by K. S. Adkins
First stop was a drive-thru run for a fountain pop. Normally, I drink water or coffee, but lately it’s all about fountain pop. Talking about everything and nothing, we make good time, even though driving on Ford Road at any time of the day brings out the crazy in both of us. Then we hit this baby store in Canton, and swear to god I started sweating the second we walked in. All of the women in there were just so … motherly. They were all so happy and excited to be there, and we weren’t there five minutes when we both felt like we should walk out and just order everything online. It’s obvious we aren’t suburb girls, and if the looks we were getting are anything to go by, the moms-to-be knew we were out of our element and new to their turf. Truth? They all looked alike. They all had this fucked-up hair like they couldn’t decide to cut it off or grow it out; it was just blah. Apparently out here, women are all required to wear cardigans and Sperrys, because there were sweaters and sparkly boat shoes aplenty. Which is funny considering we’re nowhere near water. I have to wonder how out of place we look, because these bitches look ready to lynch. They can’t possibly know we’re armed, can they?
Venessa steers me to the diaper aisle, which seems harmless until you really took a look at it. There are hundreds of choices, dozens of brands, and you can choose from dry fit, ultra snug, leak proof, leak guard, sensitive skin, and overnights. Why not just make one universal diaper? Who has the time and patience for this?
“$30.00 a box? For disposable shitters? Hope your kid doesn’t have plans for college,” she tells me.
“I don’t get it,” I tell, her picking up a box of newborn diapers. “How many times a day can a kid possibly piss and shit? I mean, I may have one in me at best, and that’s even after three cups of coffee. So I have to change it every time it goes? I’ll never leave the house again.”
“I’m all about aunty duty, but I draw the line at shit. I don’t do shit, Macy.”
“You’d think I’d be worried about destroying my vagina, but I’m not. I mean, let’s do the math, it stands to reason the kid will eat every few hours, so … oh my fuck!”
“What?” She says whirling around ready to fight on my behalf.
“My tits are going to be tube socks with tennis balls! This kid is going to suck me dry! Shit!”
“Give it bottles then, save your tits.”
“I’m allowed to do that?”
“Your tits, your baby, do whatever you want.”
“I really need to study up on this,” I tell her, and that’s when we’re interrupted.
“May I help you find anything?” says the voice, a voice I know. Slowly, Venessa and I both turn, and any thoughts of diapers, tits, and wrecked vaginas leaves me, and the urge to choke a ho takes it place.
“You,” I growl.
“Oh my god,” she says, backing up.
“Is that —?” Venessa starts, and I finish for her.
“Chyna Fucking Townsend.”
“Don’t come near me, you psycho bitch, I’ll call security!”
“You won’t make it to the phone,” Venessa offers sweetly.
“Run, Chyna. I like it when they run,” I tell her.
“Holy shit!” she squeals. “You’re insane! I never even fucked him! He was awful! Couldn’t get it up! I was trying to help you! My god, I was living up to the girl code! I was trying to save you!”
“Insane? Hardly. I’m pregnant.” And with that her eyes grew huge. ”I can kick your ass and pick out baby names at the same time.”
In a typical chick move, she turns like a frightened deer and makes a run for it. Tsk tsk, I think to myself. I’m going to really enjoy this. As I devise a strategy, I rub my belly and whisper, “This one’s for you kid; no one talks about your daddy like that.”
“You sure this is a good idea, Macy?” Venessa asks me.
Turning to look at her I give it to her straight. “She ran her mouth about Jonas and I gave her a head start; I thought that was sporting.”
“It totally was,” she tells me. “Just protect the middle.”
“Right on,” I tell her. “Watch my back, I don’t trust mothers.”
Venessa nods, and then the hunt is on. Spotting Chyna behind the strollers and car seats, I flush her out easily. But just before she can make it to the phone to call for backup, I keep it simple. Instead of taking her to the floor, I kick in the backs of her knees and watch as she crashes. When she gets up, I give her one solid strike to the jaw and then roll my eyes when she goes down again. My god, she’s an embarrassment to women everywhere. You don’t get to talk shit and not back it up. It’s simply not done. Then again, I’ve never defended a man before, so I could be going about this all wrong, but then I decided, I really didn’t care, either.
I’m sure how much time passes. She gets up; I put her back down. But when Venessa chimes in, I realize Chyna Fucking Townsend is at least partially right. Pregnancy does in fact cause insanity, and now the cops are here, I’m hoping they’ll allow me to plead “Diaper rash” for a lesser sentence.
Once she and I were both cuffed we exchanged shoulder bumps and a smile. Being led out to the cruiser I give one final look to Chyna and shake my head. She better get the memo pressing charges wouldn’t be a smart move for her.
Now in the back seat of the squad car, we really start laughing when it hits me. “Is Rogan going to be your one phone call?” I ask her.
“Fuck you,” she laughs “Odds are he already knows anyway. You calling Rafe?”
At the thought of telling him what I just did my stomach starts to pitch, and Venessa, not missing a beat, yells to the officer to pull over for me, but he doesn’t do it in time. Its official, you can add chucking to my list of charges. Because I feel real fucking sorry for the rookie who has to clean that shit up.
With Macy shopping, I take time to make calls, track leads, and formulate a plan. Knowing her, if I shared any of this, she’ll want to be there for all of it. In her condition, the best place for his is on the couch, with her feet up, maybe rubbing my back after. As of this morning, the total of girls missing is four. All under thirty years old, all volunteers at the hospital she works at. None of them worked on her floor or from what I can tell know her at all, but each was last seen at Lush. So now that puts both Venessa and Macy at risk again.
Opening her laptop, I try to make sense of her data, but it’s numbers and graphs, and for someone like me, it’s meaningless. Especially when the actual formula is memorized in her head and only the data makes the notes. Whoever is behind this is going to great lengths to get what she knows. The question is, why?
Somehow, Gary caught wind of it and used it to get to Venessa, but claimed to have no knowledge of anything else. Venessa believed him. According to Macy, she thinks whoever this is targeted Venessa first in hopes to get her out of the way. I agree with her. But back when all that went down Rogue and I were barely in the picture; now that’s changed, so whoever this is has to know that.
When my phone rings, I see it’s Rogan. I pick up right away wanting to share my theories, as well as Macy’s. After all the shit they went through just a couple of months ago, this is the last thing he needs.
“Talk to me,” I tell him.
“Picking you up,” he growls. “Be ready.”
“Fuck,” I tell him. “What happened?”
“You’ll have to see it to believe it,” he mumbles. “Pulling up now.”
Throwing on my boots and a pullover, I grab my badge, gun, wallet, and keys, and hit the driveway in an under a minute. Jumping in the passenger seat, he instructs me to buckle up for safety, then floors it.
“Where we headed?” I ask, and when he’s silent I push for more. “Spill it, partner.”
Running his left hand over his shiny bald head he goes even faster to get to the freeway. “Headed to Canton.”
“Why? We got a lead there?”
“No,” he mumbles. “Got to spring our girls from holding.”
“Holding? They got arrested?”
�
�Macy attacked a clerk at a baby store,” he tells me. “Manager called the cops, heard on it the band. Called over there and requested the tape. They got an officer picking it up so we can review it, then we need to get them out before any charges are filed.”
“Wait, Macy attacked a clerk? What was Venessa doing?”
“That clerk was Chyna Townsend” he says. “And Venessa was cheering her on.”
I can’t help it; I start laughing. It’s either laugh or punch his dash in. My woman holds a grudge, it seems. I don’t particularly care she got ahold of Chyna again; actually that’s hot, but, she’s pregnant. Pregnant women don’t brawl. She could have been seriously hurt, and this situation reaffirms why I need her out of the investigation.
“This shit’s funny to you?” he asks, but I see his bald ass smirking.
“Fuck,” I say, still chuckling. “I can’t wait to see that tape.”
The rest of the ride is spent talking theories, and like a good partner, his brain pattern follows mine. End goal? Protect our women. Pulling up to CPD we walk in, badges out, and are escorted into an empty room. Advised to sit, given coffee and a remote, we both sit back and watch in awe as my pregnant soon-to-be wife wipes the floor with Chyna repeatedly. Watching it again, I take it in from start to finish. Although I can’t hear what Chyna said, I can only assume she provoked a pregnant, very territorial woman. Even when Chyna had the sense to walk away, I see Macy rub her stomach, whisper something to the baby, then strategize with Venessa. Oh shit. See, that’s premeditation, and that’s not good. The threat left, yet she pursued it. Watching Venessa, I see her doing air jabs and some kind of dance to cheer Macy on. She didn’t stop until Venessa calls her, then seconds later she’s cuffed, taken out to the cruiser, and smiling the entire time.
This is going to be hard to spin if Chyna presses charges.
Rogan starts it for a third time. “Shouldn’t we be springing our women?” I ask him.
“They’re fine,” he tells me. “Made a bunch of friends with the locals and are eating subs right now; we need to watch this one more time. It’s fucking funny.”
“Shit, man, what if Chyna presses charges?”
Pointing at the screen, he says, “See that? Right there, Macy gave her a warning. If she presses charges, next time Macy tracks her down she’ll be pressing her face into concrete.”
“I hope you’re right,” I tell him. “She’s pretty fierce, huh?”
“Been telling you that all along, partner. ̓Bout time you fucking listened.”
Turns out we both enjoy the video so much we watch it five more times after that. Every time she kicks the back of her knees, I get hard all over again. Watching her work Chyna over has me fighting back a moan. Fuck, chicks who can brawl are hot. Chicks that brawl defending their man are even hotter.
We are brought down to holding, and with the setup I can hear them talking, but they can’t see us. Rogan and I nod to each other, then to the officers to keep quiet, while we sit back and listen.
“Are my boobs getting bigger?” Macy asks Venessa.
“How can I tell when you’re dressed?”
“I don’t know you, but you can show me if you want.” This from a random prisoner
“I don’t flash my boobs willy-nilly!” says Macy. “Okay, just a quick peek.”
“They look good to me,” she says. “First kid?”
“Yep.” says Macy
“Your boobs won’t go to shit until the second, if you’re lucky the third,” she advises.
“How many do you have?” she asks.
“Three,” she tells her. “All spawns of Satan.”
“Oh,” says Macy. “What are you in for?”
“You don’t ask people what they’re in for. It’s a rule, Macy, Prison 101,” says Venessa.
“Like I knew that?”
“It’s all right, turns out I forgot I had parking tickets.”
“That’s not so bad!” she says. “They hold you for that?”
“Thirteen,” the officer offers up.
“Oh,” says Macy
“It’s cool, I’ll pay it and they’ll let me out,” she tells them. “What’s your husband going to say about this?”
“Fiancé,” she says, then it gets quiet and she mutters, “He’ll never marry me now. I’m the worst mother, ever.”
“You are not.” says Venessa.
“Defending your man ain’t never a bad thing,” says the world’s worst driver. “He’ll get that.”
“He’s a cop,” Macy tells her.
Then the prisoner starts laughing, as does the officer. “A cop? Yeah, then you’re fucked.”
Rogan holding back laughter himself, and nods to the officer and we approach. All the while, I just want to laugh and hold her, feeling lucky the woman behind those bars belongs to me. Life with her will never be boring, that’s for damn sure. Now, if I can just get her back on the goddamned couch!
As soon as we come into view two things happen. Her hands immediately go to her belly and she smiles for me.
I’m a lucky motherfucker; that smile and the woman attached to it belong to me.
Hours after “the talk” and finding out Chyna Fucking Townsend isn’t pressing charges, I want to find her and hit her again. Not only her, but every other bitch that made him question himself too. Rather than face serious time, I’m on the couch resting, yet somehow rubbing his back for him. Not like it’s a hardship; I love any excuse to touch him, it’s just I’m not a lay-around-on-the-couch kinda person. A lot of what he said made sense and when he broke out the pregnancy handbook, I had to admit even I couldn’t argue with science.
Venessa texts me asking when we could go shopping again, to which I reply “Next week?,” but I’ve yet to hear back and I’m guessing given today’s events, I’m probably grounded. Logging onto my computer my calendar alerts me to several deadlines I had managed to forget about. Instantly I’m up and off the couch, kicking the covers mostly on top of Jonas and looking for my glasses. I swear I’m always looking for something.
“What’s wrong, Princess?” he asks standing up, walking over to the kitchen table, and handing me the elusive glasses.
“I’ve got deadlines,” I tell him. “Can I borrow your truck? I need to get to the lab and turn this data in. Between chucking, Chyna, and doing hard time, I completely forgot.”
“I’ll take you then,” he says, getting his keys. “When you’re ready for pickup just call me. I’ll just be at the station.”
“Are you sure?” I ask, crossing the room to hug him.
“Any excuse to be near you, I’m gonna take,” he says, kissing me. “So yeah, I’m sure, but I have a request.”
“Name it,” I tell him.
“I’d like to put the tracker in your phone like Rogan did with Venessa. Before you flip, it’s just a precaution. I won’t listen in or steal your privacy. I just need to know you’re safe.”
I didn’t even need to think about it. “Okay,” I tell him. “Do you want to do it now, or when we get back?”
“Now,” he says. “I might have brought the program back from the station to install it.”
“Fine by me,” I tell him. “Can we grab chili fries on the way? I’m starving.”
“Like I’d ever say no to chili fries? Let’s go and get my woman her heartburn.”
So that’s what we do. It takes him all of thirty seconds to install the app, another ten minutes to get me to Lafayette Coney, and five minutes after that to make his truck into a mini picnic for us. I’d also like to mention for every chili fry ingested, he rubs my belly. For every gulp of pop, he rubs my belly. When he drops me off in front of the lab, he gets out to open my door, helps me down, and walks me up to the door, all while rubbing my belly.
If I wasn’t so worried about my tits going to pot, I may just consider staying pregnant forever. A girl could get used to this kind of contact. Especially when she’s never had it before, and mostly because being loved is the best feeling ever.
I had to force myself to pull away from the lab. Watching her walk her sexy graceful walk had my jeans tighter than usual. Her walk was always sexy, but now? Knowing what’s happening inside of her? Even sexier.
A quick stop at the toy store I picked up a bear for her. I don’t know why, but it just seems like a good idea. Now it’s sitting on her seat patiently waiting for her to pick it up. Heading to the station, I remind myself to be grateful for all I’ve got. I was never one to notice much before, never really had shit to notice, but now I’ve got so much shit to be happy about it’s almost too much. Can a person be too happy?
Driving past the Ford dealership I see an advertisement for an SUV. I’m thinking it may be time to get something more family friendly. Right now, Macy relies on public transportation because it’s cheap and efficient, but it isn’t safe, and ain’t no way my wife and kid are riding on a fucking Smart Bus.
Logging that away for later, I park, head up, and stop at the Captain’s office wanting to touch base.
Knocking on the Cap’s door and not getting a response I open it anyway and see it’s empty. Walking in and taking a seat I decide to wait, but not before I can stop myself from looking at the photos of Venessa and Macy when they were kids. Even then those two were inseparable, and both going through their awkward stages, but beautiful just the same. You also can’t help but notice Macy was guarded even then. My woman never knew much about happiness.
Sitting back down, my phone chirps, and it’s not a signal I’m familiar with, so I open it up and see Macy is talking. I’ll be damned, this app is wicked. It recognizes her voice and alerts me to it so I can listen. Moral dilemma: do I put it back in my pocket, or do I listen in despite my promise?
I am just getting ready to tuck it away when I hear Ben’s voice. Logic and promises forgotten, I put that fucking phone to my ear and I listened. Rogan would be giving me an “I told you so” scowl if he could see how far the mighty have fallen.
