Chapter 32: Dead End Justice
Olivia tried to pretend she was invisible. If she stood very still and breathed very little, and no one noticed her, then maybe she wouldn't be here. She leaned against the thick cell doors, standing at the very corner of the small square room she shared with about ten too many people. Her fingers grasped the cold metal, the bars felt unnecessarily thick. What were they trying to keep in here? Bears?
No one looked at each other, not even Tara and her mother Lettie Mae, who bickered and sermoned each other for being in Shreveport's drunk tank as if one had a morally higher ground than the other. It seemed Tara's mom was a regular at this fine establishment, but she didn't seem to feel any sort of shame about it. Lettie Mae was more focused on scolding her 'whore of a daughter' for being an exotic dancer, succumbing to the temptations of the devil, getting lost from her path to God, and not loving Jesus enough. Tara did not take the sermon quietly - in turn, she reminded her mother about all the times she passed out drunk in the middle of the day and forgot to pick her up from school, make food or clean the house; all the times she beat the shit out of her for hiding the liquor bottle, or all the times she had to bail her mother of this very jail because she had caused a drunken scene somewhere.
"If my stripper money ain't good enough to you, then fine, good luck keepin' the lights on and your ass outta jail mama, cause you ain't gettin' a fucking dime outta me no more." Tara snarled, meaning every word.
The whole scene was very painful and awkward to watch, neither woman held back. It painfully reminded her of all the times Olivia fought with her own mother growing up. Hence, Olivia pretended to be invisible. She considered telling Lettie Mae to shut the fuck up, but again, she felt it wasn't her place to do say anything. Half of the people in this cell were here because of her, she had done enough.
Tara didn't shed a single tear, unashamed of airing her family drama in front of her co-workers and other Shreveport's finest women. However, she did pull and hold her coat shut close for dear life. Unfortunately, it was obvious she was wearing stripper clothes under an old hunting jacket from the police station's lost and found bin. In fact, half of them were sporting forgotten clothes: Dawn, Savannah, Crystal, Yvette and Ginger were here too, all wearing mismatched men's tops. Ginger wasn't a dancer, but you couldn't tell by the way she dressed.
Everyone looked like shit. Smudged mascaras, bruised cheekbones, falling hair extensions, scraped knees, broken heels. Olivia's white silk top was filthy with dirt and car oil stains, and two buttons were missing. The cop who arrested her might as well have mopped the Fangtasia parking lot with her chest.
In the small periods of silence between the nasty words of Tara and her mother, there was nothing. Everyone's minds were oddly at ease, just waiting for dawn to come. The girls, and even the other strangers in the cell were at peace with their reality, accepting the sweet embrace of rock bottom with a certain grace Olivia did not quite have. To them, the peace was almost comforting, to her it was hell. It felt like losing, it was disturbing and Olivia hated every second of it. Her eyes focused down the hallway, waiting for Portia or a familiar face to come for her. Maybe a cop, so she could read his mind and maybe get some insider information on the station's corruption; maybe what charges were being laid, or what was the infraction that set off the raid. Hell, she would even take Alcide Hervaux at this point.
These were trying times, okay?
This time Olivia couldn't escape into work. She couldn't dive into a spreadsheet and bury herself in numbers to make her forget her reality. She was imprisoned here with her own thoughts, and everyone else's. Olivia wondered what had happened to Eric. After his oddly heroic gesture, he was hauled off to a different part of the station, where they had built a special room for vampires. She knew she should be mad at him. She stood there trying to pout and brood, focusing on the anger that usually came so easily when the topic was Eric Northman, but there was nothing. For some reason, the knowledge that she wasn't alone was enough to let him off the hook. Eric chose to go down with her when he could have very well just saved himself. Olivia was not a forlorn figure in that cell, despite being invisible to the world.
However, knowing Eric, he would give her plenty more to be pissed off about in no time.
"You look like a sad golden retriever puppy at the doggy gate," Ginger said in a flat tone. "Suits you though, you being a bitch and all."
Olivia studied the room, trying to figure out who she was talking to, but the waitress' eyes were staring directly at her, almost boring holes in her head. Turns out, Olivia was not as quite invisible as she thought. She always had the impression Ginger didn't like her much, but she never cared enough to figure out why. No time like the present.
"What the hell is your problem with me?"
"You're fucking poison, Olivia Carson. None of this shit used to happen 'til you got here."
The other women all gawked at Olivia, intrigued at what she had to say. Even Tara and Lettie Mae stopped bickering. First things first, if Ginger meant police raids - they happened long before she came along. Jesus, they happened the first night she even set foot in the place when she only attended as a guest. Suddenly Olivia felt too tired to care about Ginger's feelings.
"Look, I don't know what your problem is, but I bet it's hard to pronounce."
In a fit of rage, the tiny woman lunged from the bench seat and stomped all the way across the cell, right fist visible from a mile away. Little did she know, Olivia's dad was a trained boxer and taught her a thing or two (or many) about taking and throwing punches. Liv blocked the blow with her left forearm and socked her right on the nose, punching all the way through with one fluid movement. Ginger fell backwards with force, ass on the floor and everyone gasped, then cheered. Dawn and Tara let out a loud "oh, damn!" and Crystal started laughing out loud. She also didn't particularly care for Ginger.
From this distance and Olivia's skill level and strength, a hit to the throat would have broken her windpipe, a blow to the cheekbone would have given her a concussion, and punching the mouth always hurts the knuckles more than it's worth. The nose, however, was painful (for the target) but not too damaging, like lost teeth. Olivia knew Ginger couldn't afford new ones. She did the payroll, after all.
"Anyone else would like to air their grievances tonight?" Olivia threatened the room, but everyone was too busy staring at Ginger who sat stunned on the floor, still processing being punched.
"You broke my nose!" Ginger cried, blood running down her mouth. "Somebody do something!" She yelled at the group, but no one moved a finger to avenge the waitress. She then pathetically tried to hail a police officer from the depths of this hellhole. "Hey! Help! I'm bein' assaulted by an inmate!"
But no one came. It's like Shreveport cops tossed them in here and left the building altogether.
Ginger made fists and hit the floor like a toddler. "You guys are bitches, did you know that?" Awkward and slowly, Ginger managed to drag her ass back to the corner seat, away from Olivia. It was not done very gracefully or with much dignity.
"Hell nah, you don't punch the lady who writes your paycheck, you bleach bucket." Tara laughed.
Dawn agreed. "Yeah, jeez, talk about biting the hand that feeds you."
"You know what? Fuck y'all. Loyalty is fuckin' dead on your generation. If Belinda were here, she would have busted this chick's ass."
First of all, it was very kind of Ginger to lump Olivia with the rest of the dancers who were all 4 to 7 years younger than her. And second of all, Belinda was like, 50. "Loyalty? Ginger, I'm on your side, you dumbass! Do you think I wanted to ruin opening night with a police raid and spend the night in a Louisiana drunk tank with all of you? That's actually worse than any corporate orientation icebreaker I've been, believe it or not."
Ginger wiped her nose on the sleeve, it was half snot, half-blood. "Oooh look at her, the corporate queen. You think you are so much better than us, just 'cause you moved here from New York, went to some fancy-ass college, and carry a laptop around like you own the place, but I see you bitch, I know what you really are."
The room went silent again. Her words cut like a knife. What you really are. A mind-reading freak? A criminal? Scared? Alone? Insane?
You are in love with him, but Eric ain't never gonna love you back no matter how good you make Fangtasia. Trust me because I fucking tried, she thought.
Olivia should have pitied the woman, but she was all out of empathy these days. It's not often she replied to people's thoughts out loud, mostly because it confused the shit out of them and made Olivia look crazy, but that train had already left long ago.
"Ginger, for fuck's sake - is that what this is all about? You're jealous of Eric and I?" Liv asked.
The waitress looked up, eyes filled with tears. "Don't even fuckin' say his name to me!"
"Who's Eric? Is that your pimp?" Lettie Mae asked Tara, not entirely following the conversation.
"Shut up mama! Ain't nobody talkin' to you." Tara rolled her eyes at her mother.
Suddenly the sound of a heavy metal door opening echoed down the long hallway, followed by heavy boots. "Olivia Carson!" A voice called, the whole room sat at the edge of the seats.
"You can go."
Saved by the fucking bell. The officer approached the cell door and went through his key ring. Envy filled the room, and suddenly a lot of girls were bitter at Olivia too. Of course, she gets a savior. But she knew the truth, she didn't have a savior - she had a fucking lawyer. The cell door opened and Olivia stepped right through.
"I'll tell you this Ginger," Olivia said on the other side while the office slid the cell door back shut. "The only people who get jealous are people who are fucking replaceable. And deep down sweetie, you know which one of us there's only one of."
And Liv walked away a free woman, following the officer down the hallway and leaving all of them behind. Everyone who signed up to work for vampires in a town like this knew the risks. Everyone who auditioned to be a stripper in the backwaters of Louisiana surely didn't have anything better to do. Olivia built her whole career on being irreplaceable. Out of everyone in this hellhole, she's the one who has risked the most. None of this was Olivia's fault, but she surely was going to find whose it was. And they were going to fucking regret it.
God, nothing like punching a bitch right in the face to remind you who the fuck you are.
He never actually set foot inside a vampire holding cell before, and tonight was not going to be an exception. Eric just needed to make sure that Olivia was shipped off with him, so they would end up in the same precinct. If they were separated, trying to track which of the nine police stations in Shreveport she ended up in would be impossible with dawn this close. There was a certain irony that for someone who was immortal, he actually had so little time. Being arrested together was just pragmatic. Also, romantic as fuck.
But his duties as Sheriff preceded everything, as always. He now needed to get close enough to the special vampire cell to work his magic and free whoever was arrested. Most officers were in the conference room debriefing this whole debacle, and the rest were processing everyone's ID to see what charges could stick. Which meant everywhere in the precinct was pretty quiet and understaffed. They had arrived at Shreveport's one and only vampire cell, where four vampires were inside. The number was both surprising and disappointing, but he digressed. The prisoners stared back at him, confused to see him in shackles as if they were equals, even if momentarily.
Eric had heard of the vampire cell the police had built, but this was the first time he had ever seen it in person. It was in the basement and looked a hell lot like a dog kennel - the back wall was concrete, the rest were metallic chain link fences and a plain bar door. He was willing to bet the whole structure was made of silver. This was the kind of bullshit vampires did not have to deal with pre-Grand Revelation, but alas, some higher up in the Vampire Authority thought coming out would grant them more power. Did it work? Who can tell?
"My good public servants," Eric called the men leading him to his destination. "Thank you, this has been fun, but that is all."
The two officers who were in charge of unloading him from the van to the cell, looked at each other in utter confusion. "Huh?"
"You, with the unfortunate mustache, use your taser on him."
And just like that, he reached for his belt, pulled out the bright yellow-looking gun and pointed its blue tip to the other cop. Before he could protest, the officer shot his partner. The metal coil darted from the gun and hit the man straight in the chest. He immediately went stiff, then fell on the floor convulsing. The shooter let out a yelp.
"Open the cell door."
His hands were shaking, trying to fight off the command, but the man was weak, in both mind and body. Eric broke the link of his silver handcuffs and pried the metal off his wrists as quickly as he could, trying to minimize the inevitable pesky burn. The cell door slid open and his fellow men and women walked out.
"Step inside and close it. Then count quietly to a thousand." The police officer obeyed, wide-eyed, watching his own hands close the cell door while the vampires stood free on the other side. "Oh, and drop your pants."
It would be funnier when his fellow officers found him this way. While the cop unbuckled his pants, Eric took out the key from the cell door and tossed it on the floor down the hallway.
"Everyone else, I take it you know what to do."
The four men and one woman nodded and then scattered. It was a basic jailbreak protocol, established long before the Great revelation. The procedure was to be used to get vampires out of the confines of law enforcement before the sunrise made them burst into flames in front of perps in the holding cell. The local vampire Sheriff would either post their bail or get them out via other methods. The arrested, in turn, were responsible for deleting security tapes, retrieving IDs, and stealing or destroying any evidence of their crimes.
In this case, there was no fucking crime. The one vampire who idiotically fought back and bit a police officer was staked on site. These idiots did nothing (other than perhaps getting caught) but they followed the protocol. Don't resist arrest, don't threaten the officers, only glamour if it is safe to do so, don't do anything stupid. Just wait for your Sheriff.
Eric thought about using the protocol to get Olivia out, but he knew the other vampires wouldn't understand, especially considering Olivia wasn't even his human. No one would dare question him directly, but rumors would certainly start. Eric did not want low-grade hearsay to hurt his brand, especially after the shitshow that tonight had been. So, he pulled out his cellphone from his jacket and dialled the number he needed. The universe was clearly against him: the call went straight to voicemail.
He quickly checked in with Pam via text while waiting for the vampires to finish their sweep. She had gotten home safe, and so had Chow and Felicity. At least something had gone right tonight. Fifteen minutes later and the vampire protocol had been completed. Another successful jailbreak for the books. The group of vampires left quietly through a back fire exit. Eric had done his duty, now it was every vamp for themselves. Unceremoniously, he flew straight up into the cool night sky. Eric had always been an excellent navigator. His internal compass and ability to read the skies had always been sharp, even back in his human days. Once situated above the city, Eric studied the moon and the stars and quickly adjusted direction towards Bon Temps.
Once he landed on the Bellefleur Estate, the place was much more depressing than he had expected. You could see the old antebellum home was built beautifully and grand on top of the hill overlooking the soft valleys of the land. It had tall white pillars on the front balcony that extended all the way to the second floor, holding the roof overtop the veranda. Around the big and adorned front door, the house had large evenly spaced grand windows with striking black shutters.
But its beauty was visibly decaying. The house needed a coat of paint, the garden was in desperate need of landscaping, the trees surrounding the house had dead branches in need of pruning, the U-shaped driveway was lumpy and shingles were missing from the roof from storms past. The shiny BMW parked out front actually looked out of place, despite this being the biggest house in the entire parish - though the bar was low. The Bellefleurs were an important family back in their heyday, and judging by the layout of the Estate and the age of the house, all indicated that this had been a plantation in previous centuries. Their decline had been well deserved then.
All the lights were off in the house, only the driveway safety light was on. Eric carefully floated past the windows, looking for a sleeping person in particular. In the master bedroom, he found an ancient woman. Could she be useful? Nah. She looked old and frail, and probably couldn't even get out of bed on her own, so Eric kept going. He passed one of the second-floor windows and peaked through the glass.
There she is.
He knocked lightly, and not ten seconds later, a pair of boring brown eyes stared back at him. Portia Bellefleur looked flustered and confused and closed her night robe tight around her torso as if Eric could somehow see through one layer of clothes, but not two.
"What- what the frig-" she mumbled while trying to open the window latch which seemed to be rusted in place. But eventually, Portia managed to lift the heavy window panel. "What the hell are you doing here?! It's four in the morning on a weekend!" She whispered angrily. "And you- you can fly? Vampires can freaking fly?!"
"Are you done with your stupid questions?"
"What are you doing here?"
"Guess you aren't." Eric glanced at his watch, it was past 4 AM, meaning he had less than two hours to get Olivia out of jail before sunrise. The drive from here to the station would take 35 minutes, but he knew he could make it in 20. "Put on decent clothes, I need you to get Olivia out of jail."
She deeply frowned. "You came all this way to ask me this? Are you not familiar with the telephone Mr. Northman?"
"I did call, this is what happens when it goes to voicemail - you get a home visit. Wanna know what happens after that?"
Portia bit her tongue and complied. "You said Olivia's in jail? Why?"
"I'll tell you in the car."
He was about to turn back when Portia objected again. "Wait! No, actually I- I can't. I'm supposed to meet Glenn for breakfast at 6 before our tee time at the country club."
He felt anger prickling all over, his fangs hurt to come out. Eric leaned forward as close to Portia as the house's enchantment would allow. "I don't remember asking you."
All color drained from her face, but she braved through. "You can't-"
He had reached his limit with her. Gazing deep into her eyes, he whispered. "Give me your hands."
Oh, silly girl. Portia extended both her hands and he took them gently, brushing the tops of her soft knuckles with his thumbs. He lowered them down the window sill and laid her fingers flat across the window ledge. Her eyes were lost in his, her mind was loose and free.
"What are you doing?" Portia's voice was barely a sound.
"Shhh, do not move."
He let go of her, and his hands travelled to the bottom edge of the raised window, undoing the lock that propped it up. Eric wiggled the window frame lightly and then let go. Like a guillotine, the pane dropped straight down with its full weight and speed. Portia watched it fall in horror, her reflexes attempted to yank her hands out of the way but she had no control over her own hands. They were fixed to the ledge, as he told her not to move. All she could do was let out a scream and close her eyes, anticipating the excruciating pain of having all her fingers broken at once.
At the very last second, Eric caught a wooden frame, stopping it half an inch away from her knuckles. Portia opened her eyes and choked back a sob. Then, she let out a heavy, fearful breath. Eric let her go, breaking the spell. Her hands shot up to her chest, away from the window. He could have glamoured her into an obedient dog, make her zombie walk into the police station and do her work and then send her home with her memory wiped out. But he learned long ago that glamour spells wear off at unpredictable times, and often at the worst moments. The cop he locked into the cell earlier, for example, was unlikely to finish counting to a thousand. His mind would eventually slip through the fog and take over. Fear was a much better way to get humans to obey. Fear was permanent, more effective, and deliciously more fun.
"Meet me in the car. You have five minutes."
Portia nodded, silent tears rolling down her pale dull cheeks. When he landed by the car, he could see the light turn on her bedroom, and voices arguing. Her scream woke her brother up; worried, he barged into his sister's room. Portia then lied, telling him she just had a nightmare. The house fell silent once again. Eric thought it was strange that an entire family would still live together as adults. Maybe they were sucking up to Nana Bellefleur, in hopes of an inheritance. Who knows why humans do what they do?
Five minutes later, the lawyer snuck out the front door wearing a plain black suit and hair brushed back in a low pony; holding her briefcase in one hand and a pair of ugly shoes in the other. Eric felt grateful for not being hungry because she was truly an insipid woman all around.
Eric asked for the keys, and she obliged without eye contact. Both entered the car quietly. Portia slipped her shoes on, and he turned the key on the ignition. The engine started quietly and the headlights lit the overgrown patchy lawn head. He now realized that this was the car that had started it all. Olivia used this car as a bribe in her own attempt at controlling Portia Bellefleur.
At this, however, Eric had mastered far better.
Once he turned left out the long driveway, Portia spoke again. "Is that how you get Olivia to do your bidding?"
He glanced at his lawyer again, who sat in the passenger seat trying to make herself the smallest possible while donning her shoes. She then sat back and hugged her briefcase tightly against her chest, looking straight ahead down the dark road, avoiding him altogether.
"No. Olivia and I have an… Understanding."
Sort of, not really. Olivia was strong enough to block his glamour, and the edict of protection nulled any threat of bodily harm. But that only meant Eric had to get creative on how to keep her in line. Over the past few months he spent working with her, it became his favorite pastime.
"And it includes getting her out of jail?"
"It does."
"What did she do?"
"Nothing. Cops raided Fangtasia again and she got caught in the crossfire."
Portia shot him a look. "What the hell did you do?"
He forgot how her incessant questioning and apparent allergy to silence were annoying.
"You sure ask a lot of questions," and it was getting on his nerves. "I did nothing, we get raided all the time, I'm sure Olivia has told you this."
Except tonight was different. It was an organized strike, tactfully executed by a larger than usual squad, with heavier equipment, more guns and more vehicles. They usually take a handful of the rowdiest drunks who fight back and never any vampires, but this time they took anyone they got their hands on - the cops were the ones out for blood. Maybe they anticipated more vampires due to the nature of the opening night, or maybe there were strings attached to this puppet. He had an inkling as to who might be tugging on said strings.
"What do their warrants say?"
"Warrants? Who do you think we're dealing with? First world law enforcement?"
Her brows furrowed. "Mr. Northman, this is illegal. It's criminal harassment-"
"Then use that good Tulane Law degree you have and feel free to scorch the earth at the station, but first, you get Olivia out."
He didn't care what happened after that.
There was a beautiful moment of peaceful quiet, where Eric enjoyed the dark open road. It had been a minute since he last drove a BMW, and he forgot how smooth the car ran (even if it was a lame automatic transmission). They had entered the city limits, as lamp posts became more frequent down the dark road.
But just as everything else, Portia Bellefleur had to ruin it. "You care for her."
Next time he was going to let the windowpane fall. "Judging by the absurd retainer fee you charge I'm going to guess you are familiar with Louisiana's jail holding times? Shreveport PD can hold her for up to 45 days under the suspect of misdemeanor, without actually charging her. I can't go without an accountant for that long."
If this whole strike was being done by who he thought it was, this was definitely what was going to happen. Portia didn't seem to catch on though, she seemed pretty pleased at her own dumbass theory judging by the smug smile on her plain face. "No, I don't think that's it. I think you can't bear the thought of her becoming someone's prison bitch."
First, he was surprised that someone so prissy would use such foul language. Second of all, who the fuck did Portia think she was talking to?
"Well, well well, where was this sharp tongue when your lovely fiance inquired about this car?" Eric smiled.
Portia paused, looking back on the road. The silence was more comforting than the answer for once. Eric pulled into the police station's parking lot, which sat almost empty.
"What's his name again? Glenn was it?"
Portia's heartbeat spiked to a thousand. When the car came to a stop she quickly reached for the door's handle, but he grasped her left wrist, stopping her from getting out.
"What's his name, Portia?" Eric wasn't smiling anymore.
Portia whimpered under the tight pressure he was holding her. Maybe it was how close he was leaning towards her.
"It's- his name is Glenn, Glenn Costa. Let me go!"
"In a minute. What have you told him about Olivia?"
Her eyes widened. "Other than she's a bit of a bully, nothing, I swear! Now let me go, Mr. Northman-"
"What have you told him about me?"
Silence yet again. Other than her heart rate running in pure fright. He knew right then his suspicions were correct: tonight's raid was sponsored by none other than the DEA, courtesy of Glenn Costa and Alcide Hervaux. He had gone too long taking only half measures, waiting for human incompetence to take over as it usually did. But it was time. They had Olivia, they were getting too close. Eric would not enjoy what he was about to do next, but since it was Portia Bellefleur, he wouldn't feel too bad about it either.
"Give me your phone," her eyes gave in so easily. She handed him the device from her briefcase. "You have forgotten it in the car, and it will be here when you come back."
Now for the bad part. "After bailing Olivia out, you'll drive her home and then go back to Bon Temps. Take care of your grandmother, spend some time with her today."
She nodded.
"You will get a phone call from Glenn Costa when you don't show up to the country club later. But don't worry about it, he has the wrong number. You will forget Glenn and every single thing about him. He is not your fiance, he is not your boyfriend, you have never even met him. He's a complete stranger, and you have never loved him, Portia."
When she nodded again, her eyes glistened with tears.
"You will focus on your family and your career. Glenn is nothing to you. In fact, when you do meet him, you'll find him annoying, unattractive and unpleasant. If he tries to date or talk to you again, remember he is a DEA agent and is trying to use you to get to me. Do not trust him. Now go."
He let go of her wrist. Portia blinked a couple of times and shook her head slightly before opening the passenger door. She left without another word, and Eric started to go through the lawyer's phone, deleting Glenn Costa from her phone entirely. Glamouring was not very effective to make humans obey because that was not its original intent. It was a spell created to make humans forget. He had yet to find love absolute enough to survive being erased. That didn't mean Portia didn't love her fiance, or that love itself wasn't real, or strong, or deep - Eric wasn't that much of a cynic. It's like the vows they have made for hundreds of years say - until death due us part.
Well, Eric Northman was death.
AN.
HELLO ANGELS
Sorry for the lack of updates, this summer has been crazy busy (and crazy hot). I basically only had time to write during my 20-minute bus commute, so this was slowly written and edited 20 minutes at a time. It was a slow and painful process, but thank you kindly for your patience! I have rewarded you with a long Eric chapter that really highlights his badassery and ruthlessness.
Thank you SO much for the kind words and comments I've received so far, it honestly brings me so much fucking joy that you guys love this little story.
Now, buckle up y'all, because we are going on another rollercoaster!
xoxo until next time