“Staying,” came the resigned voice. It just had to be Cash Murdock—one of the six and my least favorite. Because I hadn’t had enough fun on this Thursday night.
I’d crashed a party at the old factories on the edge of town. They were getting bigger and bolder with a couple dozen teens congregating at the back of the buildings where patrols couldn’t see them from the road. Then Ladies Night had ended up in a brawl at Table Talk. Who knew people could get so heated at a tabletop game night? Add in the insane heatwave, a few of the players pre-gaming next door at Rafferty’s, and it created the perfect storm.
I’d been warned during the shift handoff that Rafferty’s had a rambunctious crowd tonight. Between the bar and Table Talk, the drunk tank had been popular tonight.
I had two women nursing black eyes and a busted lips on the ladies’ side, and another five warming the benches on the men’s side. What the hell was I going to do with this idiot?
Cash swayed a little and I rolled my eyes.
Looks like I was making it six.
I walked around the truck.Daisy Rae sat in the back of the Chevy. A network of tie downs held the statue safely in the center. I flashed my MagLite toward the fountain.
How the hell did this drunk idiot do that?
I paced back around the truck where Cash still had his hands up, his eyes closed against the takedown light illuminating every inch of him.
Every long inch.
Had he gotten bigger?
I wasn’t sure how that was at all possible. He’d been the quarterback for Indigo Valley High and starred in a few of my teenage dreams. The golden god on the field and troublemaker the minute he got off. Driving his motorcycle too fast, partying too hard, and never dated the same girl for longer than a month.
Evidently, he hadn’t grown out of the troublemaker part.
“Have you been drinking?”
He rocked back on his heels. “I plead the fifth.”
I tucked my flashlight into my utility belt. “You’re swaying.”
“I’m actually being blinded by the light.” He said in a singsong tone like the lyrics to the song.
“Is this your pickup?”
“Maybe.”
It was easy enough to double check his plates and pull up his record, which he knew.
“You do realize driving while intoxicated and theft are some hefty charges, Mr. Murdock.”
“I wasn’t driving.”
“You’re the only one here.”
“Deserters,” he muttered.
“What was that?”
“Nothing. Look, you got me. I’m not going to run unlike my idiot bro—” he cut himself off.
“Your brothers? Which ones?” I pulled out my notebook.
He shook his head. “Snitches get stitches.”
I sighed and tucked my notebook into my vest. “Please put your hands on the truck, Mr. Murdock.”
“You seem to know me, but I don’t know you. What happened to Chief Pope?”
