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There’s so much work backlogged. I’m starting to wonder if Roswell has bothered to write up any reports in the last three years. The office feels suffocating, especially when all I can think about is the last time Squealer visited. Fantasies of him pulling on my ponytail while his tongue licks at my throat distracts me from the incident numbers and terrible handwriting, and I quickly grab up my keys and head out the door.
“Where you off to?” Lucille asks as I storm through reception.
“I need to get some air,” I snap, getting into my patroller and screeching out of my parking bay. It’s a fresh, clear day, so I open up the window and take in some of that good, clean, Colorado air.
I find myself driving toward the club, even though I have no intention of going there. I can’t just turn up with no excuse or reason; the last thing I want to do is make myself obvious. I just don’t feel like I’m getting anywhere. I’ve printed out all the club members’ files from Roswell’s computer, spent hours scanning through them, and still come back with nothing.
Admittedly, I spent a little extra time scrutinizing Squealer’s.
I still can’t make sense of any of the information I have. Maybe I’m overthinking things, so desperate to find something, that I’m missing the obvious.
I have to swerve when a black van comes speeding past me in the opposite direction, and it runs me off the road. The driver doesn’t stop, just thunders on past, and as quickly as I can pull myself together, I spin my patroller around, hit on the sirens, and go in pursuit.
I catch up with the vehicle before it pulls onto the highway, and when they eventually pull over, I go through the usual procedure. As I approach, I ask the driver to step out of the vehicle. And I don’t know if I'm more shocked or delighted when a tall, bulky frame I recognize steps out of the driver's seat with a cocky grin on his mouth that I’m about to annihilate.
“Afternoon, Officer.” Squealer continues to smirk as I make my way over to him.
“You aware of how fast you were going back there?” I stick to protocol.
“Nah, sorry. I was in a hurry.”
“Well, whatever it is you were rushing to, will have to wait.”
“Just write the damn ticket,” he shakes his head impatiently.
“Sorry, I can’t do that here. You're gonna have to come to the station with me.”
“For speeding? Come on now. You're getting a little bit desperate for my attention.”
“Reckless driving,” I shoot back at him. “Hands behind your back.” I reach out and maneuver him so his chest presses against the side of the van. He doesn’t put up a fight, not even when I click his wrists into the cuffs.
“Let's not forget what happened the last time you cuffed me.” He chuckles, and I make sure I clasp them too tight to be comfortable.
“Well, Roswell ain't at the station to save your ass today,” I tell him, using all the force I have to pull him from the vehicle and lead him over to the back of my car. Turns out I don’t need it, he comes willingly.
“You make a habit of being a pain in the ass?” he asks after I've ducked him into the back seat. I don’t respond, just keep my eyes forward and focus on the road.
“Think you're pretty clever, huh? If you were wanting a second round, darlin’, you only had to ask,” he taunts.
I manage to ignore him all the way back to the station, and when I pull him out of the car and march him through reception, Lucille drops the pencil from her mouth.
“Close your mouth, Lucille, it’s not a good look,” I tell her as I drag him through to the interview room, kicking out a chair and pushing him onto the seat.
“What’s all this really about?” he calls after me as I walk back out, slamming the door and finally taking a breath while I plan my next move.
Whether I like it or not, Squealer is my best option when it comes to obtaining answers. I’m gonna have to be strong to crack him. I’m also gonna have to lay some of my own cards on the table and give a little of myself away in the process.
I head to the control room to switch off all the cameras and audio in the interview room, then stop by my office and pick up the file I need. I’ll make this as personal as I have to, to get the answers I need. Once he gives me what I want, I might even let him and his friends go back to riding their bikes and being the town's fucking heroes.
Clutching the folder to my chest, I take some deep breaths before I open the door to the interview room. Reminding myself who I’m doing this for to give me the confidence I need to begin.
I keep my cool and smirk when she eventually steps back inside the room. “Look, darlin’, this is cute and all, but don’t you think you're going a little extra over a speeding ticket?”
“This isn’t about a speeding ticket.” She shoots me an icy glare as she takes a seat on the other side of the table and opens up a brown folder.
“What’s that, my life story?” I ask, slouching back cockily.
“No. This is Christian Hawker's life story,” her tone remains blank.
