Golden Hour (Crescent City)

by Campbell Reinhardt

  I fold my arms across my chest and stare him down. “Is that so?”

  Charlie reaches into his pocket and pulls out a bag.

  The bag that I took from Lawson the other night.

  The bag that was in my truck.

  “How the fuck did you get that?” I ask, my voice shaky.

  I have some other questions, but they’re self-directed. Like why the hell didn’t I get rid of the shit? Why would I have held onto something that could undo me so easily? I put my life and Elise’s on the line by hanging on to Lawson’s shit.

  “Quick search of your truck turned it up.” Charlie shrugs like this is routine protocol bullshit and not the final straw that will topple my entire fucking life.

  “You went through my truck? You sack of shit, you had no right—” I start to get worked up, but Charlie puts a casual warning hand on his piece and holds his other hand out to calm me down.

  “You okayed the search,” he says, his voice even.

  “The fuck I did!”

  Charlie smiles. The fucking prick smiles and shrugs. “Why wouldn’t you have? That night, when we were in that house full of drugs. You had opportunity. You have a record. It’s not a stretch that I could have seen something suspicious. Could have asked you. I mean, why would a guy who cleaned up his act have anything to worry about, right?”

  It hits me then.

  It’s his word against mine.

  No one’s going to believe an ex-dealer whose prints are all over the bag over a decorated police officer—whose family history in law enforcement predates the history of the state.

  “That isn’t mine and you know it,” I say, but those facts mean absolutely nothing to Charlie Dupuis. He knows they’re true, and he doesn’t give a shit. No one else will either. That’s what he’s banking on. I fall back against the wall, the full force of this hitting me like a ton of bricks. “You set me up. That’s why you let Lawson off.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Warren. But now that I know you’re in possession of—” Charlie holds up the bag and examines it, “I’d say this is enough cocaine to be classified a felony. And who knows? Maybe you intended to distribute. I’ve got no choice but to call it in.” He holds his hands out as his sides, like a triumphant gladiator standing over the body of his bleeding opponent.

  I fall against the tiny hutch in the corner, my head spinning, my sight blurred. “What do you want?” I ask, though I’m pretty sure I know the answer.

  “I won’t call it in. Hell, I’ll even wash this away in that putrid swamp out there right now.” He flaps the bag back and forth in his fingers as he gloats. “But I think you know what’s gonna have to happen for me to do that.” Charlie folds his arms and waits.

  “You want me to walk away from her,” I say, my voice cracking. “I can’t...there’s no way I can do that.”

  “You’ll go to jail. I’ll make sure of it. When my father finds out Elise is involved with someone like you, he’ll make sure of it, and he has pull like you wouldn’t believe. Our family’s got friends. Connections. You’ll go down.” Charlie shrugs like the ball is in my court, like he’s not some psychotic asshole masterminding my demise so I won’t date his sister. “Trust me, it’s not worth it, Warren.”

  “Elise is...she’s your sister. You, more than anyone, should know that she is worth it,” I say, my throat raw and stripped. “If you’re so convinced that I’m such a bad guy, you’ve got to know she’s smart enough to figure that out on her own.”

  “I’m sure she will. I’m sure—if you stuck around—you’d give her ample opportunity to realize what a lowlife you really are.” He shakes his head. “But she’s been through enough, Warren. She watched the best man—the man she was about to marry—die. You’re even stupider than I thought if you think I’m going to sit by and let you get close to her, and drag her into whatever trouble you’re in.”

  I’m fucking drowning. I’m going under, and there’s no way out. There’s no way I’m coming out of this on top. And I realize, I can run as far and fast as I want from the boy I was at Tchoupitoulas High, but I’ll never escape who I am. I was born to a fucked up life, and it’s all I’m getting.

  Doesn’t stop me from trying. For her. For us. Because I can’t go down without a fight, no matter that the cards are stacked against me.

  I square my shoulders and look Charlie straight in the eye. He’s not man enough to look me back. Doesn’t mean he won’t win this one, but at least I’m gonna state my case, try my luck.

  Problem is, I’ve never had much.

  “I’m not in any trouble. That coke isn’t mine. You know that.”

  He pulls his mouth to the side and shakes his head slowly, like my words are bullshit. Like they mean nothing.

  “I don’t know that at all. Lawson? He’s a kid who’s is in over his head. I don’t know if you’re working with him or if you were just buying, but either way, I’m not going to have this shit around Elise. I’m just not standing for this.”

  “Damnit, Charlie, you know this is fucking bullshit. I’m not buying. Or using. I don’t do business with that prick Lawson either.”

  I never had a chance, but I blow away the last shreds of Charlie’s professionalism when I point fingers at Lawson. He bristles and jabs a finger at my chest, his lips pulled back in a growl.

  “Lawson’s gone through a lot since Mike died and he doesn’t have anyone to look out for him. I’ll help him where I can, but you? You’re trouble, Warren,” he sneers.

  “Your sister knows about my past,” I say. “Everyone deserves a second chance, right?”

  He waves the bag back and forth. “It’s obviously more than just a past. And people like you don’t deserve second chances. They deserve to be serving five-to-ten.”

  I should deny it, but Charlie is dead set on believing that I’m in cahoots with Lawson. Either that, or he knows the truth and just doesn’t give a shit, so long as he has a way to keep me away from Elise.

  “You’re one of those people who trouble will always follow. And you’re not dragging my sister down with you.” He points his finger too damn close to my face. “It would be easy enough to turn this shit in and let you rot. But my sister has been through hell and back. Somewhere in her soft heart, she likes to see everyone get the good life. She’s a good person like that. So I’m gonna make you an offer, and you’re not gonna refuse.”

  Charlie isn’t much older than me. He isn’t smarter. But where I’ve got a checkered past and the ghosts of my mistakes on my tail, he’s got people who trust him and automatic respect. I’m a grown man, a war veteran, but that will all disappear if Charlie says so.

  Unfair doesn’t even begin to define what this is. It’s blackmail. But he’s got the upper hand right now. And, though I hate his guts so much, I wouldn’t piss on him if he was on fire, he loves Elise. It’s the only thing we have in common, and she’s what I have to keep in mind as I try to decide what to do.

  “What’s the deal?”

  I bet Charlie was the kind of kid who flipped board games on the floor and tossed balls over the fence when he lost games as a kid. He smiles like it’s all coming together just how he wanted. “I told you I’ve got connections. I’ve got a job lined up.”

  “I have a job,” I point out, my brain scrambling to figure out how to fix this, how to undo what he’s done.

  He wags a finger at me and grins like this is all some great joke. “Same company. New position. The flight crew needs a full-time medic. You’ll be transporting critical patients in the helicopter. Should be more your speed. You won’t have any more bullshit calls, no dialysis transports, no out of breath grandpas. It’ll be all action. All the time.”

  “You mean I’ll be in the air, or in a different city all the time.” I clench my jaw.

  Charlie shrugs.

  I’ve been alright at keeping my cool up to now, but I snap. I’m still new to feeling things again, and it’s like everything is intensified. The love, the pain, the m
olten fury. “It won’t work, you know. Elise and I have plans to move in together. She’ll come looking for me.”

  “For a while. You’re a smart guy. I know you’ll find a way to tell her it’s over, but nicely. This was all just a distraction for Elise. Trust me, she’ll get over it.”

  “I promised her,” I stutter. “I promised her I wouldn’t hurt her.”

  “Good. By taking the job, you’ll be keeping that promise,” Charlie says.

  And maybe he’s fucking right.

  “Morning, partner,” Dean says, flipping his clipboard so I can see the neatly completed checklist on it. “Inventory is good, truck is clean, we’ve got a little time before a scheduled transport. You want to go get some breakfast?”

  “Dean, it’s three AM.”

  I rub my hand on the back of my neck, wishing for a second that my life could be as uncomplicated as Dean’s. I wish I had been born with the kid’s north pointing moral compass instead of the one I was born with—one that always seemed to take me in every direction other than the one that would have helped me.

  “And?” Dean asks, raising an eyebrow.

  He knows I never turn down an opportunity to grub, especially on a twelve-hour power truck shift where I know we’ll be running our asses off the entire time.

  Maybe a stint on Air-Med wouldn’t be so bad. Slower pace, more time off… Less time with Elise.

  Fuck.

  I rub my hand across my jaw and try to figure out what type of shitty karmic payback this situation is. I know I screwed up a lot in the past, but this bit with Charlie… I can’t help but feel like I must have done something really terrible that I’ve blacked out on. Because giving in to the blackmail of some pedigreed asshole and losing the girl of my dreams? That’s gotta be payback for something major.

  “I’m not hungry,” I grit out, my stomach churning just thinking about the clusterfuck my life is in right now.

  I pull the door closed, flop down onto the stretcher in the back of the ambulance, and try to work the situation with Charlie around some more.

  Does he know I had nothing to do with the drugs on Lawson?

  Does he legit think they’re mine?

  Would he really rat me out to save his sister from me?

  I don’t know the answers to any of those questions except the last one. Yes, I believe in my gut he’d send me to jail to make sure his sister didn’t go from about to marry his best friend, an upstanding officer, to dating a loser like me. I’m not being self-depreciating. I know I’ve cleaned up my act and plan to keep going. But I know without a doubt I’ll never be good enough for Elise Dupuis in her brother’s eyes.

  I feel the engine of the truck start up and Dean slides the window between the cab and the back open to shout back, “We have a call!”

  He doesn’t ask me to hop up front. He doesn’t ask me for help finding the address. He just lets me be. And, in the quiet of the back of the truck, as I get from side to side thanks to Dean’s shitty driving, one thought resounds through my brain, getting stronger by the second.

  Fuck Charlie. Fuck him for thinking he can take away the life I’ve built. He can sure as shit try to pry away what I’ve scraped and clawed for, but not without one hell of a fight.

  The truck lurches to a stop and the back doors swing open. “Let’s go.” Dean jumps in, pulls the medical bag off the bench seat, and jumps back out.

  I prop myself up on my elbows, pushing thoughts of Charlie and his bullshit ultimatums to the back of my head. “Alright man, I’ll grab the stretcher.”

  “No need.” Dean shrugs and jerks his head at the equipment he’s holding. “I’m bringing the bag for show. I can organize the bandages or something.”

  What the hell?

  I step out of the back of the truck and take a look at where we are.

  Chelsea Fenwick’s house.

  “Nope.” I shake my head and cross my arms. This was me. It isn’t me anymore, and I’m not getting dragged into this again. I’m sure as hell not proving Charlie Dupuis right. “We’re not doing this shit.”

  Dean shifts from one foot to the other. “Warren, we have to go in. They called for an ambulance.”

  “What was the call?” I demand, walking to the edge of the truck.

  “10-36,” Dean says. Always using his trusty ten-codes like a good medic.

  “Shock?” I ask. I stare up at the still dark sky of the morning. “Fuck me.”

  Dean is already up at the front door, knocking, and he’s right. We have to go in.

  “Morning, ma’am,” I hear him say. “You called for an ambulance?”

  I have a fleeting hope that it won’t be Chelsea. That it’ll be her grandmother. Or her cousin. Or a friend staying over. My hopes are futile.

  “You guys are fast,” she purrs. She’s leaning against the doorframe in a silky thigh-length robe, tied loosely at her waist, and gaping open to reveal that she’s wearing very little underneath.

  “Special request again?” Dean asks, then doesn’t wait for her to answer. “You called to say that someone was in shock?” He’s finally getting the hang of this job and it makes me feel a weird kind of pride. Who would have thought I’d actually look forward to working with Dudley Do-Right?

  It’s too damn bad it may be my last shift with him if Charlie gets his way.

  Chelsea curtsies, then flings a hand over her mouth as she giggles. If I had to take an educated guess, I’d say she’s a shot or two away from being completely sloshed. “Caleb Warren, I am in shock. You haven’t called or come by in weeks.”

  “Chelsea.” I put my hands on my hips and try to let her know I’m not screwing around. Chelsea is used to me breaking the rules with her. Anything for a good time. I doubt she’s going to take me seriously. “You can’t call an ambulance for shit like this.”

  Chelsea hooks a finger through one of my belt loops and tugs me closer. I can smell the sweet cloying scent of raspberry vodka on her breath. “Why don’t you show me your...unit...and we can talk about it.”

  I pull back, careful to keep my hands off of her. “I don’t think so. If you need medical care, my partner and I are here to help you. If not, we’ll go ahead and report it as a false call. No harm done.”

  Chelsea leans in close, licks her lips, and lowers her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “I heard some talk that you’re back in the game. That you had some good stuff? Is that true?”

  “Call it in, Dean,” I bark.

  Dean furrows his brow. I can only hope he didn’t just hear Chelsea’s last words, which are still echoing in my head.

  “Call in what?”

  “Go call dispatch and tell them there was a mistake. The patient didn’t intend for us to come out,” I say without looking back at him. My eyes are trained on Chelsea, whose flirty smile is turning into a butt-hurt pout.

  Dean shuffles off back to the truck, and I lean close to Chelsea, resisting the urge to grab her by the shoulders and shake her. I keep my voice low and tight, just in case Dean backtracks.

  “Where’d you hear that?” I snarl at Chelsea, watching her pretty eyes go wide and her mouth drop open. “Who told you that?”

  Chelsea frowns, tugs her slinky robe closer to her skin, and shrugs. “It’s just going around. Is it true? Because I’ve got some—”

  “No. Fuck no,” I interrupt with a growl, not giving a goddamn that I’m clearly freaking her out. I don’t need Chelsea Fenwick spreading the rumor that I’m dealing again around her circle of wild, idiot friends. Her social roots are deep, and I have no doubt they’re tangled in some way with Charlie Dupuis. “I’m not selling. I’m not buying. And this—” I motion between us and glare at her hard. “This is never happening again. The next time you call for an ambulance, there better be a goddamn emergency because you aren’t wasting that kid’s time again.”

  I stalk off, leaving Chelsea fuming in her tiny robe.

  I climb into the passenger seat and tell Dean, “I need you to take me somewhere.”

>   “How the hell did you find me?” Lawson asks, rubbing his blood-shot eyes. It’s almost five AM, and if he were a normal person, I’d say his eyes were red because I just woke him.

  But he’s not a normal person. He’s a drug addict. And he hasn’t been to bed yet tonight. He probably hasn’t so much as thought about bed for days.

  “I asked around.” I shove my way past him and into the pigsty of his studio apartment.

  “Came to bring me my shit back?” Lawson drawls. He tries to laugh, but his neck rolls back loose on his shoulders like he’s a puppet with cut strings.

  “Yeah, asshole,” I deadpan. “I decided to come to your fucking drug den so we could get wasted together.” I kick a few beer cans to one side of the room, watching as they hit the wall and splatter stale beer on it. I’ve gone low at times in my life, but this is sub-human. My stomach turns just looking around the place. “That stuff is long gone. Police custody.”

  “The fuck it is!” Lawson yells, trying to move off the couch. Problem is, his limbs aren’t quite cooperating. He gives me a look of raw fury before he sinks back against the cushions and groans. “Asshole! You told me you were taking it to keep me out of trouble, not to turn me in.”

  “I’m here to keep you out of trouble.” I survey the room, trying to decide whether or not to sit. I vote against it based on the sofa cushions covered in cigarette butts, inside-out clothes, and I don’t even want to imagine what other questionable crap.

  “I don’t want your help. I want my coke back,” Lawson says, kicking one foot out like the impotent asshole he is.

  I lean low and grab him by one shoulder, forcing him to look me in the eye, just for a second. “I told you,” I repeat slowly, so every word will be crystal clear for him. “I don’t have it.”

  His bottom lip trembles like he’s about to cry. Not that I’m remotely surprised. Nothing brings an addict to his knees like the fear of losing out on a chance to get high.

  “That shit wasn’t even mine, it was supposed to go to buyers, man. I don’t think keeping me out of trouble means what you think it means.”