One Step Ahead

Goodbye

      "I hope you feel up to traveling, Mr. Harris," Bledsoe stated, gesturing to a pile of fabric which had been placed on the end of the bed. "Because as soon as we can get you changed, you'll be heading back to LA for formal charges."

      "Gee, Chief, I figured thith county would call dibth, thince I'm already here."

      "Oh, there has been plenty of discussion on the matter," Yesenia Pruitt retorted. "And your... activities here are quite probably what you'll be charged with first, since the Federal government usually likes to pull rank." Noting the puzzled expression that crossed his face, she chuckled slightly and said, "Oh, come on now! You're not really going to stand there and tell us that you went to all of the trouble to Google a map of the area, and program the location of Mr. Frazier's cabin into your GPS, and didn't notice that Cachuma Lake is actually located in the Los Padres National Forest, are you? And since Los Padres is administered by the National Parks Service, it's considered Federal land, which puts you under their jurisdiction."

      "That's right, Keith," Sanger chimed in. "If I remember correctly, you're currently facing federal arson charges, two kidnapping charges, three counts of attempted murder, and one count of capital murder for the death of one Dexter Goldfarb, not even taking your earlier crimes into consideration."

      "I have no fucking idea who thith Goldfarb person ith, and at motht, you've got me on the arthon and maybe the Malveaux broad. So I have no idea where you get three attempted."

      "Mr. Goldfarb was the fellow whose face you blew off at the cell-phone tower," Pruitt replied. "And the other two attempted murder charges are for firing at Ashley Purdy, and for the bullet you put in Detective Weintraub's shoulder. So with these charges, on top of everything else, you may be looking at more time in lockup than the damn Green River Killer."

      Bledsoe lifted his arm, casting an impatient glance at his watch. "Okay, now that we've got that covered, do ya think maybe someone can get him out of the restraints long enough to get dressed, so we can get on the road?"

      Everyone in the room placed a hand on their weapons, and Sanger moved to stand in front of the windows, as the agent released his former colleague from the chains. Once he was free, Bledsoe gestured toward the bed with his pistol, indicating the clothing, which consisted of a pair of boxers and a prison-issue jumpsuit. Harris donned the undergarment, and picked up the jumpsuit between his thumb and forefinger, looking at it as if it were contaminated. "You really want me to wear thith? Couldn't you have brought one of my thuits? Or some of my hockey clothes, at leatht." 

      "Oh, of course! I'll have somebody get right on that," Bledsoe retorted, sarcasm fairly dripping from his words. "I'm sorry to have to burst your little bubble of self-absorption, but you sure as hell aren't getting any special treatment! So you can either get your ass into that jumpsuit, or you can just walk into the courthouse with it waving in the breeze out the back of that hospital gown, I don't particularly give a fuck which. You've got one minute to make up your mind, starting now."

      Harris knew the other man well enough to know that, in his current mood, he would have no qualms about sending him out in front of the media in his current humiliating state of undress, so he reluctantly stepped into the blazing-orange garment, then permitted himself to be shackled once again. When that was done, the deputy opened the door, allowing the Los Angeles detectives and FBI agents to lead their prisoner into the hall, surrounding him as they made their way through the building toward a service elevator. 

      The plan was to avoid the public, and hopefully the press, as much as possible, and to leave the building through an employee exit in the rear. Bledsoe had already directed the officers who had accompanied him to park the transport van near this door, to minimize the chances of being ambushed by either the media or any friends or relatives of the victims. This strategy was, however, proven to be only a partial success as they reached the ground floor and were forced to cross a portion of the main lobby to pick up Harris' release paperwork and prescriptions.