Immani gave him the bullet points. The stop. The deputies. The approaching SUVs.
Sheriff Van's name. "Jesus," Preach breathed. "You need to leave. This county eats outsiders, especially ones who fight back."
"I've got evidence," Immani said. "And a sealed trailer they wanted badly enough to risk exposure." "Evidence doesn't matter here," Preach warned. "Sheriff Van's got judges in his pocket, deputies on his leash, and enough friends to make problems vanish."
"Turn around. Live to fight somewhere else." Immani watched the sun setting through her windshield, painting the sky in deep purples and bloody reds. Running meant leaving others vulnerable.
Meant letting predators keep their badges. Meant looking away. She started her engine. "I'm going to need directions," she said, "to the county courthouse."
"You're making a mistake," Preach said heavily. "They own the dark here." "Then I'll make them face me in the light." Immani pulled out, turning her rig toward town.
Sometimes survival meant hiding. But sometimes it meant standing your ground where everyone could see. The morning sun streamed through the courthouse's tall windows, casting long shadows across the polished floor. Immani stood at the clerk's counter, her complaint form and thumb drive placed deliberately in front of her.
The elderly clerk's smile didn't reach her eyes as she peered over reading glasses. "I'm sorry, ma'am, but we don't take complaints like that without an appointment." The clerk's voice dripped with fake sweetness. "It's policy."
"Show me where that policy is written," Immani said quietly, her tone level and professional. The clerk's smile tightened. "Perhaps you'd like to speak with one of our officers." A desk sergeant appeared, his badge reading Matthews.
He squared his shoulders, trying to make his presence intimidating. "What seems to be the problem here?" "I need to file a complaint about Deputies Ror and Brener," Immani stated clearly, "regarding an illegal stop and attempted theft yesterday evening." Matthews made a show of shuffling through papers.
"Can't seem to find those forms right now. System's been acting up lately," he smirked. "Maybe try the county seat 40 miles over." Behind the counter, a younger clerk whispered something to her colleague, both giggling.
A phone camera flashed briefly, someone taking her picture. Immani kept her face neutral, but her mind recorded everything. The clerk who texted immediately after the photo. The security guard by the metal detector who suddenly found his radio interesting.
The maintenance man who hustled away like he didn't want to be seen. "We get all kinds through here," an officer lounging against the wall announced loudly. "Especially certain kinds of drivers who don't know their place on our roads." More laughter rippled through the lobby.
Immani didn't react to the bait. She'd commanded missions where a single wrong move meant death. These small-town power plays were amateur hour. "I'd like to speak with Judge Kitage."
The laughter stopped. The clerk's expression froze. "Judge Kitage is unavailable," Matthews said flatly. "I'll wait," Immani replied.