Jock's Baby

by Roxeanne Rolling

  Fuck.

  I check the mirror and sure enough there’s like five or six cars trailing us. Cop cars, with their sirens blaring and flashing.

  Fuck.

  I don’t even have time to make a rational decision.

  I wanted out of this life. I was going to become more respectable. I was going to have Rebecca.

  Slamming the clutch down, I jam the car from fifth into second. The engine roars, the tachometer going past the red line. Good thing this car is heavily modified and can outpace just about anything else on the road.

  “Hold on,” I yell, as the car jumps forward at an incredible speed.

  Sebastian and I are both thrown back in our seats.

  “Put your fucking belt on,” I yell over the engine roar. What a fucking idiot, not even wearing his seatbelt.

  24.

  Rebecca

  Fuck that Belinda chick. She’s really something else.

  But I’m the one who’s got Luke. I have to remind myself that. He seems to be changing too much recently, and who would know him better than his Mom?—and she says he’s changing for me.

  I feel like he and I are right on the edge of entering into a real relationship. Something serious, something really great. Maybe the last relationship of my life.

  The sun is shining and the grounds of the palace look incredibly beautiful. I’ve finally lost Belinda. She’s gone back to whatever hellhole she crawled from, and I’m standing by the small lake, admiring the way the water calmly ripples.

  “Rebecca!” calls someone, from behind me.

  I spin around to look. It’s Eugene. Of course it’s Eugene.

  “What’s going on, Eugene?” I say, in French, even though he addressed me in English.

  He’s running towards me, his face red and sweaty. His hair’s all tousled and his clothes look like he’s fallen into a mud puddle somewhere. This doesn’t concern me too much, though, since Eugene’s often flustered. It’s kind of funny, comparing him to Luke, who’s always so calm in comparison.

  “There’s been…something terrible…Luke…”

  I can barely make out the words. He’s speaking a mixture of French and English, and it’s hard to understand. I’ve never heard him talk like this before.

  Finally he reaches me, and he’s so out of breath he bends down, placing his hands on his knees.

  “Luke…” he says.

  “What happened?” I say, suddenly growing worried. “Did something happen to Luke?’

  Eugene’s out of breath, but he nods.

  “Tell me what the fuck happened.” I say, practically screaming.

  I’m beside myself. I grab him by the lapels of his suit and pull him towards me. “Tell me what the fuck happened, Eugene,” I say, my hair somehow coming undone from its bun (Liserian Royal fashion) and flying all over the place, getting into my face.

  “Car accident,” says Eugene. “Arrested.”

  “What? Is he alive?”

  Eugene nods. “He’s alive,” he says, gaining his breath back, finally. “He was in a serious car accident. He’s in critical condition. But he’s also been arrested.”

  Fuck.

  But he’s alive.

  Luke is alive. I keep repeating this to myself over and over again.

  “So he’s OK?”

  “I don’t know,” says Eugene. “I don’t know what’s going to happen. I know that he’s badly hurt. It was a bad accident. But it was really hard to get these details. I have connections though in the police force and they’re the ones who notified me. His parents the King and Queen don’t know yet.”

  “The police force? I thought you said he was at the hospital.” Eugene’s been speaking a mix of English and French and I’m having a hard time following. But something about the story doesn’t make sense, and I know it.

  “He’s also been arrested,” says Eugene, gravely. “The Liserian police are really…hard asses. They’re very strict. They’ve taken him to the prison where he’s supposedly not receiving medical attention. We need to get him to a proper hospital immediately. Butt that’s all I know.”

  “So he’s really badly hurt?” It’s starting to make a little more sense, but I’m still confused as hell. What was he arrested for, for instance? Did Sebastian have something to do with this? Something about this really isn’t adding up for me.

  Eugene nods. “Come on, we need to go. We need to hurry.”

  “Wait,” I say, as I turn to follow him. He’s also jogging away. But he doesn’t stop, so I start jogging after him, stopping though, to pull off my heels. I hold them in my hands as I follow Eugene, calling after him. “Why didn’t you go right there, if it’s so urgent? Why the hell did you come tell me?” I don’t think it’s because I’m so important to Luke. I mean, hopefully I am that important to him, but if he’s really in a life-threatening situation, he needs to be transferred to a real hospital as soon as possible. Eugene shouldn’t have wasted time with me.

  “The police are separating themselves from the royal family,” says Eugene. “It’s been going on for years. It’s hard to explain Liserian politics, but let’s just say that we don’t have much influence over them. There’s a senate and everything in this country now, and it’s not as if the king and queen are figureheads, but they don’t wield the same complete power they used to…which is probably good.”

  “Except for situations like this.”

  “Yeah,” says Eugene, panting again. We’re almost back to the palace, but Eugene’s heading in a different direction than I’m used to. “We’re going right to the garage,” he says.

  “Why do you need me, Eugene? I mean, I want to see Luke, but…”

  “If we can get this thing international…” says Eugene, struggling to find the air for his words. “Let me tell you after we get in the car.”

  “Ok,” I say.

  I follow Eugene, who’s beat red at this point, into the garage.

  He gets into one of the sports cars, and I follow.

  My mind’s feeling remarkably clear right now, and, although I’m worried, I’m not feeling an intense amount of anxiety. I’m pretty sure that Luke’s going to be fine. After all, how bad could the police hospital care be? I’m sure that if he’s really seriously in danger, then the police would transfer him to a hospital. They’re not going to let something really bad happen to him.

  “Why are we taking this fancy car?” I say.

  “We need to get there fast,” says Eugene, taking only a moment to adjust the mirrors. “Fasten your seat belt,” he says.

  I do as he says, and a second later, Eugene’s roaring the engine, and we’re peeling out of the garage.

  I’m thrown back into my seat as the car accelerates. It’s easily the fastest car I’ve ever been in.

  I didn’t know Eugene had it in him to drive this fast, but judging from the way he’s handling the car, he’s had some kind of professional training.

  “So why are we rushing there so fast?” I say.

  “He’s in critical condition,” says Eugene.

  But strangely I’m still not worried. I wonder briefly whether I’m having…what do they call it? Disassociation? That might be going on, I don’t know.

  “Listen,” says Eugene. “The reason I came to get you is because I need your help. The police aren’t going to help me at all. My connections are only good for information, and the police are probably going to make a big show about resisting any orders that come from the royal family, and that includes me, since I work for them. They’re going to use this as a kind of show down between the regular government and the royal family. That’s why my sources say, the police who are still somewhat loyal to the royal family out of tradition.”

  “So what am I going to do? How can I help?

  Somehow, Eugene explaining all this political stuff to me makes everything really sink it. He’s talking slowly and calmly, to make sure I understand, and that just makes me realize ev
en more that the situation is actually really serious.

  Oh shit!

  What’s going to happen to Luke?

  I’m panicking now, with my heart rate spiking.

  Here comes that good old Anxiety. Where’s Luke to put it out for me? He’s in the hospital, that’s where, in critical condition.

  “Listen, Rebecca, it’s going to be OK. You don’t need to do anything, but I need you there with me as I negotiate. The last thing they want is for this to turn into some kind of international l incident. And you’re the only non-incarcerated American in the country right now, and possibly one of the few foreigners. Having you along will make them see the broader implications of this. I don’t think they realize how foolish it is of them to put the prince’s life in dangers just for some kind of political stunt. Basically I’m going to tell them that if he dies, you’re going to spread the word all over the US. I’ll say you’re a reporter or something, I don’t know. I’m still working on the plan.”

  I feel sick to my stomach.

  And it’s not just the incredible velocity of the car, as we zoom around mountain curves, seemingly accelerating continuously. Eugene’s a hell of a driver, though.

  Everything was going so perfectly. I was getting along with his parents, and he was starting to drop the whole party boy act.

  And now… what if I never see him again? Or what if he’s left in a wheel chair for life, or something like that?

  Eugene keeps going on, explaining things for a while, before I finally have to tell them that I’m going to throw up if he keeps talking—it’s a combination of nausea from driving so fast and also intense worry.

  We arrive at the police station and Eugene skids the car to a stop in the parking lot, not even bothering to park in between the lines of a space. There’s some kind of policeman guard standing outside, and he gets up from his chair, wearing a bored look on his face.

  “You can’t park like that,” he says, waving at us with his baton.

  “This is too important for you,” says Eugene, somewhat cryptically. Even I’m not sure exactly what he means, but he flashes some papers and a badge in the man’s face, and the man salutes him and backs off.

  So much for the royal family and the royal employees not having much influence with the police.

  We enter the building’s stark interior, and walk up to the secretary’s desk.

  “We’re here to talk about the prince,” says Eugene, without bothering to introduce himself.

  A policeman standing in a corner nods, and we’re whisked away to another room, then another. Finally we wind up in an elegant office, where the chief of police sits behind a large wooden desk. The room is dark, and the police chief is smoking a pipe.

  My heart is pounding in my chest. Aren’t we going to see Luke? Why are we wasting time with what feels so far like a social visit. Well, a social visit with a dark tone. Everyone is quiet and the mood is serious and subdued.

  “Aren’t we going to see Luke?” I whisper as quietly as I can in English to Eugene. Hopefully the cop doesn’t speak any English.

  “Not quite just yet,” says the policeman, giving me a mean kind of smirk. Now that he smirks at me, I realize he has a kind of weird evil vibe. He seems like someone hungry for something…hungry for power?

  Inside, I’m completely freaking out. Is Luke OK? Is he dying right now, bleeding out? What kind of treatment are they giving him? Something horribly antiquated like attaching leaches to his skin? Wow, hopefully not. It’s crazy what my anxious mind can come up with—all kinds of horrible things.

  “What’s going on?” I say to the policeman in French.

  Eugene gives me a look to remind me that I’m just here to watch—it’s my presence that’s important. I’m not supposed to be brokering any deals myself.

  But fuck it.

  Something needs to be done.

  “The prince has been arrested for a very serious crime. He was smuggling 20 kilos of high quality cocaine. One of our best undercover agents arrested him and his accomplice.”

  “And what’s his current condition?” says Eugene.

  “Critical,” says the police chief, smiling again, his lips turning upwards in an evil way.

  What a fucking asshole. He’s smiling because Luke is in critical condition.

  “This prince has always been a problem for Liseria,” says the police chief. “And we’ve had to look the other way too many times. He’s caused too much trouble. Now finally we caught him doing something really bad, something really big.”

  “So you’re going to let him die in your hell hole of a police station rather than send him to a proper hospital, just to settle some pathetic old grudge?” I say, again speaking in French.

  “Don’t talk about things you don’t know anything about, silly American,” he says to me, in English. I guess he’s speaking English just to prove he can. “And it’s cute you know some French, but I speak English.”

  “Wow,” I say.

  “Rebecca,” says Eugene. “Please let me handle this. The thing is, sir, is that this could turn into a really bad press situation for Liseria.”

  “I don’t give a shit about the little reporters with their little notebooks,” says the chief.

  Well, there goes our plan for me to pretend I’m a reporter, I think. Clearly Eugene isn’t going to be able to handle this. I need to do take care of it myself. Fuck, if only my heart wasn’t racing so fast. I feel like I’m about to pass out from the anxiety, but Luke’s probably dying.

  “You mentioned an accomplice,” I say. “I know the guy well.” That’s not quite true, but whatever. “He’s just some two bit criminal from my country. I can’t see him ever getting his hands on the type of quantity you’re talking about. And what’s more, there’s something called innocent until proven guilty. And no, don’t tell me that’s just in the States, because I’ve done some reading on Liserian law, and your constitution is based on the constitution of the United States of American. Citizens have the same rights to be tried before a jury of their own peers, and to be considered innocent until proven guilty.”

  “Listen, kid, this isn’t the United States of America. Things work differently here. These are things you know nothing about, so please leave this up to the Liserians. This doesn’t have anything to do with foreigners.”

  “Rebecca, please,” says Eugene, giving me a pleading look.

  Fuck that.

  I’m feeling calmer now that I have a handle on what I’m going to say. I know this is going to work, and I know Eugene’s solution isn’t going to go anywhere. We have to do this fast. There’s no time to mess around. Luke doesn’t have the time.

  “Listen,” I say, in my French, which has become more confident as the days have passed. “There’s no way you can keep him here and not send him to a hospital. You say this doesn’t concern foreigners, but it absolutely does. The United States give a substantial amount of financial aid to Liseria each year—yes, I’ve done some research before coming, like any responsible foreigner—and while I’m not a diplomat, I can speak with confidence when I say that the United States will not look kindly to the incident that’s unfolding before us. You’re using the prince as a political tool to prove that the royal family no longer has influence over the rest of the government. But by using the prince, you’re inherently going to be creating an international incident. You really want the prince to die here in the police station? You think the newspapers won’t print that? And you think that the US won’t withdrawal all their financial aid when they understand how egregiously you’ve violated the constitution of your own country, the constitution you are bound to uphold?”

  Eugene looks at me like he’s seen a ghost. I can’t tell if he’s impressed or what…

  There’s a horrible silence hanging over the room. The police chief’s pipe has gone out, but it’s still hanging in his mouth.

  “Well,” says the police chief, slowly. “Perhaps the princ
e’s current condition does require that he be transferred to a hospital.”

  “Immediately.” I say.

  He nods, then picks up the phone and speaks into it.

  “Prepare the prisoner for release,” he says. “We’re transferring him to Hospital De Flor immediately.”

  I look at Eugene, completely shocked that it worked. Eugene looks shocked too. He gives me a weak and nervous smile.

  “Come with me, and you can supervise the release of the prisoner,” says the chief.

  “What about the other prisoner?” I say. “The American?”

  “He’s not hurt,” he says.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Are you questioning my authority, you insolent foreigner?”

  “Yes,” I say, looking him dead in the eyes.

  “Very well,” he says to my surprise.

  Wow, I can’t believe that worked so well.

  “The other prisoner wasn’t hurt at all during the crash. He was reviewed by the EMT team on the scene, and they didn’t find any injury. The car crashed on the driver’s side, and the prince was driving.”

  I nod my head.

  “Come on,” he says, leading Eugene and I into the hallway.

  We wait for a moment while some police bustle around. Finally, two of them come, dragging Luke between them.

  Shit, he’s fucked up.

  There’s blood all over his face, matted into his hair, and he’s barely conscious.

  He’s mumbling something.

  His leg is bent at a weird angle.

  My heart’s racing again. Eugene looks white as a sheet, like he might pass out.

  The police chief observes the proceedings calmly, his arms crossed in front of him.

  I rush over to Luke. “Luke!” I say, and I begin crying.

  He looks really bad.

  Luke mumbles something. Then he looks up at me. His mouth is all twisted and bloody. Some of his teeth are missing. His nose is definitely broken.

  “Rebecca,” he says, managing to say just one word.

  “It’s OK, Luke,” I say, trying to fight back the tears. “It’s going to be OK, Luke. You’re going to go to the hospital.”