How Not To

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How Not To Page 13

by Devin Sawyer


  Dutche lifts out of the truck’s back seat a small bag about the size of my coin purse with yellowish-white chunks in it. They look like little rocks, but even I know that things that come in little baggies like that aren’t something as innocent as rocks. I begin to get upset, unable to form words. Clearly, Officer Dutche just planted this. I’ve been in this vehicle all evening and in that very back seat earlier tonight. There were no fucking drugs in there.

  “Want to explain why there is crack cocaine in the vehicle? Either of you?” I’m baffled, I know this isn’t really happening and I expect any moment for this to be a Punk’d moment.

  “You know, possession of crack cocaine is a felony.”

  “That isn’t ours. I’ve never even seen crack cocaine before. Not until this very moment. It couldn’t have been in there.” I’m rambling. Swearing up and down that there is no way we had any drugs in that car. Jeff doesn’t do drugs, we don’t do drugs. This is impossible.

  “Well, Ms. Mason, is it? You may not do drugs, but possession is nine-tenths of the law.”

  “What does that even mean?” And why isn’t Torren saying anything? Shock. He must be standing next to me in complete fucking shock. I always heard about fight or flight when you got into these situations and while he isn’t fleeing the scene, he isn’t defending our innocence either. I don’t know enough about drugs or the law to keep this up.

  “It means, Ms. Mason, that even if you state it is not yours, you are currently in possession of it since it is located in the vehicle you were traveling in. So, you are responsible for the drugs. You’re lucky this is all there is. Any more and you would be facing much more serious jail time.”

  “I want a lawyer.” I know from my time watching Law and Order that this is all I need to say so that he doesn’t badger us with any further questions.

  “That’s not necessary just yet, although both of you will be arrested for the possession and taken to holding at the jail downtown unless one of you wants to admit to full ownership of the illegal substances.”

  “THE STUPID DRUGS DON’T BELONG TO US,” I shout at him, losing my control.

  “They’re mine.” I finally hear the voice next to me ring out and I want to erase the words from his mouth. I swing my head angrily to him.

  “No,” I say, appalled and confused looking at Torren next to me, shaking my head. Don’t be an idiot right now.

  “All of it, it’s mine. Ari didn’t realize they were in the vehicle and I had forgotten about them. Let her go home, please.” I watch as Torren steps forward as if to bring the attention to him and cast me behind him in protection. But this doesn’t feel like I’m being protected, it feels like I’m being punished.

  “What? No, that’s a lie, Officer. It doesn’t belong to us. To either of us.”

  “Ari, just be quiet. I knew about it. It was mine and I’m sorry you are involved. Now go home.” That last part sounds an awful lot like an order.

  “That stuff was planted or maybe even Jeff’s, I don’t know.” I can’t stop. I would let Torren lead me to the end of the earth after tonight, but I won’t let him dig us a hole straight to Hell. He’s not thinking straight. Did he not hear the man? This is jail time. He’s going to be arrested.

  Finally, Dutche pipes up. “Ms. Mason, Mr. Holdridge here is claiming responsibility for the ownership of these substances, I highly suggest you wait over by my car and I’ll be happy to have another officer escort you safely home.”

  I march toward Torren, desperate to get him to see my side. To turn back while he still has a shot in hell at innocence. I grab him by his firm bicep and spin him back to face me.

  “Stop it,” I demand, bitterly. I push him ever so slightly in the chest, trying anything to assert some fucking dominance with him, but I have never been the dominant one between us. “Stop whatever you are trying to do. Are you protecting me? Because I don’t need it. My parents have lawyers, good ones. We will get this cleared up in no time.” My voice is rising with fear and my arms are flailing and I can feel the officer’s eyes watching me astutely, but it doesn’t fucking matter. “I can take the fall for this too, you know? They were my drugs.” I shout. “He had no ide-”

  Before I can even finish the thought, Torren has his hand clasped over my mouth and he is spinning me roughly away from the officer before my statement can be made. His movements are swift and fast and he is rougher with me than he has ever been before and I know it is the fear in him that he has lost control of the situation. That I might give myself up for his safety. Sacrifice is a fickle little bitch. My back feels a sharp pain as my body makes contact with the truck from his push.

  In less time than I can even process, Dutche has made his way over to us and grabs Torren and pulls him away from me and slams him to the ground, wrestling his weight on top of Torren’s. Shrill screams leave my throat, but in my mind, they sound muffled. Like nothing could be loud enough to convey my terror that Torren might get injured, or even shot by an officer.

  Don’t hurt him, don’t hurt him, don’t hurt him, please.

  “Don’t touch the girl,” Dutche yells even though he is right next to us, but with all the adrenaline racing in my veins, I could be hit by a car right now and not feel a thing.

  With Torren’s torso to the dirt, his hands are worked behind his back with the force of the officer’s strength and his wrists are brought together before I hear the clink-clanking of handcuffs and the rough clicking of them tightening around his wrists.

  “He didn’t hurt me” and “I’m okay” are repeated so many times I can’t count them, but it doesn’t matter because it’s not about me being hurt, it’s about Torren losing control.

  With his knee still firmly in Torren’s back and his hands grasping his wrists behind him, he uses one hand to pat down around his pockets and waistband and then he reaches up to his chest where his radio is secured and calls for backup.

  Torren is then brought to his feet by Dutche and I watch as Torren’s torso is pushed over the hood of Jeff’s truck and Dutche holds him there, keeping an eye on me the entire time as if I were going to pull something. I’m a spoiled fucking rich girl, I know nothing about evading the police. Are we under arrest or is there still time to get out of this? I don’t know, and I’m not even sure if I’m allowed to speak up at this point. Blue and red strobes approach our scene and any hope that remained is drained from my body.

  Dutche continues to ask questions to Torren about the drugs but I’m not hearing any of it. The new officer is briefed, and he approaches me and leads me back toward officer Dutche’s police car and allows me to sit and lean against the hood of it so that he can question me separately from Torren. He asks questions about the timeline of today. I look past the officer and I find Torren’s eyes like I knew he would be looking at me. He is always looking at me, looking into me. His eyes have always followed me wherever I go. His eyes are soft and pleading. After this entire shit-show, I don’t have the energy to deny him anything, so I comply. I tell the truth. That I met up with Torren this evening, we hung out with friends and borrowed the truck to take me home, I don’t know anything about the drugs. He asked if Torren was involved in the selling of the drugs or if I had ever suspected that in my past, like I didn’t just tell him I know nothing about the fucking drugs.

  “No,” I say. “He doesn’t do anything like that. I don’t think either of us knew they were in the car,” I declare in a solemn voice.

  But I know that Torren is telling a different story, I know he’s trying to take the blame right now. My mind races with ways to backtrack whatever the hell is fucking happening.

  I see Dutche and Torren move from the corner of my eye and I look past the officer interviewing me. Dutche is leading Torren toward the police cruiser and as they get closer, I can hear Dutche reading Torren his Miranda rights.

  “NO! no,” I scream in anguish.

  I am bathed in agony and uncontrolled loss. Physical pain gnaws at my flesh and organs like a bacteria th
reatening to take over my heart. Tears begin to stream down my face. The rapids finally breaking free in loads. My last memory of tonight will be of this man, I am so desperately falling for, handcuffed, lying across the front of a police cruiser. He is pulled up roughly off the car by his shoulder and marched past me, his unwavering gaze penetrates me as I lose control, lose my mind. There is wetness surrounding his eyes and I fucking know how bad this is hurting him to be vulnerable with me in front of a man that is clearly taking advantage of his weakness.

  Seeing that vulnerability breaks me. I am going to lose my ever-loving mind. Somebody fucking fix this. I am so far out of my element and so far removed from my life that I cannot cope. I am being swallowed. My chest is pounding, and my skin feels too fucking tight to contain my body. I begin to scratch at it to break myself free from it. I feel warm dirt scrape across my knees and I know in my mind that I must be bent over on the ground, but I can’t remember how I got here. That vision will never leave my mind. I will never be unbroken from this moment. I am ushered by the second officer, whose name I never bothered to learn, and into his vehicle. I’m allowed to sit in the front, the irony doesn’t escape me.

  The officer starts his car and I stare blindly out the window into the night. That’s where I leave my heart, out on a deserted part of County Road 302. I think at some point he attempts to make small talk or ask me some questions. I’m not crying at the moment, but my mind is so vacant I don’t even fully register what he’s said. As we drive closer to home, I start to question what will happen when we arrive. I don’t appear to be in any kind of trouble with the law, but my parents are definitely not okay with an officer of the law delivering me home. Yet, it seems so minimal to what Torren is going through. I wrack my brain for any memory of what being booked into jail is like in the movies. Is he being fingerprinted? Maybe, taking his photo? Strip searched? Geez, I hope not, the thought alone causes me to blush amidst all the other emotions rushing through my body. I begin to pray, I pray to a God I haven’t spoken to in ages, that I’ve never had a real relationship with, but I pray to him nonetheless.

  When the cruiser finally pulls to a stop in front of my childhood home, I see the porch light flip on and I step out of the car. I see mom at the screen door dressed in her robe as she opens the door.

  “Arianne? Are you okay sweetie? Is everything alright?” She looks from me to the officer. My dad is trailing not far behind her and both are awaiting answers.

  “Ma’am, I was simply delivering Ms. Mason home tonight, after a young man she was with was arrested for drug possession. Ms. Mason is not in any trouble, but she was left without a vehicle or ride at the time of the arrest.”

  My mom’s southern accent comes out as she speaks, appalled at the situation.

  “Oh, my word, thank you, Officer, for bringing her home. We are so grateful you were there for her.”

  My dad’s attention turns to me.

  “Arianne, why don’t you go up to bed and we can talk about what happened in the morning.”

  My legs begin moving of their own volition. I can’t even begin to explain what has happened, and my brain is too muddled with fear to process anything, so it’s best that I’m alone right now. I don’t know how to tell them through my tears what kind of trauma it is to watch the only person you’ve grown to care about that deeply be arrested without getting to speak with them or tell them any final words.

  I climb the stairs and I feel a sharp ache race through my body. My arms, my back, my neck, everything feels tense and tender at the same time. Up in my room, my anger stirs. Torren has always been all or nothing, black or white. There is no grey area for him. Despite the late hour, I couldn’t even consider sleeping. My exhaustion is taking over my body, but the guilt and adrenaline are still rushing through me. I try to spend it constructively and I pull out the shop’s financial work. I can’t figure out where this money has gone. Gavin seems to be tracking outgoing expenses really well, unless he just happened to forget some major ones.

  I decide to try something new and cross-check the months and weeks that don’t balance correctly with the times that funds were deposited into the account. Surely, it couldn’t have been that easy. I begin running numbers again, writing down the times and dates and week and months that don’t add up to the income acquired. I go through it again and again, making sure I see and understand everything correctly. Like clockwork, starting a few months back, the finances drop off every two to three weeks. The range is consistent all the way up to the most recent ledgers that Torren has brought me. I don’t know what it means, but finally, it’s a pattern at least.

  My dry eyes scan the clock to see it’s two-thirty in the morning. I grab the list of purchases and outgoing expenses, maybe there’s a routine payment going out that isn’t being accounted for, but I find nothing. I work hours into the night, not stopping to rest or even go downstairs despite the hunger gnawing at my stomach, at this rate, it is only another pain my body is growing accustomed to.

  I check the payment logs and go over each employee’s date of pay. Gavin, Troy, and Torren are the full-time employees and they have a small group of guys they pick up for weekend shifts. Everything so far looks normal, no red flags, but I don’t really know what I’m looking for either. I get to some of the part time guys and field through their pay dates and stubs. Javier, Jason, Brent, and finally Jeff. He doesn’t have many. He’s away so often at his other job. From what I hear he gets paid well in the oil field, so I’m not sure why he feels the need to work on his weeks off. I finger through the dates, the amounts, double checking everything as usual. I copy this over onto the spreadsheet I have created for myself on a piece of notebook paper. When I finish, I stare at the paper. Something feels eerie, so I review it again, reading everything I’ve written aloud. February 3rd, March 17th, March 31st, April 28th, May 19th. All of these dates match biweekly pay date periods that money went missing. There has to be more than a correlation here. I continue to scroll through the information, listing everything. Each time that the books aren’t balancing Jeff worked at the shop in that pay period.

  I can’t prove it was him, but this feels like way too much of a coincidence. I want to tell Torren immediately, but then realize that I won’t be able to tell him anything until Monday when his bail is posted. I drown in my darkness. I fall against my bed wondering how Jeff got away with something like this, how he could take, or steal from his best friend. My blood boils. Is he planning to pay it back? Did he need it for good reasons? Torren probably would have given Jeff his entire paycheck if he knew the guy needed it. With some resolve my body is finally being pulled in by sleep, exhausted. I need to talk to Torren, I need to process this with him. He’s the only one who will know what to do.

  Chapter 15

  Torren

  It’s Monday, after two in the afternoon by the time a bondsman springs my bail. I haven’t showered in days and I want to go to Ari right away but I know she’s at work. I head home with the intention of showering and then finding her. I need her so badly. I thought I needed the adrenaline, or a newer bigger life, or risk and danger to make me feel like I was living. I haven’t been living life on the edge though. I’ve been teetering on loose rocks, just waiting to slip and fall, and here I am positioned in front of a future that holds no hope, no risk, and the only adrenaline rush I will find in prison is the fight to stay alive. But this past summer she made me feel alive, she is my wildest adventure yet, and to think maybe all this time it really was love that got me there. It’s a shame that love cannot save me now.

  The shower feels cool and cleansing, the opposite of Dad’s glare. He took off work to get the money to the bondsman and I haven’t fully explained myself yet. He’s disappointed, but he also knows I’m too old to lecture and scold, so he’s waiting for me to be the bigger man and explain myself. You would think a weekend in the county jail would be plenty of time to think and figure shit out. I wish I had, I wish I knew what I was going to say, but the truth is
you don’t plan for the future in jail, you think about the past and how you got there.

  After I’m dressed, I go to sit on the couch, he’s in his recliner without the TV on, just sitting there, rocking. I look over to him and he remains quiet but turns his eyes to me. He’s waiting.

  “I’m going to explain everything, but right now I really need to make sure Ari is okay. I’ll come home right after.” He doesn’t respond. I slowly stand up from the couch and leave.

  I grab the keys to the LeBaron intending to drop off my repayment for Ari’s help. I drive to her house in silence. I’m on edge, a small buzzing sensation crawls right under my skin and I want to shake it away, but know it won’t stop until I’ve seen her. Her parents have to be pissed at her and hate me if they didn’t already.

  The long caliche road up to her house torments me, telling me to turn around and drag my sorry ass home. I ignore it, seeking out the cure for my pained heart. I see her outside on the porch when I pull in and she jumps from her chair. Relief. It washes over me as I see her excitement. She runs down and greets me at the car.

  She worships me with her mouth, kissing me directly in front of her family home. She is unashamed, and I am so grateful for that, but my skin heats from her kiss and also the embarrassment of wanting to respect her family. I hold tight to her anyway, breathing her in, grateful for the comfort her presence provides me.

  “Are you okay?” she finally asks in her sweet serene voice as she leans into me.

  “Yeah. I’m okay. We need to talk though. Do you want the keys to the car?”

  A grin crosses her face and she steals the keys from my dangling hand faster than I expect. I grin now too, despite the atmosphere of this visit. We walk to the steps leading up to the porch and we sit on them. I take a few deep breaths and I grab for her hand and hold it in mine.

 

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