Sherry Lewis - Count on a Cop

by Her Secret Family

  “I’d rather talk to your parents and make sure they know what’s going on. Are they at home right now?”

  Debra sniffed and shook her head. “I don’t know where my mom is. I haven’t seen her since New Year’s.”

  That explained a lot, poor kid. “You must live with somebody. What about your dad? Is he around?”

  Debra nodded miserably. “Yeah.”

  “You live with him?”

  “Yeah, but we live way out on Riverside Drive. The Riverview Apartments. It’s a long way from here.”

  Jolene ground to an abrupt halt. She had moved into the Riverview Apartments herself a month earlier, and the coincidence jarred her. She had no idea if Debra was telling the truth about where she lived. She’d spent more hours at work than at home, by a long shot, and she’d never even set eyes on her closest neighbors.

  “Well, Debra, it looks like this is your lucky night. I live way out on Riverside Drive, too. Is your dad at home right now?”

  Debra looked disappointed, but not worried. “I don’t know. Maybe. He wanted me to spend the night at my friend’s house, so I don’t know what he’s doing.”

  “If that were true,” Jolene pointed out, “your friend wouldn’t have been trying to talk you into calling him.”

  “I don’t know where he is. He doesn’t tell me where he’s going.”

  Did Debra have a mother missing in action? An uncaring father? Had she lied to her boyfriend, or was she lying to Jolene now? Frankly, the world had too many absent and uncaring parents in it, and far too many kids running around wild as a result. Slimy as pushers and users were, they were still a few rungs higher on the ladder than negligent or abusive parents. Those people had no business even having kids.

  They reached the end of the alley and Jolene steered Debra toward the car. Ryan stood on the sidewalk tall, fit, dressed in a black T-shirt, jeans and a black leather jacket so he could blend into the shadows. “Let’s go see if your dad is home. Maybe I can even convince him to pay more attention to what you’re doing.”

  Debra looked skeptical, but she fell into step. “Okay, but it’s not going to matter what you say. He doesn’t care what I do. You’ll see.”

  Jerk. “Then we’ll just see what I can do to change his mind.” Jolene gave the girl what she hoped was a reassuring smile and led her around the corner.

  Body language practically shouting “annoyed,” Ryan strode toward them. “Who have we got here?”

  “Debra Blackfox,” Jolene said. “Claims to be fourteen.”

  Ryan ran a quick glance over Debra’s face. “I doubt that. What are you going to do with her?”

  “Take her home.”

  “We can drop her at the station on our way back,” he said. “Let her folks come and get her.”

  The muscles in Debra’s shoulders tensed and Jolene could almost feel her fear. “At this time of night? You know what kind of creeps are at the station now.”

  “She’s hanging out on the streets and smoking pot,” Ryan pointed out as he stepped off the curb toward the car. “I think she’ll survive.”

  Jolene took Debra by the arm as they started across the road. “I never said she wouldn’t survive. But she’s a kid, and she wasn’t the one holding. What would you want us to do if this were Chelsea?”

  “If she were my kid?” Ryan glanced over his shoulder. “I’d want her to know she was in serious trouble.”

  “He wants to take me to jail?” Debra asked.

  Jolene shook her head and kept walking. “Don’t worry about it. Everything will be okay.” She didn’t speak again until she’d helped Debra into the backseat and shut the door. Keeping her voice low so the conversation wouldn’t carry, she rounded the front of the car and leaned against the hood beside Ryan. “She’s a kid,” she repeated. “I think she’s scared enough already.”

  “What are you doing, Jo? Getting all maternal on me?”

  Jolene glared at him. “That’s a stupid question.”

  “So what’s the big deal? Let’s just take her downtown and let the boys there call her parents. She’ll be fine.”

  “We’re twenty minutes from her subdivision. If you don’t want to take the time, I’ll drive her there on my way home. Apparently, we live in the same complex.”

  Ryan gave her a look, but he stopped arguing. “Fine. Whatever. Just don’t let Eisley find out about this. You know what he’ll say.”

  Jolene had a pretty good idea, but she wasn’t getting personally involved in a case. If they didn’t take Debra to the station, there wouldn’t even be a case. Ryan slid in behind the wheel, and Jolene hurried to the passenger door.

  She wasn’t feeling maternal, she told herself again. She’d just been around long enough to know that behind every kid making a stupid decision, there was a parent making one first.

  CHAPTER TWO

  “NO,” MASON SAID for the third time in as many minutes. “Get somebody else to help you. I’m not interested.”

  He could see Ike over the half wall separating the kitchen from the dining area of his apartment, hands spread wide in a gesture intended to look helpless. “Fine. Just tell me who. I’m open to suggestions.”

  That oh-so-innocent expression didn’t fool Mason for a second. He and Ike Dearman had been friends for over twenty-five years. He knew every trick up the other man’s sleeve. “Give up now and save your breath. You know how I feel about all that stuff.”

  He might as well have been talking to the wall. “This isn’t about the Center or about the tribe,” Ike said. “I’m writing this article to honor Henry’s memory. Are you going to tell me you have a problem with that?”

  Mason pulled the last two plates from the dishwasher and shoved them into the cupboard. “No, I don’t have a problem with that. I just don’t want to be a part of it. I walked away from that life a long time ago. I’m not going back.”

  “Nobody’s asking you to go back,” Ike said. “I could talk to half a dozen people and get nowhere. Nobody knew Henry the way you did.”

  “Except you.”

  “Yeah, but I can’t interview myself. How stupid would that sound? And I can’t be expected to remember everything. That’s why I need your help. The tribal elders want to pay tribute to Henry for all the work he did. Maybe you don’t care about honoring Henry, but I do.”

  Mason had never been able to refuse Henry anything. Ike knew that. He was obviously counting on it to sway Mason’s decision. It was a cheap shot, but not wholly unexpected.

  For some reason which Mason had never clearly understood, Henry had opened his home and his heart after Mason’s mother died. He’d had no reason to. They weren’t related by blood. But they had been members of the same clan, and Henry had set great store in that. Maybe that should have warmed Mason to the lifestyle Henry embraced, but there were just too many other factors and too many memories working against it.

  Ike had been a refugee at Henry’s, too. The son of some distant relative whose mother had abandoned him to chase life in the white world. Ike had been living with the old man for a couple of years when Mason arrived, and he’d seemed so indescribably cool Mason had developed a case of hero worship that had lasted until he was out of high school.

  He knew better now. Ike had good qualities and some not-so-good, just like anyone else, but they were still closer than most brothers. They also knew each other’s hot buttons, and if the stakes were high enough, neither hesitated to push.

  Mason put away the leftover chicken and pulled two bottles of water from the fridge. Tossing one to Ike, he said, “That was a low blow. You know I loved the old man.”

  “So help me with the article. Let me interview you.”

  Mason still wasn’t ready to give in. Ike had always been more interested in Henry’s lessons about the old ways than Mason, and he’d remained heavily involved in tribal affairs as an adult. Mason had turned his back on his heritage and the memories he’d never been able to outrun the minute he was old enough to start making his o
wn decisions.

  “I loved the old man, but I have no intention of rehashing all that stuff he crammed down our throats night and day.”

  Scowling, Ike cracked the seal on his water bottle. “That’s one helluva way to look at it. All he ever did was teach us who we are and where we came from.”

  Yeah, but that was the problem. Even Ike didn’t completely understand why Mason felt such revulsion when he thought about where he’d come from, or why he’d sooner jump off a cliff than go back.

  He pulled a bag of chips from the top of the fridge and brought it into the living room. He shoved a box filled with Ike’s research materials, sat on the couch and dug around for the remote. “The game is waiting.”

  “On Tivo. It’s not going anywhere.” Ike nudged the box toward Mason and tried again. “My article is due in two weeks. Give me one hour. That’s all I’ll ask you for.”

  “Yeah, until next—” The sharp and unexpected peal of the doorbell cut him off.

  “You expecting somebody?” Ike asked, frowning down at his watch.

  Mason shook his head and got to his feet again. “If there’s a God in heaven, it’s Barbara come to drag you home. Just as well, I suppose. I need to pick Debra up from the party in an hour. We wouldn’t even see half the game if we started now.”

  He flipped on the porch light and yanked open the door. Debra. Standing on the porch next to an attractive woman who looked very serious.

  Before he could recover from his surprise, the woman had run a quick, assessing glance over him from head to toe. “Mr. Blackfox?”

  “That’s right. I was going to pick Debra up. Am I late?”

  The woman ignored his question and turned back one edge of her blazer to reveal a badge on her waistband. “Sergeant Jolene Preston, Tulsa PD. Could I have a minute?”

  Confused and suddenly nervous as hell, Mason nodded and stepped away from the door. “Why? What’s going on? Debra, are you okay?”

  “I’m afraid Debra’s in a bit of trouble,” Sergeant Preston said before Debra could get a word out. She stepped into the apartment and followed Debra across the tiny landing and into the living room.

  “What’s going on?” Mason asked again, trailing them.

  The cop glanced at Ike, watched Debra curl into one corner of the couch, then finally turned to Mason with a thin smile and narrow, watchful eyes. “I found Debra with a young man in the alley behind Capriotti’s Sandwich Shop about an hour ago. The young man was in possession of a controlled substance.”

  Controlled substance? Was she serious? Mason realized she was waiting for a response, so he forced a few words out of his tight throat. “What kind of controlled substance?”

  “Marijuana.”

  Mason’s mouth went dry. Drugs? His daughter was hanging around with someone who had drugs? Was she out of her ever-loving mind? With her family history? He tried to read her expression, but she was too damn good at closing herself off. He couldn’t tell if she was frightened, angry, sullen, resentful…or all of the above. “Is this true, Debra?”

  His stubborn daughter didn’t move a muscle. Didn’t even look at him. But there was nothing unusual in that. Since moving in with him a few weeks earlier, she’d barely spoken to him. He didn’t want to believe that a kid of his could do something so stupid.

  He was dimly aware of Ike moving behind him, and the sudden silence as the TV went off.

  “You were with someone who had drugs?” he asked. His voice sounded unnaturally loud, but he couldn’t seem to control it. “Do you want to tell me just what in the hell you were thinking?”

  Debra slammed him with a look that could have melted plastic.

  The cop saw it and stepped between them. “If it helps at all, Debra was telling the boy no. She claims she didn’t smoke anything, and I think she’s telling the truth. I brought her home because she’s young to be running wild.”

  “She wasn’t running wild,” Mason snapped. “At least she wasn’t supposed to be.”

  Sergeant Preston went on as if he hadn’t spoken. “Girls this age need parents to keep an eye on them. It’s rough out there.”

  What was this? Parenting 101? Heaven knew, Mason needed it, but not like this. Not in the middle of his living room on a Friday night at the hands of the police. It brought back a whole slew of unwanted memories.

  To make things even worse, Ike automatically stepped in. “He’s a good father, Sergeant. He’s just a little new at all of this.”

  Ignoring them both, Mason sat on the ottoman and tried to make eye contact with his unhappy daughter. What went on inside that head of hers? She was a kid. What did she know about drugs? He honestly didn’t know whether to shout at her, hug her or shake some sense into her.

  He decided to start with the basics. “Who were you with, Debra?”

  “A friend.”

  “What’s his name?” Ike demanded.

  Debra dragged her gaze to Ike’s chin and shook her head. “I don’t know.”

  Much as Mason hated being lied to, he actually prayed that she was lying now. “Some friend. Where did you meet him?”

  “Why does that matter?”

  “It matters,” Mason said. “Tell me where.”

  Debra rolled her eyes in exasperation. “Why are you getting so upset? It’s not that big a deal.”

  Mason could feel the heat rush to his face, but he tried to keep his voice level so the cop wouldn’t get any wrong ideas. “You were in some alley with a drug user at midnight, and you don’t think that’s a big deal?”

  “It wasn’t midnight, and I didn’t do anything. You’re acting like I did. Ike, tell him he’s getting all upset for nothing.”

  This wasn’t the first time in the past few weeks that Debra had tried cutting him off at the knees by running to Ike. He sent Ike a warning glance and looked Debra squarely in the eye. “This is between you and me. Don’t drag Uncle Ike into it. Ike, thanks for your help, but Debra and I need to work this out on our own. I know you understand.”

  Whether he did or not, Ike nodded and crossed to the door. “Whatever you say, little brother. I’ll…uh…I’ll leave my stuff here and get it from you tomorrow, okay?”

  Ike and his article had just plunged way down Mason’s priority list. He waved his agreement without looking up and a second later he heard the door close. Sergeant Preston stood to one side, arms folded, observing them without expression. It would have been easier to talk to Debra without her, but she didn’t seem inclined to leave, and he wasn’t about to ask her.

  He rubbed his face with his palms, then leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “Did you smoke the pot?”

  She glared at him. “No.”

  “Were you planning to?”

  “Maybe.”

  “For God’s sake, why?”

  “Just to try it, I guess. To see how it made me feel.”

  “You guess?” Too agitated to sit, Mason got to his feet. “Why in the hell would you want to do something like that?”

  “Shouting at her isn’t going to make things better,” Sergeant Preston said, putting a restraining hand on his arm.

  He took a step away from her. “Excuse me, Sergeant, but this isn’t your twelve-year-old daughter calmly telling you she’s thinking about becoming a drug addict.”

  “That’s not what she said.”

  “Not in so many words.”

  “It might help if you’d remember that she didn’t actually do anything.”

  “She’s thinking about it. Doing it is the next step.”

  “It doesn’t have to be, and I don’t think frightening her is the answer, do you?”

  Mason felt the slim hold on his temper slip. “Oh, great. Let’s pat her on the head and tell her everything’s okay. Is that your answer?”

  Not a muscle in the Sergeant’s expression moved, but something flickered in her eyes. “It might be good to calm down and recognize the positive things Debra did tonight.”

  “Just as soon as you explain
why you think this is nothing to worry about.”

  “I didn’t say it’s nothing to worry about, Mr. Blackfox, but losing your temper certainly won’t keep her from taking things a step further next time. Don’t underestimate your influence on her.”

  “I’m not losing my temper,” he assured her. “But if I had any influence on her, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

  “I’m sure if you just talk to her—”

  “Talk to her.” The tension of the past few weeks, combined with a fear he could barely name, began to tighten in his shoulders. The years rolled away and he was six, standing in front of a police officer who had responded to a call from a neighbor. No amount of talking had made a difference then. He couldn’t image what good it would do now.

  “That’s a great idea.” He could hear the heavy sarcasm in his voice, but he was too irritated to care. “I’ll have to try it some time. Meanwhile, I think this discussion is over.”

  The sergeant’s eyes flashed and her mouth opened, but Debra cut her off before she could speak. “Stop it.”

  Mason clamped his mouth shut and turned to see which of them she was talking to. Not surprisingly, she seemed upset with him. He just couldn’t figure out why. “Stop what?”

  “You’re being rude.”

  “I’m being rude?” Was she even listening?

  Debra scrambled to her feet and glared at him, her fists clenched tightly and planted on her narrow hips. She looked so much like his mother, the resemblance terrified him. “You’re just mad because Jolene’s right. You’re a horrible dad, and I wish I didn’t have to live here.”

  Mason shut down his fear and hurt, and concentrated on the anger. It was easier to deal with. “Yeah? Well I’m sorry you feel that way, but tough luck, kid. You’re stuck with me for now.”

  “Not if she takes me away from you.”

  “Who? Your mother? I wouldn’t hold my breath if I were you.” Debra flinched and Mason realized how callous that had sounded. He backtracked quickly. “If your mom had her way, you wouldn’t even be here,” he assured his daughter. “Whatever the problem is between you and Bill—”