Debts

She walked a straight line for the goateed police officer, away from the car and then back, as if she’d spent years in a high-wire act, but her eyes were as red as I’d ever seen them. That was Glenda, though: underneath the Lord & Taylor suit, she was all poppers, Percoset, and gambling debt.

“Honestly, Officer, we were just gabbing. I have this awful habit of swerving any which way my head is pointed.” Glenda offered a quick laugh. The officer responded by raising the Breathalyzer to her eye level. Nothing to worry about there. She would pass; alcohol was about the only thing she wasn’t into. The officer asked her more questions and then his finger pointed into the car at me, but I didn’t catch what he said.

“Jennifer, please tell this handsome young man where we’re going.”

I saw the man’s ears turn red. Then Glenda’s contingency plan clicked in my head. “Sorry, Officer… I-I’ve had a little too much to drink. My fr-friend here was driving me home.”

Glenda beamed at me, a clear sign I was doing well. I was just thankful he’d turned off the siren. Its whining and the whiskey sours had churned my stomach.

He tucked the machine into a pocket and stooped to look into our car. In a paper sack in the back seat were some porn mags, a feather boa, a harness. Based on the tattoo that peeked below the cuff of the cop’s uniform and the rings on all but his ring finger, I guessed he’d be the kind of guy to approve of its contents. My mind leaped to an image of Eric’s eyes opening. Sweat broke out on my forehead. He still had another half hour at least, but what if I’d slipped too much Ambien into his beer? Or not enough? I heard pounding and a muffled voice coming from the trunk of the car, but the officer didn’t react to it so I figured it must be my imagination. What if we forgot to put him face down in there and he had choked on his own vomit? I started coughing and couldn’t stop. I let out an “Oh God” before I threw the passenger door open and threw up on weeds and a crushed McDonalds cup. The icy treetrunks along the road, the snow on the ground pulsed red blue red blue.

The officer recoiled at my quick movement; his hand jumped to his holster.

“Anything wrong, officer?” The smile Glenda produced above her silver-tasseled scarf was perfect. What seemed like genuine concern lifted the corners of her lips and rounded her eyebrows. But he didn’t see it.

“You all right?” the man asked me. Another flash of panic took hold of me. Who was this woman? How could she be so cool right now? What else had she done?

“Sorry, yeah. Yes, already feeling better.” I managed to glance at him. His dark eyes shot from my face to the paper bag to the purse at my feet. His face remained expressionless. My breath caught in my throat for what felt like ten minutes. I started hiccupping.

“Okay. Get your friend home safe and sound now,” he said, finally. “Have a good night.”

“Thank you so much, officer.” Glenda placed a hand on his bicep. “You stay safe out here.” On the word safe, I heard the wink in her voice. He walked back to his patrol car and she glided into the driver’s seat. “Quick, how much time we got left?”

Glenda started the engine. No rush; everything was fine.

“He should be up in 20 minutes.”

“Shit. It’s going to be close. We’ll need to strip him down and take the pictures as soon as we get to the cabin.”

“What about his wife?”

“Right. Get her number.”

I plucked the alien phone from my things and opened his text messages. She was at the top. Her last message was 10 minutes ago —where r u hon?

I was so tempted to write something back, to ease her worry. It wasn’t her fault Eric was an asshole. She probably had no clue about his side game as a bookie. I typed her number into my phone, grabbed what looked to be his parents’ number, too. Glenda turned into a driveway guarded by two massive oaks. A log cabin winked at us. I said a quick prayer that he wouldn’t wake up before we got him out of the car.

Constructive criticism welcome.