Page 19 of Hidden & Held

Dickson eyes Lena fidgeting in her seat before turning toward me with a smirk on his face, letting me know he isn’t surprised to see me here.

“Counsel? I didn’t know this was a legal matter; this was a routine check,” he replies.

“You’re a uniformed police officer questioning a private citizen at her place of work. This became a legal matter the moment you sat down. Tell me, what is the basis of this conversation?”

“We got a tip that Ms. Castellanos might be tied to some people of interest, financially speaking that is. Figured it was in everyone’s best interest to have a chat, and to double-check everything is … copacetic with her legal status.”

Tied to people of interest? He’s fishing, and we both know it.

I set my bag down on the table, never taking my eyes off of Officer Dick.

“Ms. Castellanos holds Temporary Protected Status; it is renewed and current. You have no grounds to demand papers, question her immigration status, or compel her to answer questions without counsel present, which I am. So, unless you have something legally specific and documentable, this conversation is over.”

Dickson sneers at me. He has never liked me in court, but this is an entirely different level of disdain he is throwing at me. I stand there, completely composed outwardly. Inside, I am fearful he will push the matter. A TPS visa is highly fragile. It can be revoked or challenged, especially if there is any association with wrongdoing.

“Careful, Lane. One day that freeze-out act is gonna stop working and all you’ll have left is the attitude.” Dickson scowls, letting his eyes drift over me once, slow and deliberate. “Shame, really.”

It isn’t the most vulgar comment I have gotten before; hell, it isn’t even the most vulgar I have gotten this month. It still makes my skin crawl.

“Look, Lane. This isn’t a courtroom. We don’t need this … performance. We just need answers. Ones I know your client can give.”

I straighten, projecting an authority I don’t feel at the moment, and take out my phone. I place it face up and turn on the recording app.

I speak loudly and clearly, so everyone who has stopped pretending not to listen can hear. “I am openly recording this interaction as legal counsel for Ms. Castellanos. Officer Dickson, badge”—I squint—“#3572, please proceed.”

Dicks looks at my phone, then back at me. Something shifts in his expression; it isn’t anger exactly, but something more chilling. The wheels turn in his hamster brain as he calculates his plan.

“Put that away. Now.” His voice is cold, precise.

“No. This is within my legal right, as well as my client’s right to protect ourselves in the eyes of the law.”

“Put. It. Away. Now.” His jaw barely moves, a vein popping in his forehead as he makes each word a sentence.

I keep my tone the same, even and cool, repeating word for word what I have memorized from my internship days. “This is within my legal right, as well as my client’s right to protect ourselves in the eyes of the law.”

This, this is where I thrive. I do not waver for my clients, and I do not falter.

Officer Dick looks around, seeing the parties watching him, murmuring. I see the exact moment he decides he has to take control of the situation.

“Miss Lane, you are interfering with a police investigation.”

“No, I am ensuring the letter of the law is followed and justice is upheld. Which is my job, and frankly, yours too.”

“Fine then, if that is what you are sticking with, you can do your job from the back of a cruiser. Oregon is a mixed consent state, meaning all people present must agree to being recorded.”

The diner goes completely still, and I feel my stomach drop. I don’t let the panic sink in, I have prepared for this.

“Yes, but ORS § 165.540 specifically states that all participants be specifically notified, which I have done.”

“Take it up with the judge.” Dicks begins to walk behind me and pulls out his handcuffs. I don’t let him see the fear seeping through my veins. He leans over as he fastens the handcuffs too tightly and whispers in my ear so only I can hear, “Bet you wish you had gone home after your suspension, huh?”

Lena reaches out, putting her shaking hand on my arm, reacting for the first time since I arrived. Her eyes keep glancing from side-to-side. I give her a tight smile and a nod. Looking around, I see multiple phone cameras pulled out. I square my shoulders, faking a confidence I don’t feel.

Turning back to the Dickwad, I say, “You and I both know that this won’t stand, and what this is for.”

He grunts and continues the arrest. As he walks me toward the door, Lena comes to her senses, asking, “Phoenix, oh my god, what can I do?”

I calmly look at her. “Call Becca, she is the owner of Cascadia Cabins. Tell her what happened and where they are taking me. Do not answer any more questions, not one. If they bring you in, demand the right to an attorney and stay silent.”