All Kinds of Bad

by Rachel Rust

  The silver metal hit his flesh and Nathan’s body stopped moving. My eyes closed at the sound of the first cuff cinching, the grating metal teeth closing. Rollins grabbed his other wrist. The second cuff closed. Rollins clutched Nathan’s upper arm, fingers curled tight into the muscles, and led him down the driveway. Nathan’s eyes remained on the ground as he walked past me.

  Hot tears flooded my eyes. I wanted nothing more than to throw my arms around his neck and be carted off with him. Or maybe we could run for it … in my car, hit the open road, like Bonnie and Clyde.

  But I’d be a terrible fugitive. Too soft. Too untested. A goody-two-shoes had no place in the wily world of criminal enterprises; I didn’t even know how to cut class.

  So all I did was freeze as Rollins shoved Nathan into the back of his squad car. In the backseat, Nathan slung his head low, his long black hair cascading down, veiling his face from the world. My facial muscles scrunched, in an attempt to keep a deep sob from erupting. It didn’t work.

  Rollins got into the driver’s side, mumbled something into the radio, and then left. The cop car—and Nathan—turned onto the highway and disappeared.

  Ed’s grip let up on my arm. “Go home,” he said softly.

  There was no fight in me. My body wanted to crumple. I walked to my car in a blur, and then somehow made it home without any conscious driving effort. My fingers fumbled with my phone. I dialed Daniel.

  “Hello?” he answered on the second ring.

  A sob flew out of me. “Nathan’s been arrested.”

  “What?”

  I couldn’t answer in anything other than tears.

  “Lydia, calm down, tell me what happened.”

  After several deep breaths, I finally spoke and gave him the run-down of the evening’s events—omitting the half-naked garage tryst. Even in a serious moment, Daniel would find the time to give me serious shit about dry humping his best friend.

  “They think he shot up The Pit Stop,” Daniel said after I mentioned the police finding his handgun.

  “He would never do that!”

  Daniel sighed. “I know. It doesn’t make sense.”

  “What the hell is going on, Daniel?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “But they’ll do ballistics tests and stuff, right? Like on CSI?” I asked. “Just because it’s the same kind of gun or bullet, or whatever, doesn’t mean that it’s from his gun.”

  “Yeah, they’ll test it,” Daniel said. “Lots of people have 9 millimeters, not just Nathan. And then they gotta let him go when they find it’s not a match to the bullets at The Pit Stop.”

  “Okay,” I said with a nod of my head and a deep breath. “So maybe tomorrow will bring good news for a change.”

  “Let’s hope.”

  After we said good-bye, I walked into my house, barely cognizant of my parents’ hellos. After muttering something about not feeling well, I went into my bedroom and fell into my bed, yanking the covers over my face. Rollins’s sly face flashed in my mind. My knuckles met his nose. I pictured Nathan at the police station, being grilled by the conniving little bastard. My gut tightened. Pain seared through me like a white hot sword, making my stomach recoil. Hot tears stung my eyes as helplessness invaded. Covering my face with my hands, new tears soaked my palms. My body shook with a volatile mixture of fear, confusion, and heartbreak. I hated that stupid town.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  He’s Got Nothin’

  The small interrogation room was on the cool side of comfortable and smelled of damp concrete. I had been there in the past on several occasions, but the black plastic chair under me was new. Before, it had just been a folding chair.

  I was alone, the four gray walls closing in fast. The overhead lights beamed down, creating yellow circles on the table in front of me.

  Minutes ticked by.

  There was no clock inside the room, and the lack of time became disorienting after several minutes. Or maybe it had been a half hour or more. It was hard to tell, and the only noise keeping me company was my finger scratching at the varnish of the wood table, and my Nikes tapping the floor. They tapped that damn floor a thousand times.

  Maybe it had even been more than an hour since Rollins had planted me in that room.

  However long it had been, the delay was deliberate. Rollins was fucking with me.

  I stretched back in the chair, popping a vertebrae and stretching my hands over my head. All thoughts of Lydia were pushed aside. I couldn’t think of her—not now, not here. She didn’t deserve to be in such a dim room. I thought of the gun instead. It was a 9 millimeter Glock. Pretty common. Common enough to give me a faint glimmer of hope that my stay at Rollins’s concrete hotel would be temporary.

  The metal door to my left flew open with an ear-piercing squeak.

  Rollins walked in with Theo White Eagle just behind him. My shoulders slumped at the sight of Theo. I had hoped he wouldn’t be there for this. His presence was just another way for Rollins to mess with my head. I had no problem dishing out attitude toward cops, but Theo wasn’t just a cop, he was a former friend. Someone who—despite our falling out—still had an ounce of my respect.

  Theo and Rollins sat down on the other side of the table, staring at me. I stared back—but only at Rollins.

  After several seconds of nothing, my hands turned palm up. “You guys gonna talk, or do you wanna play charades?”

  Rollins smirked. “You know why you’re here.”

  “I don’t. Enlighten me.”

  “Last Wednesday,” Theo said. “Where were you?”

  I knew Theo was talking about the night of the gas station shooting, but given that my ass hurt from being left to sit in that room for so long, I wasn’t about to make it easy on them. “Let’s see, last Wednesday … I woke up in Denver and fell asleep here in Thorn Creek. And there was a whole lot of highway in between.”

  “Can you be a little more detailed?”

  “Detailed? Sure.” I grinned. “I woke up around seven in the morning and took a piss. I think I had toast for breakfast, maybe scrambled eggs. Then I probably showered and got dressed … jeans and a t-shirt and then I—”

  “Cut the shit,” Rollins said, crossing his arms. “Where were you last Wednesday night around eight o’clock?”

  I shrugged. “Don’t know … probably just pulling into town, but I’m not sure what time I arrived.” That was the truth.

  “Did you stop at the gas station?” Theo asked.

  “No.”

  “Ya sure?” Rollins said. “Not even to grab a drink or visit with a cute little redhead?”

  My teeth gritted together. “I didn’t stop there, and I didn’t even know Lydia at the time.”

  “You didn’t know her at the time … so you wouldn’t have hesitated to fire a bullet in her direction.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “Then what are you saying?”

  “I’m saying I didn’t stop at the gas station.”

  “But you didn’t have to stop to fire the gun though, right?” Rollins asked. He formed his hand into a gun, pointing it to the wall next to him. “You just point it out the window as you drive past. Pop. Pop. Two shots.”

  “The police were already at the gas station when I drove by,” I said, remembering clearly the bright flashing lights in the parking lot that night. For once, a gathering of police presence in Thorn Creek had been for something I hadn’t done. Though I should’ve guessed my name would eventually be dragged into it.

  “So you drove by after the shooting?” Theo asked.

  “Apparently.”

  “Yes or no.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Yes.”

  “Did you see anything unusual? Besides the police presence?”

  “No.”

  “Did you see any people other than police lurking around?”

  I pictured the night. Nothing but red and blue lights came to mind. “No, I didn’t see anyone. I just drove by and went home.”

&
nbsp; “How long have you had your gun?” Rollins asked.

  “Couple years. It used to be Ed’s and then he gave it to me.”

  “When was the last time you used it?”

  “Over a year ago, before I left for Denver.”

  “What do you use it for?”

  I sat back with a sigh. “I don’t know … mostly target practice out on the ranch. But sometimes we use it for security, especially if we’re working at night.”

  “Mountain lions?” Theo asked.

  I nodded. They weren’t spotted very often, but no fucking way would I want to come into contact with one without a gun.

  “Your fingerprints will be on the gun,” Theo said.

  “Probably,” I said. “But whatever bullets you got from the gas station shooting won’t match the gun. I didn’t even bring the gun to Denver with me. So even if I was around the station at the time of the shooting, I didn’t have the gun. It was in my bedroom here in Thorn Creek.”

  Rollins smiled. Given the information he had just given him, I didn’t understand the smile. If I hadn’t had the gun with me that night, I clearly couldn’t have shot the gas station, but Rollins’s face didn’t seem to agree.

  “Let me get this straight,” Rollins said. “You drove by after the shooting.”

  “Yes.”

  “Your family here didn’t see you until after the shooting?”

  “No.”

  “So you’re saying no one saw you before the shooting? Or during the shooting?”

  My mouth twitched open, but I didn’t know how to reply.

  “Let me rephrase the question,” Rollins said. “Is there anyone who can vouch for where you were while the shooting was happening?”

  My mind went back to that evening … it had been just myself, alone in the pickup. No one talked to me. No one interacted with me. No one.

  Theo stared at me, eyes intent under a slightly furrowed brow, as if begging me to give up a name of someone—anyone—who could provide me with an alibi.

  “My gun was in my bedroom here,” I said. “You can ask my uncle. I left it behind when I moved.” The gun being in my bedroom was the only thing I could think to cling to in that moment.

  “And if I ask Ed whether or not he can say with one hundred percent certainty that you hadn’t reclaimed that gun prior to the shooting, could he? Did he check your bedroom that evening for the gun? Does he know for sure it was there?”

  I let my silence answer for me.

  Rollins looked at Theo. “Kid’s got the gun and no alibi.”

  My stomach plummeted. It was my word against the world. Exactly the position Rollins wanted me to be in.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  She Stretches Her Legs

  My eyes fixated on the ground as I walked into school the next morning. There was no Nathan waiting at my locker. No Nathan making me giggle in the hallways. I was alone. My head ached with worry and a lack of sleep. Confusion and heartache plagued me. My face pinched, trying to keep all my emotions in check as to not become a blob of tears and snot in front of the student body.

  The entire school stared at me all morning, everywhere I went. Teachers included. But no one said a word. Not one smirk, not one stifled giggle. No one dared give the town delinquent’s girlfriend any trouble.

  On my own, I kept to myself, hanging with only my close friends. It was how I preferred high school life—as a commoner who avoided conflict. Yet, Nathan’s prominence in the school’s collective mind had catapulted me into an untouchable position whether I wanted it or not. And what little reputation I had in town was precariously in the balance. Things could go either way: I was the naïve still-new kid, given the benefit of the doubt, or I was the no-good comrade of Nathan Stone. There didn’t seem to be much in between.

  In the cafeteria, I was surprised to see Daniel and Alex sitting at the table with Taya and Nina. In over a year, the only time Daniel and Alex had ever eaten lunch in the lunchroom had been last spring when a pipe broke and flooded the weight room. The jocks had been forced to eat in the lunchroom for an entire week, and a few had ended up in detention for trying to bench press freshmen.

  I skipped the food line and rushed to Daniel’s side. But his unsmiling face was not the one I had expected.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  He rubbed his hands along his face. “I talked to Ed.”

  “And?” I demanded, barely able to keep my butt in my chair.

  “And they denied Nathan’s bail at the bail hearing this morning.”

  “What?” I nearly shouted. “Why?”

  Daniel shrugged. “Something about him being a risk to the community.”

  My eyes pinched closed and my hands pressed hard against my face. “What about the bullet test? They’d have to let him go when it comes back as not a match, right?”

  “They either haven’t done the ballistics yet or…” Daniel looked at Nina as though she was his energy source for his next words. “Maybe the bullets matched his gun.”

  My eyes stared unblinking at Daniel. They grew dry, but still they would not blink or look anywhere else. His words were an impossibility. My head shook, almost in an involuntary way. “They can’t match.”

  Daniel, Alex, Taya, and Nina’s silence was not in total agreement with my words.

  I grabbed my bag and left the lunchroom. Two steps behind me, Lance followed.

  “Go away,” I said, without looking back, not wanting him to see the tears welling up in my eyes.

  “Lydia, wait, please.”

  I spun around. “I know you hate Nathan, so I am not about to help you write another slanted newspaper article about him!”

  Lance nodded to his phone, thumb hovering over the red Record button. “I wanted to ask you a couple of questions about The Pit Stop shooting.”

  “I have no comment.”

  Lance rolled his eyes. “Oh, come on, Lydia, you’re smarter than this. You can’t ignore the obvious.”

  I turned back around, headed to my locker. Lance, of course, followed. I had never punched anyone before, but I wanted to start with him in that moment.

  “Nathan would never shoot up The Pit Stop,” I said over my shoulder. “He has nothing against Mike Iron Horse, and he wouldn’t do it, period.” I stopped at my locker. “Besides, that was the night Nathan moved back from Denver. He was busy unpacking and stuff.”

  “Yeah, that was the night he moved back, probably pissed as hell that he was back so he decided to retaliate the only way Nathan Stone knows how … by being an asshole.” Lance watched as I put on my jacket. “Shooting up a gas station is right up Nathan’s alley. Guns, explosives, fires.”

  I shot Lance a tiresome look. “Stop with the fire rumors. Chris DeMarco started that house on fire, not Nathan.”

  “Chris DeMarco hired Nathan to burn down that house,” Lance said.

  I stared at him, lost for words.

  “How do you think Nathan afforded his Camaro?” Lance asked.

  “He works for his uncle, and his Camaro doesn’t even run.”

  “Even ’69 Camaros that don’t run are worth a lot of money.”

  I shut my locker and shifted my stance. Left foot. Right foot. Left foot. “Everyone knows Chris DeMarco started that fire.” It was a lame comeback, but all my overstressed brain could muster.

  “Forget the fire,” Lance said. “If I were you, I’d worry more about the fact that my boyfriend nearly shot me to death over some stupid grievance he has against this town.”

  “Except he didn’t.”

  “The bullets match his gun—how do you explain that?”

  “I’m going to look into—wait! How do you know the bullets match? Who told you that?”

  Lance didn’t answer.

  I stepped up in front of him. “Who told you?”

  “A good reporter never reveals his sources.”

  “Well, that’s convenient, isn’t it?” I moved a step closer, the toes of my shoes bumping against his, my breasts
nearly pushing into his upper stomach. “You seem to know an awful lot about this, don’t you?”

  He backed up a step. “Like I said, I have sources. But think about it, if the bullets didn’t match they would’ve let him go by now, don’t ya think?”

  My jaw clenched. My fists clenched. “Good luck with your story.” I left, and this time he didn’t follow. I walked out the front doors with the expectation of Principal Jackson running me down and telling me to get my truant ass back inside the school. But I made it to Frankie without incident.

  And then I drove to the police station.

  ****

  Theo White Eagle was sitting on a bench outside the station when I pulled up. Clad in a thick police department-issued winter coat, he looked over dressed for the lukewarm afternoon. A wisp of smoke streamed from his nostrils as he watched me exit my car.

  “Shouldn’t you be in school?” he asked.

  I ignored him and pulled the metal door open. The dull blue interior hit my already gloomy personality with a wallop. From behind the front desk, Officer Benson looked at me for a split second, then got up and vanished down a hallway.

  Sergeant Rollins appeared a few long minutes later. “What do you need, Lydia?” he asked, sounding exhausted. “Why aren’t you in school?”

  “I’m wondering, um, like, how the whole jail visitation thing works.”

  Rollins crossed his arms. “Typically someone would sign the visitor’s log, be escorted by an officer back to the visitation center. But in your case, that’s not gonna happen.”

  “Why not?”

  “Visitors have to be eighteen, or with a parent.”

  My shoulders slumped. No way was I going to have that conversation. “Hey Dad, want to accompany me to the jail to see my boyfriend?”

  Hell no. My parents were on a strict need-to-know basis regarding Nathan’s issues. Their work had been keeping them out of town most days, which meant that aside from a rare neighborly conversation over the fence, they didn’t hear much town gossip. They got their news from CNN and Anderson Cooper—more globally focused than local. And I was just fine with that.