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As the photographer takes the final snap, Weston comes bursting into the building with Kevin on his heels.
“I told you there was nothing else I could do. The man looked like he had gone a couple of rounds with Mike Tyson, and Morris admitted to the assault,” Kevin explains.
“From what I understand, there were extenuating circumstances,” Weston says.
“That might very well be, but that’s for a judge to decide.”
Weston looks at me. “I told you, never admit to anything.”
I look down at the dried blood on my knuckles. “Not like I could hide it, West.”
He rolls his eyes. “I don’t care if they catch you with the cow in the back of your truck; you tell them that as far as you knew, it jumped up there.”
Kevin chuckles. “He’s been processed, so if you want to take him home, you can.”
“What’s the charge?” Weston asks.
“Simple assault. It’s a class A misdemeanor. Seeing as it’s his first offense, he can probably plead down to disorderly conduct or disturbing the peace. Just go talk to Mayor Gentry. His brother-in-law is an attorney out of Sevier County. I’m sure he can give you advice,” Kevin suggests.
He turns my personal property back over to me and finishes the paperwork. I take my copy and follow Weston out to his truck.
Anna, Brandee, and Erin are sitting on the tailgate.
Great.
“What are they doing here?” I ask.
“I was at Anna’s when Langford called. Erin and Jena were next door at Brandee’s, and they heard about your unfortunate incarceration over the scanner. So, Jena stayed with Kaela, and these three piled in the truck.”
“We had to see it for ourselves. Morris Tuttle, hardened criminal,” Erin says.
“That’s me.”
I climb into the passenger side of the truck as Weston helps the girls into the backseat.
“So, what happened?” Erin asks.
“I hit someone and busted their nose.”
“Was it a bar fight?” Brandee asks.
“No.”
“A fight over a girl?” Erin asks.
I don’t answer.
“Oh, so that’s it. Damn, baby Tuttle, you’re giving your brother here a run for his money for the title of Sexiest Tuttle Brother,” Erin states.
“Hey now,” Weston bellows.
“We’re just as shocked that little Morris went from a cute, purring kitten to a sexy, roaring lion.”
She slaps Brandee in the arm.
“Ouch. What was that for?” Brandee asks.
“You really screwed the pooch. You should’ve scooped this one up when you had the chance last year.”
