Brooklyn Bounce

by Andrew G. Nelson

  “Let’s be honest, Scott. Without my client’s testimony, he’ll be out free long before your cop is.”

  “How the hell do you sleep at night?” Blackshear asked, his voice tinged with disgust.

  “Quite well, Captain,” Reid replied. “So do we have a deal?”

  “Just one more thing,” Nichols said. “He’s also going to give up the name of who he was delivering to.”

  “He’ll give up the name, but he won’t testify in court,” Reid said. “If he does, he’ll never live long enough to complete the treatment program. In fact I’d prefer to get him out on bond before the wrong people find out that he is even incarcerated.”

  “Be realistic, George, its Friday afternoon.”

  “All the more reason to get this ball rolling as quickly as possible.”

  “I’ll talk to Mitchell.”

  “Make it convincing, Scott,” Reid said. “For everyone’s sake.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Alex sat on the couch, her feet propped up on the edge of the coffee table in front of her, clutching the bottle of whiskey between her thighs.

  She took a drag on her cigarette, as she stared out the window, an impassive look on her face. In her mind she had put up a valiant fight. She had made it almost the entire day before she had ultimately fallen victim to her desire.

  Her conscience, whom she’d long ago christened Angel Alex, was always the voice of reason. It was the voice that was always whispering in her ear, cautioning her about the latest ill-advised endeavor that she was preparing to undertake, and arguing for restraint. Alex knew that she was right, she always was, but that never seemed to make it any easier. Angel Alex was her optimistic, the sun is always shining, side. She envisioned her clothed in long-flowing white robes and wearing a shiny gold halo. She was always encouraging her, telling her what a strong woman she was and just how far she had come in her life. Angel Alex was the one who was always prompting her to make better decisions and to achieve greater things, whether it was in her personal or professional life. It was not the first mental conversation the two of them had ever had and Alex was reasonably confident that it wasn’t going to be their last. In fact, the only problem was that inevitably Devil Alex appeared to bust-up their little party.

  Devil Alex was the disembodied voice of pure evil. Unlike her angelic counterpart, Devil Alex had never heard of a bad idea or a bad time. If Angel Alex was the one wearing the white robes then Devil Alex was the one wearing black leather with thigh-high stiletto boots. Just like Angel Alex, this voice was always championing her as well, but she played to a different part of Alex’s psyche. She acknowledged that Alex was indeed a strong woman, but that she was strong in-spite of everything that had been thrown her way and that she didn’t have to defend her actions to anyone.

  Devil Alex was always the one urging her to just do what felt good and to hell with the consequences. Life was too short to play nice. If she wanted to get shit-faced drunk she didn’t need anyone’s approval. If anyone had a problem with that it was their issue, not hers. For Devil Alex the act of burning bridges took too long; she preferred using explosives. Hers was the voice that always seemed to be egging Alex on when she got into arguments. Devil Alex was a hard drinking, fun loving, zero-fucks-to-give, kind of girl.

  In the end she did what she had done so many times before; she told Angel Alex to fuck off as she opened the bottle; choosing to party with the ever fun Devil Alex. She comforted herself with the notion that sometimes she just needed to feel numb for a while; to be able to just not care, but she ultimately knew that it was a lie. Alcohol only served to fuel her emotions; it never numbed them.

  Now, as the effects of the whiskey began to take hold, she grappled with her decision. It seemed as if everyone around her had someone or something that brought them happiness. Abby had her bodybuilding, Hutch had his Vanessa, and James had his…..

  Alex let the last part of the thought trail off, as she felt the anger build inside her. She grabbed the bottle and took a long drink.

  While the whiskey had long ago numbed her physically, it had done very little to numb her mentally. In fact it had only served to amplify the foul mood she was currently experiencing.

  “Fucking bitch!” she screamed, as she grabbed the pack of cigarettes and lit another. “That’s what James has, a blonde-haired fucking bitch with her perfect little fucking body and her perfect little fucking life”

  It annoyed Alex to no end having to get along with his girlfriend, Melody.

  “Fiancée,” she corrected herself. “They’re getting married and they’re going to have a perfect fucking happily-ever-after life. She’ll probably want you to be a fucking bridesmaid too, just so that she can throw the bouquet at you and torment you one last time.”

  The sad thing was that she knew Melody had no idea about her feelings for James. Hell, she’d only just shared them with him a few months earlier, but that didn’t mean she still couldn’t hate the woman.

  Alex often fought the urge to think about them together, but that generally proved futile, especially when she was drinking. As much as the images repulsed her, she still couldn’t help herself. She found it rather disturbing that the very idea of them together both angered and aroused her.

  She took another swig of whiskey, than set the bottle on the coffee table, as her mind played out a reoccurring scene with the two of them in bed, as Alex stood in a darkened corner watching.

  It should be me, she thought, taking one last drag on the cigarette before crushing it out in the ashtray.

  Knock, Knock, Knock.

  Alex closed her eyes and gritted her teeth.

  She didn’t need this, not now. This was her pity party and it was a private affair.

  You should have turned off the lights, she thought.

  Knock, Knock, Knock.

  “Oh for fuck’s sake,” she exclaimed, as she got up from the couch and stormed down the hall to answer the door.

  “Hey there,” Peter said, when the door opened.

  “You should have called first,” Alex said, the words coming out a bit slurred. “You could have saved yourself a trip.”

  “Are you okay?” he asked, a concerned look on his face.

  “I’m freaking awesome,” she replied. “Thanks for asking and have a good night.”

  As Alex began to close the door, Peter grabbed it.

  “Take your hand off my door, Peter.” Alex said slowly, an angry edge to her voice.

  “I’m worried about you,” he replied.

  “Your concerns are duly noted,” she said. “Now take your hand off my door.”

  “Why do you do this?”

  “Do what?”

  “Shut everyone out of your life when you are going through a rough patch?”

  “Rough patch,” she replied with a laugh. “You think this is a rough patch? I’d call looking at twenty-to-life as a little bit more than a goddamn fucking rough patch, Peter.”

  “Okay, maybe that was a poor choice of words, but you know what I meant.”

  “No, I don’t know what you mean, Peter. I don’t know what any of you mean, with your aw shucks, oh my goshes, and rough patches. What the hell does any of that mean? That’s not real life, no one talks like that. That’s Mayberry shit.”

  “I hate when you drink,” he said.

  “Fuck you,” Alex replied. “You invited yourself to this party, no one asked you to come around with your sanctimonious, holier-than-thou bullshit.”

  “I’m not holier-than-thou, Alex,” he said indignantly. “We all have our demons that we battle with.”

  “Is that what you think I’m doing out here?” She asked with a smile, her voice taking on an almost sing-song tone. “Battling my demons?”

  “Yes,” he replied, “and losing.”

  “Oh, baby, you have no idea. I don’t battle my demons, I party with them.”

  “I can’t do this anymore, Alex,” he said somberly. “I can’t help you if you don’t le
t me and I can’t watch you destroy yourself.”

  “Then don’t, Peter.” she replied. “Go find yourself a nice, demure little girl. It shouldn’t be too hard. As I recall it’s been brought to my attention numerous times just how lucky I am because half the women in town would kill to be banging Dr. Hunk.”

  “I don’t want them,” he said angrily. “I want you.”

  “No you don’t,” she snapped. “You think you do, but you don’t.”

  “Yeah, well if you think you know me so well why don’t you tell me what I want, Alex.”

  She smiled seductively, as she held onto the edge of the door for support.

  “You want what every boy wants, Peter. You want the bad girl. You want the girl that you’re ashamed to bring home to mommy; the wild one in the sheets who fucks you back, but you only want her on your terms and behind the bedroom door. The rest of the time you want someone who doesn’t drink or curse like a sailor. You want to find a girl who’ll fawn over you and say things like aw shucks and oh my gosh, at least when she’s not standing quietly behind you; in her proper place. One who can walk into church without running the risk of Christ falling off the cross, and God knows I’m not her. You may think you want me, Peter, but make no mistake, you only want to change me and that is something no man will ever do.”

  Peter stood silently, staring impassively at Alex.

  “Introspections a bitch, isn’t it?” she asked with a wink.

  “I’ve got to go,” he said.

  “Yeah, me too,” she replied. “I’m about to go do body shots with my demons. Drive safe.”

  Alex watched as the man walked back to his car and drove away.

  She closed the door behind her and made her way back to the couch.

  “Asshole,” she muttered, as she picked up the bottle.

  Who the hell did he think he was to judge her? she thought, as she took another drink. For that matter who the hell were any of them in this pissant little town?

  None of them had any idea who she was or what she had been through in her life, and they certainly had no right to judge her.

  She lit another cigarette, as she sat on the couch and fumed. She didn’t belong here; she didn’t fit in with this clickish community. In many ways she felt like an alien watching some primitive life form evolve and, just like that little extraterrestrial shit, she just wanted to go home.

  But you can’t, she scolded herself, because you’re a bad girl and you’ve been exiled.

  It seemed that even among her own people she was a pariah.

  She knew that she didn’t have to drink, didn’t have to curse like a drunken sailor, but that’s who she was and she didn’t want to change.

  Alex took a drag on the cigarette and began blowing smoke rings, as she lamented her current situation. The blissfully ignorant buzz that she had been working so hard on was gone now, replaced by a sense of drunken awareness.

  A part of her was angry, knowing that her relationship with Peter was pretty much over. Maybe after he got elected he could be like Sheldon and find himself his very own Juggs Montgomery. Someone like her would be the perfect woman for him; eye candy that would never embarrass him. He could even take to church without having to worry about a stray bolt of lightning wiping out the congregation.

  Plus she’s one of those Penobscottitarians…… Penobscottian….. fuck, she’s a local bitch.

  It wasn’t that she didn’t care for him, but they were truly from two different worlds. If she was the Harley chick he was the Vespa guy. She was straight whisky and he was a crisp chardonnay. She felt at home among cops, he felt at home among…….. well, refined people like Melody.

  “Prissy little bitch,” she said, as she crushed out the cigarette in the ashtray.

  The words had formed perfectly in her head, but they came out as a slurred, unintelligible jumble; which somehow seemed quite hilarious to her. Alex soon found herself giggling uncontrollably at her inability to speak clearly, but then the room began to spin violently.

  “Oh crap,” she exclaimed, as she felt her body begin to topple over.

  The last thing she saw was the image of James and Melody locked in a passionate embrace and then she passed out.

  Devil Alex was so proud.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Alex let out an audible groan, as she gingerly lifted her head up off the throw pillow and opened her eyes. The inside of her head felt as if a troop of circus clowns with large mallets were running around inside it, beating every square inch of her skull.

  “You’re not sixteen anymore, asshole,” she said dryly, as she slowly crawled up into a sitting position.

  She sat cross-legged on the couch and took a moment to allow her brain to process the scene in front of her. The living room had that old familiar smell of cigarettes and whiskey. A near empty bottle of Jack sat on the coffee table alongside an overflowing ashtray. Halfway across the room her jeans lay on the floor in a crumpled heap along with one sock. The only thing missing from the whole sorority party scene image were a bunch of other bodies passed out on the floor.

  When did I take my pants off? she wondered, as she stared down at her one bare foot.

  Alex gave up trying to remember, as she rubbed at her face; trying to shake the cobwebs free. She would have liked to have said that this was unusual, but the truth was that the scene was an all too familiar one for her.

  She reached over and picked up the pack of cigarettes from the table. She lit one up and leaned back, staring out the window. Darkness still held its grip on the outside world.

  For all intents and purposes this was her customary fallback position. Whenever the shit hit the fan in her life she’d find a place to hole up in till things settled down; somewhere that had an ample supply of booze and smokes. In fact the only thing that was different now, from when she lived in New York, was that she had a better view to keep her company.

  She got up and slowly made her way into the kitchen. Her body was still suffering the effects of misguided folly and she held onto various pieces of furniture for support, as she moved along. She slumped over the counter, laying her face on the cool ceramic tile, and hit the switch on the coffee pot. A moment later the stale air was replaced with the aromatic smell of the dark coffee being brewed.

  By the time she had finished her cigarette the coffee had completed brewing. She poured a cup and used it to wash down the aspirin that her aching head so desperately needed.

  She walked over to the front door and put on her jacket, before stepping outside. This was one of the things she enjoyed about rural living: no neighbors, no worries. Sitting on your porch drinking coffee, while half-naked, was something that was generally frowned upon in the suburban enclaves of Long Island. Alex took a seat on the porch swing and cradled the hot cup of coffee in her hands.

  The evening sky was flooded with an expanse of brilliant stars. The imagery never ceased to impress her. Back on Long Island you would be lucky to see one star, but up here there were millions. Having spent her life surrounded by urban sprawl, the life she lived now seemed like a blessing.

  Well, maybe not after last night, she thought.

  The cold air felt so good against the bare skin of her legs. She took a deep breath, filling her lungs with fresh mountain air. She took a sip of her coffee as she contemplated her current situation. Her latest rock-bottom moment had probably destroyed her relationship with Peter. She didn’t remember all of the alcohol fueled venom she had spewed, but the things she did recall weren’t all peaches and cream.

  She knew that she couldn’t survive this way and that she had to make some serious changes in her life. In many ways the alcohol was like an abusive lover. The one you loved to hate, but who you still couldn’t stay away from. It was always there to comfort in her times of trouble, but more often than not it was the original source of her problems in the first place. To be fair, she had always been a willing participant. It was never the alcohol that sought her out, she was always the one pursui
ng it.

  “Prison will probably change that for you,” she said dryly, as she patted the outside of the jacket, thankful when her hand hit the rectangular box in the pocket.

  She reached inside and pulled out the cigarette pack. It seemed a bit incongruous that on one hand she would enjoy the fresh air, yet only to then light up a cigarette and fill her lungs with smoke, but that was her life. Like the alcohol, her smoking was simply a crutch to help her get over the issues in her life.

  The chilling dreams of Cory Childers had been replaced by something new. A nightmare that wasn’t just limited to when she was asleep and one that chilled her to the core. No one ever wanted to imagine themselves in jail, relinquishing their freedoms, and that held doubly true for a cop. Just the very thought of being among the same people that she’d arrested terrified her. It wasn’t that she was afraid for her safety; she’d always held her own with the boys so the idea of being around women really didn’t faze her. What really bothered her was the fact that she might end up there even though she had done nothing wrong. She knew that she had seen a gun and nothing could convince her otherwise.

  Yeah, but will a jury buy that? she wondered.

  The unfortunate answer was no. Even if they only found her guilty of manslaughter, the odds were that she’d end up in prison, at least for some length of time. She was pretty sure that she could survive incarceration, but what worried her was life afterward. Her career would be over and then what? Most likely she would lose everything in the subsequent civil law suit, not that she had all that much. She’d be an ex-con and, with the battles she’d waged against Sheldon Abbott, her job opportunities would probably be quite limited.

  “Maybe Sheldon will give you Jugg’s’ job,” she said. “Then he can leer at you with impunity.”

  Just the very thought of Abbott ogling her day in and day out made her shudder. She’d slip on a pair of neon orange hot pants and a tight t-shirt to serve burgers before she’d stoop low enough to accept that job.

  Then you had better put more time in at the gym, she chided herself. No one drops tips to look at a middle-aged woman’s saggy ass.