“THESE UNDERAGE TEENAGE PARTIES GIVE me a headache,” Rob complains, while looking out the windshield of the cruiser, focused on the road ahead.
He’s also dwelling over what’s really on his mind.
“Consider these parties practice. Little Evie will be a teenager sooner than you know.”
“Fuck that. My girl will always be a sweet, quiet angel.”
He’s oblivious.
“We’re here,” he confirms, lifting his finger from the steering wheel and pointing to the brick house on the corner of Pratt and Stanton Avenue.
All the lights are on—inside and out. Expensive cars, foreign and domestic, line the street, blocking most of it on either side.
These kids aren’t trying to hide their underage activities. More so, they’re inviting any others driving by to join. When the call for a disturbance came in, Rob and I were the closest to scene. He’d been pissed as it’s been quiet most of the night.
Throwing the cruiser in park, then unbuckling his seat belt, Rob insists, “We’re in and we’re out. Let’s not take in any rich bitches or bastards in tonight.”
“So you want a lazy party breakup, then,” I surmise.
“No, we’re just gonna be cool cops. Didn’t you ever have run-ins with law enforcement who were the good guys?”
No. Never. Not one fuckin’ time.
Rob calls in to station that we’ve arrived and grabs the handle of the door. “Let’s get this over with.”
As we walk up the front steps leading to the house, it’s clear this won’t be an easy party to break up. Those standing out in the yard aren’t boys. These bastards are men.
The younger ones immediately start to scatter on our approach. Some beat feet to their cars, others out into the yards bordering this one. A few boys are rattled enough their running under the streetlights, screaming to each other by name.
But the men? Those who probably purchased and delivered the alcohol? They’re too stupid or arrogant to flee.
“Fuck me,” Rob hisses, already grabbing a pair of his cuffs from the back of his belt.
“Yeah,” I reply, grabbing my own. “A long night just got longer.”
“I’ll call this in again,” he groans.
Half an hour later, we’re standing in the living room of a rich city politician’s home. Four men sit on the living room couch, hands cuffed behind their back.
Deke Dennison, the oldest at twenty-four, hasn’t lost his smug smirk. He’s told anyone who will listen that his father is the district attorney, and he’ll never see the inside of a jail cell.
Unfortunately for him, this motivates Rob and I to ensure he does. Not because I want to teach him a lesson and learn from it, but because I’d enjoy watching the terror in his eyes come when he sees what real criminals look like.
The other three men are pissed and sitting quietly. One asked for his Miranda rights and immediately pleaded the Fifth. They’re not pissed because they’ve been busted, but because the party is over and they’re left to clean up the mess.
Idiots.
“Did you already check the rooms upstairs?” Rob asks, grabbing his radio to cancel the third callout.
All the guests are gone. Either they cooperated, were scared shitless, or fled just in time. They were lucky.
“I haven’t checked yet.”
Nodding to the stairs, he chin lifts toward the new guy and invites, “Go see what else we got. Take him with you. Stay alert.”
“Got it,” I reply, signaling the no name newbie, who appears to be enjoying every second of his new job, to follow.
As we round the stairs, I hear someone crying. The door in the dark hallway is closed. Jason, Jed, whatever the fuck his name is—flips the hall light on. When I test the handle, it’s locked but the crying stops.
“Officer Cole. Open the door,” I introduce and instruct, bracing my hands against the doorjamb and blocking any kid who’d be stupid enough to try a quick exit. When no one answers and I hear a female sniffle then curse, I knock again. “Open the door. Party’s over.”
“No,” the young voice utters, then cries again. “I’m not opening until everyone is gone.”
“Fuck, how old is this girl?” newbie questions.
“No idea.”
Standing straight, I run my fingers over the top of the door ledge. That’s where I’d put a key if I had an active, troublemaking teenager in my house. Hitting luck, I find one and unlock the door.
Once it swings open, my eyes scan the large bathroom over to the closed toilet near the small window. It’s open, sending a humid draft through the room. A young girl who looks a lot like her mother sits alone, wiping her eyes with a tissue.
Her makeup is fucked six ways to Sunday. Long streaks of mascara cascade down her cheeks—some wet, some dry. Her clothes look like something out of a teen Goth magazine and her feet are bare. Her toes painted black.
Fucking hell, Amelia Dyer.
“What the hell took you guys so long?” she hisses, standing and tossing the tissue in the trash. “I’ve been sitting in here for over an hour.”
“You called the disturbance in?” Newbie asks, pointing to her in surprise. “You called this party to get rocked?”
Hands to hip, no longer crying, Amelia looks even more like her mother as she sasses the officer who’s questioning her.
“Well, yeah, I called it in.”
“From the bathroom?” he returns, adding, “Why’d you do that?”
Jesus Christ.
If there’s a lesson to be learned, it’s to not fuck with a crying, likely heartbroken, teenage girl who made a bad decision and made an effort to correct it.
Looking at me, tilting her head to the side, Amelia’s expression changes again. She’s thinking.
“Figures it’d be you to find me here,” she clips. “The one cop who knows my parents.”
“You know this girl?” Newbie questions, turning to me and again pointing to Amelia.
Moving her gaze to his, she clips, “Why are you still in here?”
Hiding my smirk, but cutting her off from saying more, I state, “I’ll take you home. Your mother is probably worried sick.”
“She’s not,” Amelia expels. “She’s not worried about anything. She’s too busy doing whatever she does and being too miserable to care about anything.”
Fuck, I didn’t need to hear that.
“Come on,” I call, stepping back and giving her room to exit the bathroom.
Newbie walks out into the hall and down it to check the rest of the rooms. I put my hand on Amelia’s shoulder, guiding her down the stairs and toward the living room.
“We good?” I ask Rob, standing in front of the four pricks who hosted the party.
Looking down at Amelia, he returns a question without answering mine, “She good?”
“Yeah. I know her. I’ll take her home.”
“Bitch,” one of the idiots hisses from his seat on the couch.
This asshole has at the very least five years on her. Amelia I already know is fifteen, making him a dead son of a bitch if I find he’s the reason she’s in tears.
“Fuck you,” Rob turns to address him. “Shut up and stay still.”
“Bitch is a tease. Ryan’s been trying to get into that pussy so long he can’t see straight.”
Ryan?
“Shut up, asshole,” Amelia orders, clearly pissed off, but now add embarrassed.
A swift smack comes to the back of his head, and I look up to see Sykes, another cop in uniform deadpan as he bites out, “They aren’t teasin’ if they’re too young to know what you’re wantin’ from ‘em.”
“Right,” the guy snarls, sitting back uncomfortably due to the cuffs behind his back. “Cunt.”
At this word directed to Katie’s daughter, I lose my shit.
Releasing Amelia’s shoulder, I take two steps, reaching the offender.
“Call her a cunt again,” I seethe in a dare, albeit doing so calmly. “See what happens.”
The son of a bitch smiles.
“You wanting a taste of her too, old man?” he snarls. “Good luck with that. Bitch keeps her shit tight.”
That’s when Amelia moves to strike. She passes me in a rush, her hair flying all around as she slaps him hard first.
Continuing with her rant, her fingernails tear at his face and she shrieks, “You are such a dick!”
Oh fuck.
“Get her out of here,” Rob orders, shouting over the ensuing chaos.
“Let’s go, Amelia,” I encourage, grabbing her as she fights my hold. Looking to my exasperated partner, I question, “Newbie can give you a ride back to the station?”
“Take her home,” Rob agrees.
Amelia doesn’t say much as we ride in my car on the way to her house. Not for herself for being at the party or her attack of the man on the couch. I don’t question how she knows him, or how well. That’s not my place to understand, but her parents’.
“You’re going to tell my mom,” she finally gets out, accusingly so. “You’re going to tell her everything.”
“Yes,” I don’t deny. “I think your parents need to know what you’ve been up to. Don’t you?”
Looking out the window, she crosses her arms over her chest and murmurs, “Like they’ll care.”
“They’ll care.”
“Who are you to her?” Amelia turns her head toward me to interrogate. Once I take my eyes from the road and give her my attention, she continues, “I mean, she’s never talked about you before, yet here you always seem to be. Always around.”
“I’m not always around. This is a small town.”
“Does my dad know you?”
“I know Thomas,” I give her, leaving out I’m not his biggest fan, nor is he mine.
“Well, whatever. They won’t care. Dad’s always gone, so he really won’t care.”
“Wanna tell me why you were at that party in the first place?”
“No,” she musters, again gazing out the passenger window.
“Was this about a guy?”
Silence holds. When I turn, she’s biting her bottom lip and tears are filling her eyes.
“This was about a guy,” I say again, this time knowing my mark is true.
Sighing, Amelia wipes her eyes and murmurs, “I thought he liked me.”
With no true experience with teenagers, I offer what I can. “You’ll know when a boy likes you.”
“How do you know?”
Fuck, I don’t, but I add, “No boy or man would ask the woman he cares anything about to sneak off behind their parents’ backs.”
“I didn’t want to. But Mom said I couldn’t go.”
“Right,” I agree. “And look who was right and who was wrong.”
Amelia hears my truth, whether she accepts and understands it, I don’t know. She turns her gaze out the window again and keeps quiet.
“You’re a lot like your mother,” I give in, testing her curiosity. “I found her at a party like the one you were at once.”
“Are you sure you’re talking about my mother?” she questions with surprise. Her tone changes to accusation and she says, “The mother I know has always been perfect.”
Countless images of Katie Morris finding herself trouble, and not knowing how to find her way out, pass. I should explain to Amelia that her mother, just like every teenager, made her fair share of mistakes. I should tell her how great of a woman, a mother, that she has. And that she shouldn’t take her family for granted.
Not that Amelia would believe a word I said anyway.
As we pull into the driveway, Katie’s dad is standing just inside the front door. He’s holding a mug of what I assume is coffee. Under the light of the eave, he gives me a small one finger wave, and I catch the smile on his face.
If this had been my daughter, I’d have her on her way to her room, grounded for eternity. But David Morris raised a stubborn hellion himself, so I understand what happened tonight didn’t come as a surprise.
I’m also thankful I’m not the one to handle what happens after.