Ruck Me: A Play On series short

by Cd Brennan

  But the cops almost had Sierra to the car, her swinging her elbows and cursing at them. Definitely feisty, she was. And he was only a few strides from reaching them.

  “Excuse me,” Dave spoke out, “what’s going on?”

  The back door to the police car was now open. The older cop asked him to step back. “We’ve been instructed to take Sierra Richards in for questioning.”

  “What?” For hitchhiking? But then, he should be arrested, too. But how could they have known?

  Sierra’s face emerged from behind the younger cop who was pushing her into the backseat. “Don’t worry about it, Dave. Can you watch out for Dick tonight?” She had ceased fighting, her face drawn of any emotion. But it was the most abstract and surreal thing Dave had ever seen—his beautiful Sierra being chucked into the back of a cop car.

  Like he was going to just let her be taken away. And who gave a shit about Dick! Sierra was the one in trouble. “What is she being questioned for?” Dave addressed the older cop who stood next to the front passenger seat, talking into the radio on his shoulder.

  When he was finished, he turned to Dave. “We can’t reveal that information at this time.”

  What the hell was going on? That sounded like Sierra was a fucking spy. “You must’ve made a mistake. Sierra is down here visiting with the Traverse City Blues Rugby Club. She’s not even from here.”

  “There’s no mistake.” The cop opened the door and climbed in.

  Dave wasn’t bold enough to grab the door before the cop shut it—that would probably get him put in jail, too—but he did yell out, “Where are you taking her?”

  The cop hesitated. “North Precinct on Twenty-sixth.” Then he closed the door. The blue and reds started flashing and, with a blip of the siren, the police car pulled away.

  Dave turned to see the whole tournament witnessing the scene. He didn’t care about himself, but poor Sierra. He strode up to Coach on the sidelines. The crowds were quiet, the players and ref still waiting on the field. If it was for him, they’d be waiting all night.

  “Can I borrow your Suburban, Coach?”

  “What for, Dave?”

  “I’m going to help Sierra.”

  “Who is Sierra?”

  “Dick’s sister. You know, the other person Joe left behind?”

  “Ah. Shouldn’t Dick go then?”

  Dick. Screw Dick. As if he would do anything to help his sister. That was as clear as window glass. “I’ll go.”

  Coach’s eyebrows pinched, just a brief movement and barely discernible. “Dave, we need you to finish this game out. She’s not your responsibility.”

  Dave looked away to get his composure under control, took a deep breath, and blew it out his nose. He turned back to Coach. “She is now.”

  Coach must have read something on Dave’s face and relented quickly. “Okay, son. Just keep in touch. If you’re not back by the time we need to get to the hotel, Derek and I will catch a ride on the bus.”

  “What about the extra gear?” Derek asked. He was always by Coach’s side.

  Coach batted his hand in the air. “No problem. We’ll find room under the bus. Most of the boys, I’d bet, probably only bothered to bring an extra pair of briefs. There will be room for the bags.”

  “Thanks, Coach.” Dave grabbed the man’s free hand with both of his and pumped it hard. “Thanks so much.”

  Coach nodded, fished his keys from his front pocket, and handed them to Dave. He shouted down the line. “TJ, you fill in for Dave. Stephen will take your number seven.”

  The ref had stepped up, a decent yard away. Coach said to him, “Sub in for number one, loosehead prop.” And then turned to Dave. “Go on, then. The truck is in the first row, way down at the end. Good luck.”

  Dave wanted to hug the man, but instead jerked his head in acknowledgement. Everything was a fog around him as he moved. He grasped his gear bag off the ground in passing. Luckily some considerate player has shoved his day pack into his gear back that contained his phone, iPad, and other important stuff. He threw the gear over a shoulder and jogged away from the commotion, the rugby, the noise. On the way, he saw a tow truck, and sure enough, it had hooked up to the black Camaro they’d driven from Indianapolis. The sight quickened his steps until he was running, panic rising quickly from his chest to his throat.

  By the time he arrived at the truck, Dave was gasping, his nose snotting from his attempt to reign in his emotions. He’d never felt such urgency. He was a florist, for Pete’s sake. The most drama that occurred in his life was a late order of tulips.

  He threw his gear into the truck, but not before checking to see how his phone battery faired. After so long, he had doubted there’d be any juice left, but the rugby spirits were with him and a slim bit of battery remained. He punched in the police station and then took off before the GPS registered.

  The roads were completely foreign, and he struggled to get into the right lanes when necessary. He wanted to swear at the GPS voice who so nonchalantly told him to turn too late. But twenty minutes later, he rolled past the station. Thank God, it appeared to be a smaller one, but there was still no parking, the prime spots taken by police cars that were backed in, their noses facing out for any emergency.

  A couple blocks down, Dave found a spot on the street. With nothing more than his phone and a Blues hoodie, he ran the two streets down to the station. He still wore his cleats that made a clicking sound on the cement. He launched himself at the steps, taking them in two strides, and caught the door as another couple exited.

  Out of breath, Dave clicked across the linoleum floor to the main reception desk, pulling his sweatshirt over his head at the same time. It was too warm for it, but it made him a bit more presentable. His blue and green jersey and white shorts were brown from mud, and a large grass stain ran up his right thigh and hip.

  He stepped up to the desk and waited for someone to acknowledge him. A transistor radio squawked from somewhere below the desk. The only cop manning the station was on the phone. He was young, younger than Dave, a handsome type with a clean shave and neat hair.

  Dave waited, but his patience was just about gone. He wasn’t an aggressive man by nature, but he was about ready to start clacking heads. Even if they were the police.

  And when a cop disappeared with a young man in cuffs down a hallway, Dave bit down on his lip to keep from roaring at the uniform in front of him. He imagined leaning over the counter, grabbing the phone away from the guy, fisting the front of his shirt, and shaking him a good one. And the guy was a police officer. With a gun and a Taser at his belt. Along with cuffs and a gazillion other gadgets.

  Dave was losing it.

  This was what everyone must mean by seeing “red.” It was a first for him.

  As soon as the man hung up the phone, Dave was on him like thorns on a rose. “I’m looking for Sierra Richards.”

  “Was she arrested?”

  “No, just questioning.”

  “One moment.” The officer picked up the phone and turned his back on Dave. He heard her name mentioned, a long pause, and then mumbling, his words low and incoherent to Dave. Finally, he turned and set the phone down. “She is still in interrogation.”

  Interrogation? What the hell was going on? “For what?”

  “Are you family?”

  “No.”

  “Then I can’t reveal that information to you. You’ll have to wait to talk to her.”

  Good. That meant they would release her shortly. “How much longer?”

  “I can’t say.”

  “But they’ll release her today, right?”

  “I can’t say.”

  Oh, he couldn’t say, could he? Maybe a rugby tackle would sort that out. Dave took a deep breath. The officer took a step back and casually laid his hand on his gun holster. Dave must look threatening, and what exactly was happening to him? He was turning into the Hulk. He relaxed his stance. “Can you let them know there is someone waiting for her?”

 
“I will as soon as I help the people behind you.” By this point, there was a line of disgruntled people waiting.

  Dave nodded. “Thank you for your time.”

  Without even recognizing the gratuity, the young cop looked past him and asked, “Can I help you?”

  For the first time, Dave contemplated the small waiting area. There wasn’t much, less than a dozen hard chairs and a water dispenser with cone cups. A few pictures hung on the walls, a couple of the Nashville area and a black-and-white of the police station when it first was opened in 1952. He sat a couple chairs down from an overweight man in dirty clothes, but even then, a godawful smell of body odor assaulted his nose to the point Dave wanted to gag. He casually leaned forward and propped his chin in his hand, using his hoodie cuff to filter some of the smell.

  He texted Coach to update him and then went to the water station for a drink. He loitered there, breathing in fresh air, refilling the little cone with cup after cup of water until it grew soggy and he threw it in the trash bin. Plus it was easier to stand than sit with the nervous energy that had tensed him into a coil.

  When an older woman with bluish hair in tight curls and a walking cane sat in Dave’s old seat, he took the opportunity to sit in the farthest chair away from the odorous man and nearest to the front door. Each time it opened, fresh air came with it.

  Chapter 9

  Dave must have fallen asleep, and then some sense of difference in his surroundings triggered him awake again. He blinked his eyes to clear his vision, and when he did, Sierra stood in front of his chair, her bag still slung over her shoulder.

  “I thought you’d be Dick.”

  “No.”

  “When they said someone was here for me, I thought it would be my brother.”

  “I’m sorry he isn’t. Maybe he is on his way.” Dave knew that was a falsehood, but Sierra was wrecked, her eyes red, her makeup now gone. She must have washed it off at some point. Her face was drawn, pasty, and her shoulders had curled in, as if she’d been defeated by life.

  “You don’t have to lie for me.”

  Dave stood. He wanted to reach out to her. “I said maybe. That can’t be a lie.”

  She rolled her eyes and then scanned the room as if she couldn’t look at him.

  “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Yeah, you always say that, but you don’t seem fine.”

  She snorted. “You say ‘always’ like you know me.”

  He ignored her cutting words. She was obviously in pain and was lashing out. “What happened?”

  “Nothing. Just a misunderstanding.”

  He wanted to give her a big bear hug. Let her know there was someone in the world that cared for her, that would look after her. But again, Sierra was all about pride and walls, a tough girl façade, and if she was going to let it down, it wasn’t going to be here in the police station. “How so?”

  Her eyes clouded, her eyebrows pinched. She shifted her bag from one shoulder to the next. And then with what seemed like herculean effort, she said, “It’s none of your business.”

  It was now dark outside. Headlights from cars on the street illuminated the waiting room, glancing off the glass as they passed. Dave checked his watch. It was now just after ten p.m. He’d been here for over six hours. And she didn’t even seem to appreciate that he was. If he was a lesser man, he would have told her to screw it and left without her, but that wasn’t how Dave was raised. And he understood how people acted when they were in pain, when they were suffering. He’d seen it enough when folk put in orders for flowers for funerals, for fights with their girlfriends, for making up for disappointing a loved one.

  Sierra was no different. And she came from a horrific past. He stepped up to her and wrapped her in his embrace. She tightened at first, but then relaxed, and after a moment she wrapped her thin arms around his middle and laid her head on his chest. He rubbed her back, trying to sooth her. “You can tell me. I’ll help you.”

  Her chest hitched, and she was crying again. “Can you just take me to Dick?”

  Dave held back the growl. Dick barely gave her the time of day, and now that he’d been drinking for a few hours, he would be even less likely to care for anyone but himself. But Dave would do what he could for her. “Sure.”

  He kept one arm on her shoulders and turned her toward the door. He opened it and led her through, down the steps, and the two blocks to Coach’s Suburban.

  When he opened the passenger door for her, she wouldn’t look at him. He shut it gently, and as he walked around back, he texted Coach for the team’s location, letting him know they’d be there shortly.

  As he was buckling up, his phone pinged and he typed in the name of the pub into his phone. Sierra gazed out the window, wiping her eyes. Dave found a box of tissue on the floor in the back and handed to her.

  “Thanks,” she said, barely a whisper.

  After Dave joined the traffic, he reached for her hand, and surprisingly she let him hold it. When he could, he snuck peeks at Sierra, the lights of the city reflecting strangely on her face, creating shadows in some places, highlighting others, reminding him of a disco ball on a dance floor the way it sprinkled and distorted her face. Her beautiful face.

  “What happened to the Camaro?” she asked.

  “It was being towed when I left.”

  “Oh.” She looked down at their twined hands. “Did you win?”

  Dave merged into the left turn lane. “I don’t know. I left before it was over.”

  She yanked her hand away. “Why didn’t you finish the game?”

  Dave glanced over at her briefly before he put his eyes back on the road. “Because I thought you needed my help.”

  “Don’t do that again for me. I don’t need anyone’s help.” Then she pulled the visor down above her and smoothed her hair while looking in the mirror.

  “Everyone needs help at some point.”

  “I don’t.”

  At the green arrow, Dave took a left. He wasn’t going to let it go so easily. “What did they question you about?”

  After a long moment of silence, she finally answered, “It’s pretty big.”

  Big as in murder big? Sierra didn’t seem like a murderer, but then what did a murderer look like? Maybe she was like one of those women on that TV show where they finally lose it, go off the rails, and kill their loved ones that beat them and all that. Dave couldn’t remember the title to the series, though. “Did you kill someone?”

  She laughed. “Not that bad. Geez, Dave, what kind of person do you think I am?”

  At least he got her to laugh. “Well, I don’t know you very well, but you were a bit bitey during our…you know. That’s a sign of…something.”

  She snorted. “That’s just a sign of good sex.”

  Dave glanced at her when he pulled up for a red light and smiled. “It was good, all right.”

  She blushed a hot red, and that was a first for Sierra, at least for as long he’d known her. It was cute. “Yeah, it was.”

  “Great, actually.”

  “Yeah.”

  “I was phenomenal.”

  She laughed. “Dave! All right, already. You’re good in the sack.”

  “Who says ‘in the sack’ anymore?”

  “My mom. As she rates the men she brings home now that my folks are divorced.”

  Oh. “Sorry to hear.”

  “Don’t be. They hated each other for years. I don’t know why they stayed together. All their fighting and yelling. The only time they weren’t fighting is when they were drinking or doing drugs together. They probably didn’t have the brains to get divorced, like it was too much of a hassle. Like everything else important—working, buying groceries, paying the electric bill, going to teacher conferences, getting out of bed in the morning… They’re some piece of work.”

  What a screwed-up childhood. And since it was so far removed from the loving and supportive environment he grew up in, Dave didn’t know what to say.
But they were at the bar now. Or at least near. The bus was parked out front. Dave drove past and circled the block, trying to find a parking spot. There was nothing, so he circled wider to the next block. Still nothing, but it was a Friday night, and everyone and their brother was out for food and drinks.

  Dave pulled up into a bus stop along the side of the road and called Coach. When he answered, Dave could barely hear for the noise in the background, and it was apparent Coach couldn’t hear him at all. He texted to find out where there was parking, but when Coach got back he didn’t know, Dave asked for the name of the hotel they were staying at and asked if it was okay to drive the Suburban there.

  When he got confirmation from Coach, he turned to Sierra who had rested her head on the window and closed her eyes. “Listen, it’s late. I know you want to see Dick, but there’s no parking, and I was thinking of just going back to the hotel. Maybe you’ll feel better with some food and a shower. We can pick something up on the way.”

  “That’s fine.” She hadn’t bothered to open her eyes. She was all but defeated by this long day.

  He punched in the coordinates for the hotel and got them back on the road. The hotel was close, only five minutes, so he dropped Sierra off so she could check in and get a shower and went to go find a grocery store.

  When he returned, loaded up with healthy food like sushi, fruit, and his token dill pickles, he also checked in and then asked for Sierra’s room number. He didn’t bother to shower. He felt the need to take care of her, make sure she was fed, so he just dropped his gear, slipped off his cleats and socks, and in his bare feet went and knocked on her room door.

  She didn’t answer. Maybe she was in the shower. Dave waited a moment and then knocked again harder. This time, he heard the clank of the security chain and the door opened. She held open the door to let him in and then flopped back on the bed where she curled up on her side. She hadn’t even bothered to take off her coat.

  “Are you sharing with Dick?” There were two double beds, and Dave needed to know.

  “Yeah, if he makes it back to the room at all.”