Alice
The day before the party flies by faster than I thought possible.
The bar is a cyclone of activity. Though there’s not as much drinking as usual, there’s more than preparation work for the event that I am kept busier than I would’ve thought possible. I spend half the day doing cleaning and setup work, checking the tap lines for all the beer kegs, and making sure liquor is stocked. I do two runs to the liquor supplier to make sure there’s plenty of whiskey on hand.
Hammer and Lucky are both in attendance at the bar for most of the day and divide their time between barking orders at club members and shooting death glares at anyone who actually wants to have a damn drink. Today is one of the most important events in the club’s recent history, and, in their opinion, anyone who chooses to do anything other than helping set up for the event is a fucking moron.
Though it isn’t said out loud, those fucking morons are going on Hammer’s shit list.
Those fucking morons ought to be terrified.
I don’t serve many drinks today, don’t make much in the way of tips, either, but I get let off at sundown as Hammer makes the call to close up early. Getting an in with the mayor takes precedence over getting drunk.
I breathe a sigh of relief in the parking lot.
I’m on the way home, bone-weary from a day of errands, lifting boxes of bottles, and scrubbing floors on my hands and knees, when a flashing set of lights flares to life in my rearview mirror.
The sheriff.
What the hell did I do wrong?
I wasn’t speeding and I certainly didn’t run any stoplights or stop signs. But here we are.
I pull to the shoulder and Sheriff Bowles exits his car behind me. The sheriff is an older man, around the same age as my dad would be if he was still alive. He’s got a cop mustache that’s more grey than dark brown, and a shock of thinning hair lazily swooped back that’s the same mostly-grey color.
With a motion of his hand that’s both casual and startlingly menacing, he loosens his gun in its holster and then saunters towards my car with that same self-important walk that all cops have, like he knows for a fact that I’m some sort of lowlife scum.
My mind tries to tell me to stay calm, but everything inside me is screaming that something is most definitely wrong. I flash over everything that’s happened in the last week — my relationship with Thrash, my work for the Reaper’s Sons — could this be related? Am I in danger?
Calm down, Alice. It’s just a fucking traffic stop.
I roll my window down and put both hands on my steering wheel.
“License and registration, please.”
“Is there a problem, sheriff?”
“License and registration, please, Alice.”
He knows my name.
What the hell is this?
I decide to push back.
“Do you know who I work for?” I say.
“I do. And I happen to work for the great state of California and I do not give a damn about whether or not you work for the Reaper’s Sons. Don’t make this more difficult than it needs to be. Give me your license and registration.”
I comply. And stare balefully at him while he glances over my paperwork.
“Why is it you pulled me over? I wasn’t speeding. Heck, I’m so tired I think I was driving under.”
“It looks to me like you didn’t signal your turn back there.”
“Back there? Back where?”
“Back there,” he says, gesturing into the vague distance.
“That’s it?” I say, incredulous. I don’t even know where the hell ‘back there’ is. But I have the distinct feeling it doesn’t matter.
“What’s that in your back seat? ‘Mother Earth Medicines’?”
“It’s nothing.”
Shit.
“Doesn’t look like nothing to me. And that packet next to it certainly doesn’t look sealed from my vantage point. Looks to me like you’re in possession of a questionable amount of cannabis products and one of those looks like it may be in violation of the open container laws. You know it’s illegal to posses an open package of cannabis while driving, right?”
“So is there a fine for that? Can I please just get my ticket and go home?”
He shrugs like he isn’t doing everything in his power to fuck with my day.
“It’s discretionary. One of the major factors in this particular incident is the fact that you’re fucking a man you shouldn’t be. It wasn’t smart of you to hook up with a man like Thrash, Alice. My daughter made that mistake and he’s going to use you just like he tried to use her for whatever the hell plan he’s got. So, I think I’m going to exercise my discretion and bring you in for some overnight confinement.”
My mouth drops open. It feels like I’ve been slapped in the face.
“Are you kidding me?”
“I sure as fuck am not. Now step out of your car.”
I do as he orders me, getting out of the car and putting both hands up against it while he pats me down and then cuffs me. I stand there in the chill evening air while he radios for a tow truck to come impound my vehicle, which will lead to a very large fine just to get my car back — money that I don’t have — and his earlier warning rings loud and clear in my mind. Stay away from Thrash. You can’t trust him.
Despite what he’s said, Thrash hasn’t been fully honest with me.
This is what caring for him gets me. I’m going to lose my job once Hammer finds out about this. I’m ruined. I should’ve known better than to let a manipulative man like that into my life.
When I get out of here, he and I are through.
No more lies.
No more Thrash.