Perfect

by Jenny Wood

“And why would Joker suggest that? Bored already?” Jody asked pointedly to Joker.

  “Hey!” Jase snapped, more serious than I’d ever seen him. “Cut that shit; he’s given you no reason to act that way. He suggested we all do it, for fuck sake. It would be a date for charity, not a prostitution ring or a “buy-a-bride” auction. Fuck, Jody, what’s your problem?” We all watched as Jody warred with something he wasn’t saying. I needed my ticket to hurry the fuck up. I didn’t wanna get mixed up in this family drama.

  “Kingsley said y’all were looking for places to live,” Jody answered accusingly.

  “So?” Jase prodded.

  “You’re moving out, and you didn’t think to tell Cam and me?” Jody asked, and I noticed his husband Cameron blanch. This was getting worse, and I wanted to escape.

  “Seriously, Cam?” Jase looked accusingly to Cameron this time.

  “I haven’t had a chance to talk to him about it yet!” Cameron defended.

  “You knew?” Jody roared.

  “Hey, alright, let’s calm down. We’re in a place of business.” I tried to calm them. We’d gained the attention of several patrons as well as fucking Danny, who came up from the back.

  “Hey, Wade, everything okay here?” He asked me like he didn’t know each and every person at this table.

  “We’re fine. Just waiting on the check.” I didn’t look at him as I spoke.

  “Now, I’ve told ya before…”

  “Here ya go, guys. Sorry, it took me, I wanted to separate it for y’all.” Thankfully, our waitress appeared and doled out our tickets. I took the 20 for mine and handed it back, sliding out of the booth.

  “Keep the change, have a good night,” I said to her, then to everyone at the table.

  “We’ll text ya about the fund raiser!” Morgan called, just before I’d hit the door on my way out.

  “Ma’am, I need to know if you wanna press charges?” I ask the ranting woman for the third time.

  “I want him to give a shit about what he’s putting me through!” She argues her point once again. My patience has hit its limit. This is a small southern town, meaning crime is pretty much non-existent unless you count the occasional domestic disturbance or drunk and disorderly. Everybody pretty much kept themselves to themselves unless they were gossiping with one another about whatever the fuck people like to know about someone else. Too much energy for me, I could give a shit.

  “I can’t do anything about that, ma’am.” I cut her off before she starts to say something else to piss me off. “What I can do, is take him in, charge him with unlawful entry and it’ll be taken before a judge. Or, I could let him go and tell him to find somewhere else to sleep tonight and y’all two can work it out with each other another time. What I will not do, is play counselor to your dating games. Am I taking the man to jail, or not?” I ask, frustration clear as day in my tone. The woman finally gets smart and shuts her mouth. I can tell they’ve been drinking, but they’re at their own home so there isn’t a whole lot I can do about it.

  “No sir, I’ll let him come back in.” She pouts, turning on her slippers and walking back into the house. The man sways on the sidewalk before stumbling passed me.

  “Keep it under control; I don’t wanna come back out here tonight,” I tell him, earning a loud swallow and an immediate nod. When I pulled up in my county issued police car and stepped out, the man all but pissed his pants in fear. Those types of men who have a few to drink and use that as justification to cheat on their women or take their hands to them in anger are always scared of guys like me. Guys who demand respect and give it to those who’re deserving. Guys who could squash this little twat into the dog shit he is, with one hand tied behind my back. Lucky for him he was extremely cooperative, and his girlfriend is a pushover. That made my night easier.

  This is what I’d wanted; I had to keep reminding myself of that when I got called out on these bullshit calls. Sure, it made the night drag on, and my patience for people was at an all-time low; but I wasn’t getting blown up or shot at, which is a big change from my last job. I didn’t lose my friends and the people I’d considered my family. I didn’t watch people die in the streets or murder women and children to prove a point. I was home. Except, the city where I previously lived was loud, and kids squealing around outside, playing on our block sounded like the tortured screams of the desert; car horns were just car horns until I started waiting for the imminent blast of an explosion. Fireworks weren’t fireworks, they were live rounds; and shiny pieces of trash on the sidewalk, wasn’t trash, it was a weapon, used to wipe out anyone in a half-mile radius. I couldn’t deal. I’d tried therapy, I spoke with some of the most decorated, certified specialists about PTSD and Combat Stress Reactions. I still flipped out at grocery stores and on public streets. I had major fucking meltdowns in front of strangers and random passersby. Something had to give.

  Luckily, my family was scattered here and there, and I had a cousin in small town, USA, Georgia. Madison, to be exact. A gorgeous little touristy town with only a couple thousand people in residence. It was quiet, almost too quiet. I’d come for a visit, just to get out of the city and found myself falling in love with the sounds of crickets outside my window at night. I’d never known a place could be so quiet, but the peace; man, the peace that came along with that quiet was something I didn’t know I was needing. My nightmares haven’t stopped, but they’re fewer and farther between. I still had moments of panic and flashbacks, but I could walk down the street or go into a store without nearly killing someone. It was progress.

  Being a Marine is a damn good job until you’re forced to be a civilian; then everything you learned and everything you know how to do is useless in the real world. I don’t have cause for combat and killing here in small town, USA. Therefore, finding a job was tricky. My Commanding Officer for the last seven years recommended me for recruitment in California; needing to convince young men and women to sign their lives away for better education, more money or to serve their country. Fuck that; I’d seen first-hand what that shit did to the people who were unlucky enough to come back. You couldn’t pay me enough money to talk a kid into doing that. Hence, why my ass is at a small, county, sheriff’s department. I’d gone from Lieutenant Colonel. Raylan Wade, to Deputy Sheriff Raylan Wade. I was fine with that.

  Because I had to undergo therapy for medical release and I needed to pass the fucking mental and psychological testing to become a law enforcement officer, I felt like I had to shut myself down. I had to hide all those reason’s I jumped at my own shadow and freaked out over seemingly nothing. That made me unapproachable and intimidating, I’m told. And while I’m grateful that the Kennedy’s seem to want me around, I wasn’t so sure about this fund raiser they’d cooked up. I needed the time I had to work out an excuse on why I couldn’t go. Maybe I’d volunteer to work; dressing up and schmoozing people wasn’t my thing and I couldn’t tell a finger painting from a masterpiece. They’d appreciate my absence, I’m sure.

  “Hey, Wade.” Margie Garnet worked for dispatched. Recently widowed and a long-time employee doing this very job, it seemed like she lived here most of the time. Home was too painful and too empty without her husband of 47 years. She should’ve retired years ago, but being a respected, grandma-like, pillar of the community, people trusted her. Sometimes she could talk a problem out without dispatching one of the five sheriffs that the county employed because she knew the caller and likely the problem, and I think she had a soft spot for me.

  “Back out at Lisa and Barry’s again, huh? Did she make him leave for the night or did they work it out?” She asks, no doubt hearing all about the feud from a text or phone call before I’d even gotten back.

  “She let him back in,” I tell her honestly, figuring she already knows anyway. She shakes her head in disgust.

  “Everyone knows he was out with Tina this morning, shopping for baby clothes. In a town this small it’s impossible to hide infidelity. Young men only think with one brain nowadays a
nd it ain't the one in their heads. Foolish, foolish boys.” She mumbles, clearing off some of the folders on her desk and filing them away while she rants. “Young ladies used to be taught to respect themselves and to not take that kind of treatment from a gentleman who didn’t appreciate her. Sad days when betrayal is so common and overlooked. My Morty would’ve never stepped out on me. He loved me too much. I did all I could for him, no doubt about it, and he did the same for me. Marriage is hard work, but it’s worth it. Bless him.” She whispers the last bit, and I went from amused at her rumblings to sad for her loss. 47 years with someone would be hard to learn how to live without them once they’re gone.

  “Next time we get called out, how about you go out and there instead and teach em’ a thing or two.” I smile at her scoff. I could just see her out there giving a piece of her mind to a barely legal homewrecker and her cheating, married, (and not to her) boyfriend.

  The rest of the evening was pretty much uneventful. I made a couple of rounds around town, but everything was mostly quiet. It was Ladies Night at The Dugout, which was a honky-tonk bar on Wednesday nights and other themes on other nights of the week. It’s rare when somebody gets rowdy, and we need to be called out, but Ladies Night is known for guys getting huffy when they get rejected by a lady who just wanted to go out with her girls. Tonight, was no different, luckily, the presence of law enforcement was enough to have the man in question slinking out and heading home. No harm was done, and the ladies got a free round, per Davis’ request. Davis owned The Dugout and newest gay member in town if gossip served right. Being around the Kennedy’s and their extended family, I wondered what my type would be if I acted on impulse and actually wanted to settle down with someone. I knew I could do it here, but the thought had just never occurred to me before meeting them; now, every time they were around, it seemed to be all I could think about.