Chapter One

Andrew

There’s nothing more relaxing than a straight shot down Richmond Avenue on a balmy night in May sometime around 2 a.m. Everyone is long asleep, everything is closed, but there are as many streetlights as stars in the sky and you can blast Creed as loud as you want. Nobody’s awake to judge you for it.

But my urban Zen was cut short by a string of brake lights lining the hill and disappearing into the horizon.

“Ah, shit,” I grumbled, tapping the brakes. I had been looking forward to my bed. I’m not ashamed to say it. In fact, I’m oddly proud of the crotchety old man I’m doomed to become. I’m only thirty-two, and I can already feel the reverb from a long night for the rest of the week.

I came to a full stop as each car inched forward, slower than the last.

Local cops waved their flashlights through windows a few cars away from me, collecting identification and insurance, then waving them onward.

Great. A checkpoint.

I tapped the brakes and flicked my radio a few degrees louder. I hate to admit this, but there’s this deep part of me that gets satisfied when I listen to constipation rock from the nineties—all the Cinder and Hinder and Seether and Heether. All of it.

Ugh. I rolled my eyes when I saw the douchebag on the other side of the flashlight now panning toward my windshield.

Chet Browntooth.

I’m not lying. That was seriously his last name. Browntooth.

Chet and I went way back, all the way to Stonington, the Pelham elementary school. Stonington means “stoning town,” which I found to be appropriate. We also went through middle and high school together, and, hell, we failed to attend college together, too.

Chet turned me in for swearing when we were in the fourth grade. Can you believe that shit?

When we were freshmen, it was for smoking behind the school.

He hated me, and I hated him. An elementary hatred born from our cores. We hated each other without needing to know anything about anything, the distant and ideological rivalry between leather jackets and letterman jackets. I loved how every girlfriend he ever had loudly accused him of being a clingy, dickless psychopath, and he loved sending me to juvenile hall for six fucking months senior year.

But his days of busting me were long over. I hadn’t broken the law since that bullshit grand theft auto charge. I stole his car and parked it in the middle of the rival school’s football field. I pranked the quarterback from my own school. That was how much I hated Chet Browntooth.

I hadn’t had a single exchange with Chet for the past several years, and that was the way I liked it. We were probably both better men if the other stayed out of our universe.

Ah, fantastic. I was up.

I turned off Blue October and rolled the window down. “Evening, Deputy Browntooth,” I greeted Chet knowingly. He felt safe and snug behind that uniform, but he and I both knew the truth. He told the truth again every time we made eye contact. His brown eyes were beady little turds.

“Hey there, grease monkey,” he retorted. “Out at Baja’s tonight?”

Baja’s was the most boring, conventional bar in town. Always filled with girls who couldn’t rub two brain cells together, and a halo of sweaty, hopeful men waving their dicks around like cavemen with clubs. I’d been choosing to avoid the rigmarole and Netflix and chill by myself for the past three years.

Holy shit, or was it five years? What year was this?

“Out at Lola’s, actually,” I answered. “Just as much drinking and annoying-me per capita, though.”

“Ah, drinking with the ex. That’s nice. You and Lola always were a better couple than you and no one.”

I smirked. “I suppose I should try to convince the entire female population of Pelham like you did.”

“Good luck with that. Hey, you going to Grant’s wedding? He’s locking down that dark girl with the tits, ain’t he?”

I smirked. “Yeah, man. Her name is Lisa. And she’s Dominican.” Not only was she one of my oldest friends, but so was Grant. In high school, we’d been in the same clique of pouty punk kids. The thought that I wouldn’t attend their wedding was laughable and perplexing. “Don’t go to that wedding calling her the dark girl, ‘kay?”

“I’ll probably head over that way,” Chet volunteered, feeling for something between his teeth with his tongue. “So, how much did y’all get to drinking tonight?”

“Wasn’t drinking, Deputy Browntooth. While I’m clarifying the obvious, Lola and I are not back together. I was just there to visit with Connie until she got home.”

“Ahhh. You mean you were babysitting. I’m familiar with the term, Ace, no need to dress it up for me.”

“I’m not a babysitter,” I seethed. “Connie is my daughter.”

“All right, Ace, stay calm now,” Chet chuckled. “We could argue about the definition of the word ‘daughter’ all night if we wanted to.”

“You don’t think she’s got my genes?”

Chet snorted. “She don’t look just a little bit like Mike Shemp?”

“What?”

“I said sure.”

“That’s not what you said.”

“All right, Ace. All right. How about you move along? If you weren’t sober before, you sure as hell are now, ain’t ya?”

“You can tell me what the fuck ‘sure’ is supposed to mean, Browntooth.”

Chet’s countenance changed, stiffening. “I’ll tell you what ‘spread ‘em means, how about.”

I cocked my head to one side. “Are you threatening me or hitting on me?”

“I’m ordering you to get out of the vehicle.”

“For what?”

“For obstruction of justice, asswipe.”

I was in the middle of saying, “Are you serious?” when Chet pulled the door open and grabbed a fistful of my shirt, dragging me out of my seat. I instinctively yanked away from him, and he took obvious relish in clocking me with his elbow—once, twice—and driving my chest down onto the car.

I still could have driven my head back into his, but I knew what was happening here now. It had taken me a minute to realize this bullshit was real.

Face pressed into my hood, I glared into the row of headlights still behind me. Great. All of Pelham had a front row seat.

“You’re preventing me from assessing the checkpoint,” Chet declared. “And now? You’re resisting arrest, grease monkey.” He read the Miranda rights as handcuffs tightened around my wrists.

I took advantage of my right to remain silent as I was led away to his cruiser.