning, it's never a good sign. Minnie rolls over, groaning and reaching blindly for her phone. Mostly to shut it up. Seeing that it's an unknown number, she debates not answering, but she's confident whoever it is will keep calling back.

Picking up the phone, she hoarsely whispers, "Hello?"

"Olivia?" comes the plaintive voice; instantly she's wide awake, sitting up in bed.

"Xavier?" Minnie queries, immediately worried. "What's wrong?"

"Uh. I need you to come get me. Now please. Before the press hears." His voice is small, scared, and sad, and Minnie's heart breaks. He's done so well. What had pushed him over the edge?

"Which precinct are you at?" For she knows he's in jail. Her experience has, unfortunately, taught her well.

"You'll come get me?" The relief in his voice is palpable, and Minnie is already climbing out of her bed, naked, which is how she sleeps. Turning on the closet light and squinting a bit, she grabs a pair of jeans off the shelf, cradling the phone between her shoulder and ear as she slides one leg into the skinny jeans, and then the other, not bothering to waste time with underwear.

"Tell me where you are, and I'll be there as soon as possible." Making a mental note when Xavier tells her where he is, Olivia nods before realizing he can't see her. "Take some deep breaths, X. I'm on my way. Say nothing to anyone." Hanging up the phone, she grabs a bulky sweater, sliding it over her naked torso. Next are some ballet flats that are comfortable and easy for her feet to slide into. She brushes her hair in a simple ponytail.

On her way out of the complex, Minnie grabs her purse as she dials a lawyer she knows and has used previously, begging him to meet her at the jail. She's not sure what they're facing, and she has to stop at an ATM to get some cash. It's the easiest way to get someone out of jail, and she knows this. Another unfavorable piece of info she's gained in this job.

Waving to Frank on her way out, she calls,"I've got some business to do, Frank. If I'm not back in two hours, send out a search party."

"You got it, Ms. Wakefield," he hollers back.

This is their shorthand, and she knows that Frank will track her cell phone if she's not back in two hours, calling her to make sure everything is okay. She paid a shitload of money for this apartment, and security like Frank is part of the deal. He's so much more than a front desk attendant. Former Green Beret. Worked in private security for a few years before landing this job.

At this time of the morning, the drive takes less time than she expected. Pulling into the parking lot, she stuffs the massive amount of twenty dollar bills she's extracted from ATMs across the city into her purse. Her bank will let her withdraw $800 per transaction, so she'd stopped at three ATMs.

Walking into the police station, she stops short when she sees him. She crosses her arms over her chest protectively with the recognition that she hadn't worn a bra tonight. Stupidly.

=================

Pacing the floor in the police station, I wonder what I did to deserve this. Not once in my life have I had to bail anyone out of jail. When the call had come from my detective friend with whom I'd played many a game of pickup beach volleyball, I wasn't sure about whether or not to get out of my fucking bed to help Xavier. But ultimately, I decide that Olivia would hear about it if I ignored the call, so I came. Since my arrival, I've talked to five different people and signed a dozen autographs. But still Xavier is nowhere to be found.

I'm ready to give up when she walks in. As soon as she sees me, she wraps her arms around herself, and that's when I notice that she's not wearing a bra. What is she doing here? And why does she look so eminently fuckable? Damn. Not a bit of makeup on her face. Her hair in a severe ponytail. She looks like she's just rolled out of bed. And suddenly I'm semi-hard. In a police station.