Actions Have Consequences

Disclaimers: Blah, blah, blah. Any and all sexual stuff is done by people eighteen years of age, or older. Blah, blah, THIS STORY IS FICTION. This story could fit into several categories, but since Blackrandi1958, has her invitational paying homage to the 1980 song by REO Speedwagon, Take It On The Run, this will more than likely land in Loving Wives. Be forewarned; there is a second part that just might be considered interracial, or romance.

Thanks: Without a doubt being invited by Blackrandi1958 is an honor I will always treasure, and I hope my wife and I don't disappoint.

Warning: This story just might detail some legal procedures that may or may not follow the laws where YOU live. Live with it.

More warnings: If any character in my story reminds you of someone you know, you are sadly mistaken.

Even more warnings: There just might be some derogatory terms used in this story to describe people of a certain sexual orientation, that I never use in my normal life. Be forewarned!

*

I guess I should include some background information.

I'm Brandon Chase, a twenty-seven year old lawyer, just starting my third year as a deputy Prosecuting Attorney, in King County, Washington.

Growing up in the north central city of Brewster, Washington, roughly two hundred miles north east of Seattle, I knew early on that I wanted to put bad guys away.

Not as a cop, but a prosecutor. You see, I must have been in the third or fourth grade when my best friend, Mark Cole's father was killed in a bar fight.

It wasn't much of a fight, as three huge bikers, passing through town, stopped at one of our more lively watering holes. After a few drinks, one of them asked Mark's mom to dance, and when she refused, and Mark's dad intervened, the other two joined their pal, and beat Mr. Cole to death.

When their trial started, some high priced, big city lawyer convinced the jury, that it was just a misunderstanding, and since everyone had been drinking, they were sentenced to six months in the Okanogan County jail.

I knew then, that justice wasn't served, which started me thinking I had to do better.

Hoping my athletic ability might get me a college scholarship, I started working in the apple orchards that flourished all around the community of Brewster.

Aside from me earning money, it helped transform my six foot, fourteen year old skinny body, in the eighth grade, into a six foot two inch, two hundred and ten pound tight end prospect, as a senior that had more than a few college coaches looking at me.

I wound up with a full ride to Central Washington, in Ellensburg, that more that filled my need of an undergraduate education.

I never deluded myself thinking I'd ever play in the NFL, but my Summa Cum Laude degree in Political Science, put me in the running for several graduate scholarships, the NCAA offered.

Getting my admission letter from the U of W law school two weeks before graduation topped off my undergraduate experience.

Each summer, all through college, I worked in the many orchards around the city I'd lived in all my life.

Along with keeping me in very good physical shape, it gave me more than a few opportunities for sexual liaisons with a few of the more free spirited girls picking fruit along side me.

This, along with several short term relationships I'd had at Central, kept me more than satisfied in the sex department.

Starting law school proved to be just as difficult as I had imagined.

With the enormous amount of studying involved, I just didn't have a great deal of time for socializing.

I knew I had to keep my eye on the prize.

I did have a few short term relationships, that kept me more than satisfied. I did remember why I was in law school, and kept my nose to the grindstone.

As my final year was nearing its conclusion, with me interviewing with several mid-sized law firms, their attitude only solidified my desire to go into the prosecution of criminals, not defending them.

Yes, I was very aware of the difference in earning potential, but I still had the idealism of putting bad guys away.

Finally receiving an offer from King County, I was more than excited to start.

I was able to find a fairly inexpensive apartment to rent, that left a great deal to be desired. A very small one bedroom, barely larger than a studio. But it was mine.

It had enough room to study cases, when I didn't want to stay at my courthouse office.

I knew I needed to concentrate on learning all I could, instead of partying too much, so I made do.

Yes, I had the occasional date, and yes, a few ended up in bed. Either mine, or the lady I was with.

I did have several lunch dates with a young lady who worked at a coffee shop just across the street from the courthouse.

This coffee shop caught my attention, because it wasn't Starbucks. I never liked Starbucks coffee due to its burnt taste.

This girl that caught my eye, Kelly Ballard, looked to be in my age group, maybe 5'2 or 5'3", on the solid size, and appearing to never wear a bra.

She always greated me with a smile, and it seemed as if the top button on her blouse was undone, each time I ordered.

Each time I ordered, without looking obvious, I could see a very nice jiggle, which led me to believe she had a child, or two.

After nearly two months, I finally asked her for a real date. We quickly agreed on the end of the current week.

On Friday afternoon, which just happened to be a light day, I mentioned to a couple of my co-workers that I had a date, as they were constantly trying to fix me up with one of the other prosecutors in our office.

You could have heard a pin drop when I told them all that I was going out with Kelly Ballard.

This caused me to wonder why they were all so quiet.

Sitting in my cubicle, the afternoon of our first real date, my mind started to wander.

The music running around my head was the 1980 song by REO Speedwagon, "Take It On The Run."

"I heard it from a friend who,

Heard it from a friend who,

Heard it from a friend you've been messin' around."

Did I heed the thoughts running around my head?

I decided to give the young lady the benefit of the doubt.

We went out for a nice dinner at a nearby family restaurant, not overly fancy, but with a very nice reputation.

During dinner, telling each other a bit more about each other, I learned she was just six months older than me. Not a deal breaker in my book.

She did tell me that she wasn't married, and didn't have any children.

That caused me to think about the amount of sag her C cup boobs had, but I kept my mouth shut.

After dinner, we did wind up in my bed, with Kelly showing me just how limber she was, and open to virtually anything I suggested.

When I reached for a condom, she told me that they weren't needed. When I proceeded to put it in place, I whispered, "yes it is, for our first time."

Let me tell you, she was as energetic in bed as any girl I had ever been with.

Me on top. Her on top. Her on all fours. Etc, etc, etc. To quote the King Of Siam.

For the uninformed, in the classic movie, The King And I, the King of Siam uttered the phrase, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera, several times.

In the middle of the night, I felt her get out of bed, and heard her rumbling around as she returned from the bathroom.

As she got back into bed, and snuggled up to my back, I was more that a little shocked when I felt what I thought was a 'cock' pressing against my behind.

"What the fuck, Kelly," I yelled, turning on my lamp.

I was staring at her with a six or seven inch strap-on, aimed at me.

"Come on, Brandon, don't you want to be a bit adventurous?"

"If you think you're sticking that thing up my ass, you are sadly mistaken" I yelled.

From the look on her face, I could see that she knew I meant business.

This gave me even more food for thought about why those guys from my office were so quiet, knowing who I was going out with.

In the morning, when I finally got out of bed, I saw that Kelly was already up, dressed, and sitting on my sofa.

"I'm really sorry for the dumbass stunt I pulled, last night, Brandon", she whispered.

"Let me take you home, and try to put that behind us." Pun intended.

When I got to work, Monday morning, I was met by several of my colleagues staring at me, waiting for a report on my date.

I saw a fairly large file on my desk, with a note that suggested I read the contents.

In my second year, there was a case that our office was assigned, that was dealt with by two more senior deputies, that concerned a child sex abuse.

It seens as if one Xavier LeCroix, was accused of sexually assaulting two or three middle school aged boys.

This LeCroix was an immigrant from Haiti, via Canada, who seemed to have a penchant for young boys.

I was still wondering why they were showing me this case.

I read the entire case file, when I finally found, at the very bottom, there was a notation that Xavier, or X-man, as he called himself, was said to have fathered a child, a few years previously.

It further stated this child, a daughter, was born with special needs, possibly due to her birth mother being beaten in the latter stages of pregnancy.

Her birth mother? Yep, none other than Kelly Ballard.

As the late Paul Harvey used to say: Now you know the rest of the story.

As I sat in my cubicle, I was wondering what my next steps should be.

I looked into court records and found out this daughter, Samantha Xaviera LeCroix was in the custody of one Reggie Cross, who was appointed Guardian Ad Litum.

This is a person appointed by the court to represent the best interests of a child, or disabled person, unable to represent themselves.

I further discovered Reggie Cross's real name was Raejean LeCroix. I automatically thought she might be this Xavier's sister, or some other relative.

I found where this Reggie, or Raejean worked, in the County building right across the street from my courthouse office.

I made an appointment, and went to see her, the very next day.

Before going to her office, I stopped in the County run daycare, in her building.

As I looked over the kids in this facility, I had no trouble picking this Samantha out of the crowd.

A smallish, mixed race girl that was either four or five years old, with this constant smile, who looked at me and just gave a little wave.

I wanted to talk with her, and her teacher led me over to her.

"My name is Brandon, can you tell me your name?"

After looking at her teacher, she grinned, again and said, "I'm 'Mantha."

"Hello, Samantha, how old are you?"

"I'm fo year old."

We just sat at a little table, just so I could get a sense of her abilities.

When she left to lay down, her teacher told me how much she had improved over the past year and a half, being in this setting.

And, yes, the medical assessment showed she most likely suffered trauma in utero, during the start of her third trimester, as she was born at just about thirty or thirty-one weeks.

I looked very closely but couldn't find any police report of any assault from around that time. This gave me quite a few unanswered questions.

I waited a few more days, trying to decide how to proceed.

Finally, I went to the coffee shop just as I knew Kelly would be getting off work.

Sitting at a back table, I noticed her heading back to where I was sitting.

"Hello, Brandon, I almost thought I'd never see you again."

"I'd never do that to you, Kelly, but I do have some serious questions that I'd like answered, honestly."

"OK."

"First, do you have a daughter, just over four years of age?"

"Yes."

"Can you tell me if her biological father is Xavier LeCroix?"

"Yes."

"During your pregnancy, did he ever hit you hard enough to cause harm to your baby?"

"Yes," sobbing, now.

"Why didn't you press charges against him?"

"I honestly can't give you a good reason."

"Didn't you think of reporting that incident to the police when you gave birth nearly seven weeks early, to a child who nearly didn't survive?"

I realized how loud my voice was getting, and calmed myself down.

I also noticed that Kelly was in tears.

I took both her hands and quietly asked her, if we filed charges againt this Haitian piece of shit, if she would testify.

She just nodded on agreement.

"Have you even visited your daughter?"

"No, but I've seen just how well she's been cared for. Please don't hate me for this, I already hate myself enough for the two of us," she sobbed.

I just gave her a little hug, knowing that the only interaction we'd ever have was me ordering coffee from her.

I'd learned my lesson. As the saying goes, once bitten, twice shy.

The following Monday, I was in my bureau chief's office discussing this very topic.

LeCroix was already a guest of our county jail, so I went across the street for a visit. I just had to look this degenerate in the eyes, for myself.

I did contact his attorney of record, and set up our meeting for the next morning.

Getting to one of the many jail conference rooms, I waited for them both to arrive.

When they walked in, looking a bit weary at me, wondering what this was all about.

"Mr. LeCroix, were you ever married to Kelly Ballard?"

"Hell no, she a rotton ho!"

"Xavier, keep it civil," his lawyer said.

"Mr. LeCroix, were you aware that you are the father of the daughter she gave birth to, just over four years ago?"

"Not me, I never fuck that bitch."

"You do realize your DNA is on file here, and I've checked it, and you're a perfect match, so quit lying."

He just shrugged.

"One more question. Did you ever hit Ms Ballard hard enough to cause her to go into early labor, and for the daughter she was carrying to nearly die?"

"OK, that's it, we're done here," Sammy Shyster said.

"Just so you know, I'll be filing charges by the end of the week for assault, you Haitian faggot."

They just couldn't get out of the room fast enough.

As I was leaving, LeCroix turned and blurted out that he wanted to see his daughter.

"Not a chance in hell of that ever happening."

"He has the right to see his daughter," the slimy lawyer said.

"Not a chance, you shyster, read the state laws. Ever since the mid 80's, the law authored by State Senator Alan Bluechel, states in part that victims of physical violence under the age of ten, DO NOT have to be in the same room with their abuser."

That ended our first meeting.

I did file assault charges against Xavier LeCroix, the following Monday, with a preliminary hearing scheduled for two weeks from that day.

I guess I was lucky his lawyer didn't file a complaint against me for the comment I made about his sexual orientation.

Each time I had some extra time, I made sure to visit my new little friend, Samantha.

Each time, her eyes would light up, as she would slowly walk towards me.

I learned that she really didn't walk until she was nearly two and a half years of age.

I did my best to talk with Samantha, making sure I talked slowly, and also making sure she knew she was safe around me.

Each time our visits would tug at my heartstrings, thinking what kind of animal could inflict this sort of damage on another, defenseless human being.

The day of Xavier's preliminary hearing, I saw Reggie in the courtroom, who greated me with a nice smile.

"Mr. Chase, I can't tell you how much Samantha looks forward to your visits."

"First off, its Brandon, and its my pleasure to add some light to her life."

Sitting and waiting for the hearing to start, I took a good look at Reggie. She appeared to be in her mid to late 30's, on the short, stocky side, very dark skin, plus this million watt smile.

When LeCroix was led into the courtroom, in handcuffs, at my insistance, he no longer had his arrogant smirk that I saw at our previous meeting.

Reading the details of the charges. his lawyer jumped up asking for the charges to be dismissed, due to the time that had passed.

"Your honor, I will be charging Mr. LeCroix with multiple counts of assault against his own biological daughter. Not only did he beat this child's mother, causing a very premature birth, but also causing harm to this precious little girl that she might never be able to overcome."

"We have the right to confront the accuser, your honor."

"State law says you don't, and I've already told you that."

"Counselor, Mr. Chase is correct, the law does not say you can confront this witness, due to her age, so lets drop that."

"How does the defendant plead?"

"Not guilty, your honor."

"Since Mr. LeCroix is already in jail, there's no possibility of bail. Court adjourned."

With this trial set for two weeks from today, I busied myself getting ready for my best prosecution possible. I just didn't want this worthless piece of shit to get away with any of the misdeeds he was being charged with.

I received a very intetesting phone call at the end of the week from the lady in charge of the daycare where Samantha was being cared for.

It seems as if she was crying in the morning, telling her teacher that she missed 'Mr. Brandon' and wondered if he didn't like her any more.

I made time during my lunchtime to go visit her. I felt terrible that this beautiful child had become so attached to me, and I dropped the ball.

I stopped at a local store near the courthouse to pick up a little present, that I was well aware that she would treasure.

Walking into the daycare, I noticed Reggie sitting with Samantha. When they both saw me, Samantha came running up to me, hugging me and grinning for all she was worth.

Noticing the bag I had with me, she looked back at Reggie, with a 'is that for me' look. Then at me, as I handed her the bag.

The expression on her face as she lifted the Minnie Mouse doll out of the bag was priceless, as she jumped into my arms, thanking me, over and over.

Jumping back down, she went over to Reggie saying, "momma, momma, look what Mr Brandon brought me"

I had to admit this was the clearest she had ever said my name. Ever.

It was also the first time I'd heard her call Reggie momma.

I made it a point of visiting her every day that I wasn't in court.

When Xavier's trial started, I missed a few days, but let her teacher know how busy I'd be.

The third morning of the trial, with the prosecution proving its case, LeCroix didn't show up, but his jackass lawyer came in, asking the judge to be heard in chambers, without me.

After five minutes, I was called into chambers.

"Mr. Chase, we've been notified that Mr. LeCroix was attacked in jail this morning, and is in serious condition. We will be putting this trial on hold, until he can return."

I then learned from a friend at the jail that this piece of shit was attacked by two or three of inmates, one who had a makeshift knife, and just happened to have his male appendage sliced almost off.

I guess the guards begrudgingly wrapped some towels around him, and he was rushed to the level one trauma center just up the hill about eight blocks east of the jail. He was listed in critical condition, losing a great deal of blood.

Did I really care? Yes, because I wanted him to suffer in jail for as many years as the judge and jury could impose.

Secretly, I truly hoped he was suffering as much as his victims had suffered.

With nothing to do the rest of that day, I called Reggie and asked if I could take her and Samantha to lunch.

After quite a bit of thought, she finally agreed.

We all three enjoyed a nice, quiet lunch at one of the many seafood joints along the Seattle waterfront.

Just sitting outside in the fresh air, Reggie and I just talked a little about ourselves, and said nothing about the attack.