Chapter 9

9

O f all the egotistical, asshole, arrogant, pain-in-my-ass men in the world…”

She slammed the palm of her hand against the steering wheel as she sat at the red light grumbling under her breath.

“Who the hell does he think he is?” She slapped her thigh. “No one tells me what to do. I’m over twenty-one with a badge and gun. He better watch out, I might just shoot him in the foot for the shits and giggles of watching him hop around like the idiot he is.” Pounding her fist into her seat, she added, “Or throw him in a holding cell and hide the damn key.”

“That’s right, Girl. Don’t let that man take advantage of you.” Earl’s chuckled remark made Nat jump in her seat.

Slapping her hand over her racing heart, she scolded, “Damn it, Earl. Don’t scare me like that. I forgot you were back there.”

Laughing out loud, her prisoner/long-time friend teased, “You better tighten up. That man looked at you like he was gonna eat you up with a biscuit and some gravy.”

“He wishes,” she grumbled, giving Earl a wink in her rearview mirror. Changing the subject to get her mind off one arrogant, pig-headed Dragon, she asked, “What else is bothering you? I know you didn’t cause all this trouble just ‘cause, Jason President-of-the-Chess-Club-and-Winner-of-Most-Boring-Man-Alive Whitmore fired you. You’re too smart for that, even drunk and stoned you’ve always been smarter than the average bear, my friend.”

“I didn’t say I was…”

“Save it and spill, Earl.” She raised as ingle eyebrow and gave him her Colonel Beatrice Von Tight-Ass Bitch look.

Letting his head fall forward, Earl’s sigh was filled with so much emotion a vision of his past couple of days flickered to life in her mind. There he sat, the table before him covered in empty beer cans and liquor bottles with a huge round-bottomed bong right in the center.

The sound of the front door banging the wall behind it as it was kicked open woke him from his stupor and had him trying like hell to get to his feet. Swaying left and then right, he palmed the wall to stay standing. Stumbling through the house, he heard pounding footsteps overhead.

“Thelma? Thelma is that you, Darlin’?”

Appearing at the bannister that lined the hall in the second story of their home, Thelma Lou, the one person in all the world Earl loved more than beer and pot. Her eyes may have been red and swollen from crying, but the look on her face was pure disgust.

“Of course it’s me, you stupid son of a bitch. Who the hell else would it be?”

Stunned into silence by the first curse words he’d ever heard cross the love of his life’s lips, Earl fell to his knees when she added, “Stay down there. I don’t need you in my way while I pack.” She glared, her look so full of resentment and disappointment even the memory of it hurt Nat’s heart. “Damn you, Earl, why did ya’ haveta go and lose that stupid job.” Leaning over the rail, she added, “I told you if you did I’d leave you like last season’s shoes.” She leaned back and slammed her fists to her hips. “And ya’ just had to push it, didn’tcha. Just seein’ if I’d really leave. Well, ya’ got your wish, ya’ damned fool.”

“Wh-Where are m-my girls?” His voice cracked as he tried to hide the tears.

“The kids are with momma. We’ll be there ‘til I can find us some place of our own.” Thelma’s voice was hard and resolute. She’d been wading through Earl’s shit for nearly twenty years and she was done with a capital ‘D’.

“You…Y’all c-can have the house. I’ll m-move in w-with…”

“I don’t want this house,” her voice shook with unspent emotion. “Too damn many memories. Too…”

Forcing herself out of the memory, seriously feeling like a Peeping Tom watching Earl Jones, one tough son of a bitch, crying like a baby. Glancing into her rearview mirror, the poor sap reminded her of an old rag doll left on the front porch to fade and rot.

“Come on, Earl, stop feelin’ sorry for yourself.” She employed the same tactic Nona always had when she was having a pity party – tough love. “Sure, you fucked up big time, but what one of us hasn’t? You just have to pick yourself up, dust yourself off, and get your shit together.”

Looking up, a tiny spark springing to life in the depths of his sad, old, hound-dog eyes. “And how am I gonna do that from behind bars? Thelma will never take me back after the crap I just pulled.”

“Look, you screwed up, but that’s not what’s important. What you do next will define who you are, and the Earl Jones I know and admire would never go down without a fight.”

Pulling into the station, she let him stew as she turned off the car, got put and took a minute to stretch and take a long deep breath of cool morning air. When she heard a tap on the car window behind her, she looked over her shoulder, gave a now smiling Earl a quick nod and got to work on getting him into the station.

Halfway through the booking process, Special Agent Rafe Pain-in-her-ass showed up with a steaming cup of coffee and her favorite breakfast in the whole wide world – a bacon, egg, and cheese biscuit from Bertie’s Café. The owner and proprietor, Bernita Grist, was in her kitchen every single morning at three am making her homemade biscuits from a secret family recipe and they quite literally melted in your mouth.

Not caring what he was up to, Nat grabbed the wrapped breakfast sandwich and coffee she knew from the smell had hazelnut creamer in it and narrowed her eyes. “Where ya’ getting’ your information from, Slick?”

“Whatever do you mean?” The sparkle in his icy blue eyes sent shivers up and down her spine while his cocky grin made her heart do a strange little flutter thing that Nat adamantly refused to acknowledge.

Stepping up to him, she tilted her head to keep eye contact and grumbled, “You know damned good and well what I mean. You’re up to somethin’ and if I hadn’t been up since 0’dark-thirty with a bite of food or drop of java, I’d tell you to stuff this breakfast up your ass, but as it stands, I’m gonna mind my manners and say thank you.”

Doing an about-face before he could speak, glad that the Duty Officer had taken Earl to be fingerprinted and get his mugshots, she hollered over her shoulder, “We’re heading to the morgue in ten. Hope you don’t have a weak stomach.”