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horror at Malachi.
“But if he gets a ticket, he’s going to get into trouble at work!” she cried.
Technically, she would’ve been correct.
I had to, per company policy, report tickets almost the second that they happened, or I would get
my ass in a sling at work.
Tickets weren’t necessarily a bad thing until you go too many. Or you failed to report them.
Then they became a bad thing.
“Both of you step off the bike and come back here,” Redmond suddenly ordered, voice tight and
urgent. “Whose bike is this?”
Frankie looked worriedly at the bike.
“It’s one that we’re test driving,” Frankie gasped. “Is there something wrong?”
Redmond continued playing the part perfectly. “The bike is registered to a known drug dealer in
the area. And it was stolen.”
Frankie’s mouth dropped open.
“What?” she gasped. “No!”
“Step back here please,” Redmond ordered.
Frankie followed, reluctantly, body tight with anger.
Frankie stared at Redmond, a seasoned police officer who used to be the highest ticket writer in
the department before the traffic division—also known as Motorcycle Patrol—began.
“I need you to…” Redmond began, talking as if he suspected Frankie of nefarious activities.
While she was distracted, Malachi quickly handed me the ring that he’d so graciously held onto
for me.
I caught it in my hand, slipped it out of the box, then got down on one knee.
Frankie growled at something Redmond said and turned in a flurry.
Her dress twirled out in a rush.
Her eyes suddenly lit on me, the ring in my hand, and then her empty hand where her ring usually
resided.
I’d had to steal it off of her finger while she slept a few days ago and she’d been devastated.
Seeing her so down and glum had torn me apart, but in the end, I had decided to continue with my
tactic, knowing she’d love the outcome.
