by Gen Griffin
“I'm not drunk.” Trish flinched away from Curtis. “Don't touch me.”
“He's not going to.” Addison still had his arms around Trish. He shifted his grip on her, turning her so that she was at his side instead of in front of his chest. He took several steps towards the rear of his truck, pulling Trish gently along beside him. Curtis followed on their heels.
Addison stopped and turned back to face Curtis. “Sir, I'd appreciate it if you could go stand over by your vehicle for a moment.”
“Its not my vehicle. Its hers.”
“It doesn't matter whose name the title is in.” Addison pointed to the car. “Just humor me.”
Curtis hesitated for a second too long and then reluctantly walked halfway back to the car.
“Addy-.” Trish didn't even know where to start explaining what had happened. Her head was spinning. She felt like her entire world had just imploded.
“You're not drunk,” Addison said flatly.
“Of course I'm not. You were just talking to me at the restaurant. I had one drink.”
“Why is he trying to tell me you're drunk?” Addison asked.
“He's mad?” Trish shuddered. “He grabbed the wheel and snatched my car off the road.”
“Are you serious?”
“Yes.” Trish closed her eyes and struggled to keep from crying. “I think he wanted to kill me.”
Addison let out his breath in a slow hiss. “You're sure he did it on purpose?”
“You don't believe me?” Trish opened her eyes back up and met his. “Addy, I swear.”
“Hush. I believe you.” He put his finger against her lips and shook his head at her. “Do me a favor and sit here in my truck while I go talk to the asshole. Can you do that much for me?”
Trish nodded. Addison kissed her quickly on the forehead before turning on his heel and walked back to Curtis. She watched as Addison slapped her soon-to-be ex-husband heartily on the shoulder and asked him to tell his side of the story.
Chapter 7
Kerry chased the skateboarders half-way down Razorback Drive before his asthma kicked in and combined with the stitch in his side. He collapsed onto the shoulder of the road, wheezing heavily as the humid summer night air tried to choke the last of his breath from his lungs.
He'd pursued the skateboarders for almost a mile this time. It was a personal record. The local punks had, unfortunately, figured out that Kerry was somewhat lacking in terms of physical stamina. They'd learned to keep off of actual roads, forcing Kerry to abandon the cruiser and chase them through wooded trails, jogging paths, the town's only actual water fountain and various alleyways.
Kerry had complained to Frank Chasson about the problem. Frank had told him that if he didn't like chasing the hoodlums, he should leave the hoodlums alone until they actually bothered someone. Frank's solution didn't work for Kerry. Kerry was a big believer in preventing large crimes by prosecuting minor ones to the full extent of the law. He'd been chasing teenagers around Possum Creek for the last two months. On the bright side, Kerry could feel his stamina steadily improving. On the downside, he had yet to actually catch a single juvenile delinquent.
When he could finally breathe again, Kerry struggled to his feet and began slowly limping back towards the parking lot of the long-closed furniture store where he had left his cruiser. The old furniture store was a popular hang-out place for the handful of skateboard enthusiasts in Possum Creek. It had lots of ramps and stairwells for them to slide down and jump over.
Frank Chasson had told Kerry that the kids weren't hurting anything by skateboarding at the furniture store. He'd said that the property had been foreclosed on more than 12 years ago and that nothing had occupied the retail space in so long, it might as well serve a purpose. Frank had told Kerry to leave the kids alone. He said he'd rather know where the town's juvenile delinquents were hanging out instead of having to track them down on the occasions when the Sheriff's Department actually did get complaints about them skateboarding places they shouldn't be.
Kerry didn't give a flying flip what Frank Chasson said. The law was the law. The kids were trespassing on property that was specifically marked with No Loitering and No Trespassing signs. The kids in question also happened to like to egg his squad car and spray obscene words onto the paint.
Kerry's cruiser had been repainted three times since he'd joined the Callahan County Sheriff's Department. The last two times had been at Kerry's personal expense. He didn't care what Frank Chasson's budget looked like. He wasn't driving around in a cruiser that had 'Longwood's got a little dick' and 'Cocksucker Kerry' spray-painted down the sides.
And for the record, no he didn't know why his cruiser was the ONLY Callahan County Sheriff's Department vehicle that was ever vandalized. He didn't know why the hoodlums would walk right past Ian's cruiser just to spray paint a dick on Kerry's hood or hide dead shrimp in his air vents. Of course, he'd suspected Addison of pulling the dead shrimp stunt. Kerry wasn't convinced the teenagers had the level of dedication necessary to pull all the grates off of his air vents and stick an entire 3 pound bag of rotting shrimp behind his dashboard. For that matter, since when did teenagers have the budget to spring for a 3 lb bag of shrimp?
As Kerry huffed and puffed his way back to the abandoned furniture store, he decided he was pretty damn sure Addison had to be responsible for the rotten shrimp incident. The Game Warden wouldn't have any problems turning up 3 lbs of rotting bait. Not to mention that the smell from the shrimp had become noticeable exactly two days after Kerry had filed an official complaint with the Sheriff in regards to Addison's three-pack a day cigarette habit. He'd complained that both the office and Addison's county-issued truck smelled like ashtrays. Frank Chasson had ignored the complaint, but he couldn't erase it altogether. If Kerry got lung cancer from second-hand smoke, he wanted to make sure he could back his lawsuit with a paper trail.
Kerry was looking forward to the day when he could file a corruption lawsuit against the entire Callahan County Sheriff's Department. He couldn't wait to see Frank Chasson get stripped of the badge and title he'd held for more than 20 years. He had fantasies about pulling Addison over and writing him massive tickets once he lost his badge and his county-owned truck. Kerry would be a hero once Callahan County's authorities were exposed for the lazy, complacent, paid-off political tools they were.
As he arrived back at the furniture store, Kerry was so caught up in his fantasizing that he didn't immediately realize that his cruiser wasn't sitting in the parking lot where he had left it.
“What the heck?” Kerry walked to the middle of the asphalt and turned in a slow circle. The blue and gray car was nowhere to be seen. He stood and waited for a moment, certain someone was playing a joke on him and his cruiser would appear like magic from behind some corner once whoever took it got their laugh out of his reaction.
Ten minutes later, Kerry finally accepted that his police car had been stolen.
Chapter 8
“You could have warned me that your ex-husband was a lawyer,” Addison said to Trish as he returned to the truck.
“What does his profession matter?” Trish wiped the last of her tears away with a napkin she'd found in Addison's glove box.
“It matters because he's a slick motherfucker and he's trying to screw you four ways from Sunday.” Addison's turquoise eyes were tinged with concern as he leaned against the door frame of the truck. “He's saying all the right things, Trish. If you were anywhere other than Possum Creek or dealing with a cop who didn't live next door to you, you'd probably be on your way to jail right now.”
“What?” Trish gaped at him. “You can't be serious.”
“He's criminal defense, ain't he?” Addison's question surprised Trish.
“Yes. But-.”
Addison held his hand up to stop her from saying anything else. “He says you're drunk, Trish. He wants you breathalyzed.”
“There's no way one mixed drink put me over the legal limit,” Trish protested.
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“You don't have to be over the legal limit to get a DWI,” Addison explained.
“A what?”
“Driving While Intoxicated. Its a lesser charge than a DUI but its still illegal. It makes a nice little building block if someone wants to stack a list of charges and tickets on you. Such as reckless driving and endangerment.”
“What?”
“He says you knowingly put his life at risk,” Addison explained.
“Oh my God.” Trish put her hands over her mouth. “Addy, I swear he snatched the wheel from me. He yanked the car off the road. I hit the brakes but we hit that tree so fast.”
Addison reached into his pocket, pulled out a cigarette and lit it. “You got lucky tonight.”
“Lucky?” She stared at him in disbelief. “You just told me that Curtis is sticking me with a DWI.”
“No.” Addison blew smoke out his lower lip. “He tried to pin you with a DWI. He's not a cop. He can't write accident reports. He can't write tickets. He can't charge you with a damned thing and I'm not going to.”
“You believe me.”
“Of course I believe you,” Addison blinked at her in surprise. “Why wouldn't I?”
“People always seem to believe Curtis.” Trish took a deep breath and shook her head in dismay.
“He hasn't done this before, has he?”
“Not this, specifically.” Trish felt fresh tears brimming in her eyes. She held up her right arm and showed him the ragged scar that cut down her forearm. “Curtis says this was an accident. He made me stand in the bow of his boat during a storm and then he shoved me overboard. He says he didn’t, but I swear to you that I felt his hand on my back right before I went into the water.”
“Holy fucking shit.” Addison’s eyes were wide with surprise. He reached for her arm, running his thumb down the rough ridges of the scar. “This was a nasty cut. Run that whole little story by me again.”
“He forced me to stand in the bow of his boat during a storm-.”
“And then he pushed you in. You went overboard?” Addison asked.
“I did. I caught my arm on the railing as I fell. One of the screws had come up and I hit it.” Trish shuddered at the memory of plunging into the churning, icy water.
“I'm guessing he didn't dive in after you?”
“I can swim,” Trish said.
“Not the point.” Addison looked as angry as she had ever seen him. “He tried to kill you.”
“He said it was an accident.” Trish shuddered. “Everyone believed him. My Mom believed him. My step-dad genuinely thought Curtis was really upset. I was the only one who thought he'd shoved me overboard intentionally.”
“Trish-,” Addy started.
“Why do you think I'm getting a divorce?” Trish cut Addison off before he could tell her that she was an idiot for staying with Curtis. “I accused him of pushing me overboard. He denied it. He said I was just trying to blame him for what he claimed was a total accident. He made me feel like a stupid, irrational, over-emotional little girl. By the time we were done talking, he was saying that he was the innocent victim of my distrust.”
“He's a slick motherfucker.” Addison stared back towards Trish's totaled car.
“No one ever believes me, Addison.” Trish turned her head so he wouldn't see her crying. “Just like tonight. Its my word against his. It all happened so fast that I don't even really know what happened.”
“And he sounds very sure of himself because he's lying.” Addison sucked on the cigarette.
“Addy?” Trish felt like she was drowning all over again.
“How long ago did douche-bag over there shove you off his boat?”
“Why does that matter?” Trish asked.
“Answer the question.”
“It was almost three months ago. In April.”
“Almost three months ago. You moved here two months ago.”
“Right.” Trish nodded.
“Just happened to work out that way?”
“Maybe I didn't think it was such a bad idea to move,” Trish admitted reluctantly. She blinked back tears. “I thought it would give me some time to come up with a new plan for what I wanted from my life. My old plan was kind of built around Curtis and what I used to think were our mutual dreams.”
“I'm sorry. I'm still stuck on the part where you admitted you knew your ex-husband was dangerous and you didn't tell me.” Addison stared up at the sky for a long minute and then took a deep breath. “We're going to have us a nice chat about this later.”
“It wasn't really any of your business.” Trish felt humiliated.
“It wasn't. It is now.” He gestured at the smashed Honda with a scowl on his handsome face. “Can you afford to take a total loss on the car?”
“Not really. Do I have an alternative?” Trish dug another napkin out of the truck and used it to blot her smeared mascara away.
“Eh. You have a couple of options. All of which have their pros and cons.” Addison had smoked his cigarette down to a nub. He dropped the filter on the ground and immediately lit a new one. “Dick-face over there is pretty slick.”
“You mean Curtis?” Trish clarified.
“Do you have another homicidal ex hiding in the bushes?”
“No.” She didn't appreciate his attempt at humor right now.
“I believe he snatched the wheel of the car, but most cops probably wouldn't have. Especially not once he started insisting you were drunk.” Addison chewed on the filter of the cigarette while he spoke. “He's done a pretty good job of backing you into a corner. He's expecting you to file an accident report. He knows that if you tell me that he snatched the wheel, then I'll have to take his statement as well.”
“He'll never admit he grabbed the wheel.”
“Of course he won't. He'll go on record saying you're driving drunk. As a cop, I have to take those reports seriously. He's expecting me to breathalyze you, which will discredit you even if you are under the legal limit. He's set up the evidence so that you'll be lucky to avoid charges and he'll never have to answer for snatching the car off the road in the first place.”
“Because no one will believe me.” Trish swallowed the large lump that had unexpectedly blossomed in her throat. “How could he do this to me?”
“Probably because you're trying to divorce him and he's a fucking psycho,” Addison suggested in a matter of fact way. “It doesn't really matter why he's done it. I just have to figure out a way to handle this that doesn't require my taking his statement.”
“You can't report that he snatched the wheel,” Trish said after a moment's hesitation. “I was the driver. If I take full responsibility for the accident and don't file a claim on insurance, then no one ever needs to know that Curtis was even here, right?”
“Bingo.” Addison smiled at her for the first time since he'd pulled up to the accident site. “We can write a report that says you swerved for some reason and lost control. Say that there was an animal in the road.”
Trish took a deep breath and got an idea. “I was trying to avoid hitting....a skunk. I swerved to avoid him. My car went off the road, through the ditch and into the tree.”
Addison snorted in disgust. “A skunk. Yeah. I think I smell one now. A big motherfucker at that.” He looked purposefully in Curtis's direction.
“Will it work?”
“I'll make it work. I can't see any reason why anyone would ever question it as long as you don't file a report with insurance.” Addison reached across Trish's lap and pulled a clipboard out of the center console. He propped it against the truck and began filling out the necessary paperwork. Trish watched as he filled his forms with short, sweet little lies. Lies that told nothing of what Curtis had tried to do to her. She couldn't breathe as she signed her own name to the lies Addison told.
Curtis walked over to the truck. “Officer, I'll need to ride to the jail with you. I am her attorney as well as her husband.”
“We're not going to the jail.” Addison flashed
Curtis the biggest fake smile that Trish had ever seen. “Trish and I managed to get this whole mess worked out.”
“Excuse me?” Curtis's smarmy smile fell at the corners of his mouth. His small eyes narrowed even further.
“I'm not going to jail, Curtis.” Trish curled further into the seat of Addy's truck. “I'm going home.”
“You're not charging her?” Curtis was focused wholly on Addison.
“She hasn't done anything wrong.” Addison's tone of voice was so smooth and charming that he hardly sounded like himself. “She's not the first girl around here who's swerved to avoid running over a fuzzy little woodland creature and plowed her car into a tree. Its an expensive mistake, but ain't no law against accidents. Trish has taken responsibility for what happened. I have no reason not to believe her.”
“That's a load of-.” Curtis stopped himself mid-sentence and shook his head. “She gave you a blow job, didn't she?”
“Do what?” Addison blinked in obvious confusion.
“Don't play stupid for me. I know you're the cop Trish is fucking behind my back. The waitress told me all about you, Officer Fuck Buddy.”
Addison rotated his shoulders and cracked his neck. He glared at Curtis. “Officer Fuck Buddy?”
“She's still legally my wife.” Curtis pointed at Trish.
“Dude, you clearly don't know who you're talking to,” Addison said.
Curtis stepped directly into Addison. The two of them were nearly the same height, but Curtis had an additional 80-or-so pounds of sloppy fat on his broad frame. Addison never blinked as he exhaled a long drag of cigarette smoke into Curtis's flared nostrils.
“She's not that great of a lay. Just so you know.” Curtis sneered hatefully at Addison.
Addy punched him squarely in the face.
Curtis let out a wounded howl. He started to lunge for Addison but he wasn't fast enough. Addison sidestepped him and then flung the driver's side door open so that Curtis's head slammed into the sheet metal. Curtis slumped to the ground with a hard thud.
