Page 2 of Animal Beats

Going with a cop? That doesn’t bode well. Still, the need to protect my cohorts rises. “They shouldn’t get any fines. They were doing what I asked them to do.” I can afford to pay their bills. No need for them to be out of pocket because of me.

“They broke the law and went around the barricades. They must pay up.”

“I’ll take care of their fees.” When the cop doesn’t respond, I lift my chin and scream into the crowd. “I’m paying any fines!”

A collective cheer goes up into the air. I know I can make this one part of the night right. Ha! I made a rhyme.

“Come on, Mr. Money Bags,” the female cop says. She slaps handcuffs on my arms in front of my crotch, I guess to keep the blanket in place. “I’m taking you to the station. Where you’ll be paying for everyone.”

At least this part turned out okay. “They aren’t going to get tickets either?”

A male cop joins her. The two speak in rapid Italian. When I don’t respond, the policewoman says, “We got the names of the idiots who followed your lead into our beloved Trevi Fountain. They won’t be charged, based upon your representation that you can pay their fines.”

I let out a breath. “Good. I’ll cover everything, no worries.” My head whips around, looking for the woman who has my jeans. “As soon as I locate my jeans, I’ll get my wallet and settle up.” Only problem: the woman—and my jeans—are nowhere to be found.

Some flashes go off. Great. Now the paparazzi are involved. I don’t need this type of attention, especially after everything Bennett put UC through recently. The band is only supposed to generate positive press from now on, per Luke. I look around, but there’s no place to hide.

Unaware of my current turmoil, the male cop asks, “Where are your pants?”

“Uhm. I don’t know. I had them on before.” My heart rate picks up a beat. Using my chin, I point to the side. “There are my boots.”

Another officer retrieves them while the other male cop’s hand goes around my bare upper arm. “Alright, let’s get everything sorted out at the police station.”

“But my jeans,” I complain. I can’t pay without my wallet. Shit. My cellphone’s in the pocket, too. Panic sets in. The paps cannot get their hands on my cell. “I need to find them.” I wiggle and jump from side to side, trying to locate them.

All my efforts are rewarded when I spot the Italian lady who gave me my last beer. Standing over near a smaller fountain, she holds up my jeans. My body slumps. “There they are.”

The female cop hears me and instructs someone to collect them. Noticing the cops approaching her, the Italian lady bends down and carefully places my jeans on the street before disappearing into the throng of people. Smart woman.

Once my jeans are rescued, I become more compliant. I’ll just have to pay everyone’s fines and then be on my way. I’m paraded through the crowd, toward a police cruiser. I bump into a couple of people and my blanket slips, but I catch it with my shackled hands. Have to be careful with these. They are my livelihood.

Rows of bystanders block my path, with my walk being captured from all angles. Guess it doesn’t matter what the media posts, considering how many phones are capturing my every movement. UC’s PR team is going to have a field day. Luke’s gonna chew my ass out for this, too. Shit.

Questions start being pelted at me from the reporters. I don’t understand the ones in Italian, but the English ones are bad enough. “Where is Bennett?”

How the fuck should I know? Undoubtedly shacked up with Jenna, his wife. I turn my head in another direction.

“What do you think of Rome?”

Alright. I can answer this one. “It’s a beautiful city, with very nice fountains.” Fun to swim in, too. I wink at the reporter.

I continue winding my way through people toward the paddywagon. Definitely not my first rodeo, but this one is nicer than most. Certainly better than in some cities in the United States. I step on a jagged rock and my knee lifts up. “Ow!”

The female police officer steadies me while the male cop tries to push me forward. Guess taking off my shoes wasn’t such a great idea. My stride shortens as I try to recapture my balance. Which only gives the reporters more time.

“What will the rest of Untamed Coaster think of you starting a riot at the Trevi Fountain, Río?”

This question make me freeze. “I didn’t start a riot,” I rebut the pap. “We were only having some good-natured fun. I’m sure these kind officers will understand once I can explain it to them.”

I glance at the male officer and correct my last statement. To myself, at least. Hopefully.

Luke’s going to lose his shit. The PR team will have more than its hands full this time. But, hell, I was only having fun. Don’t Italians like to have fun?

Suddenly I’m all of twelve again. Pop’s divorce to my biological mother had gone through maybe two years before, and he had married the Stepwitch the following one. So what if I played the drums on a few desks during class because the lesson was soooo boring—the teacher deemed it “acting up,” despite all the cheering of my school chums—and I was sent to the principal’s office. After making me stand in the corner for several hours, Pop read me the riot act. I wonder if Luke will put my drum kit in the back of the stage as payback?

Best to do the deed and ask permission later. My chin rises. I am Río Sullivan, the best damn drummer rock’s ever known. A little flirt with the Trevi Fountain won’t break my stride.

The cop puts his palm on top of my head as he directs me into the wagon. This whole mess will soon be over, and I’ll be back enjoying my time with my band of brothers.