Page 65 of Cocky Choices: Zoe Cocker

“I don’t have time! I need to stop them!”

I hear his sirens go on. “I’m racing toward you, Zoe. Now focus?—”

“—I’m hyper-focused!”

“—Tell me, why do they have Tom? What did he do?”

The alley ends and I barely slow down enough to look both ways, “Hold on! I’m pulling onto Peachtree Street Northeast.”

“They’re probably heading to Northside Dr. Northwest.”

“Thank you, Wyatt! Oh thank you!” I profusely gush, “Thank you so much! Then that’s where I’m heading now! Oh! I see them! My alley detour did the trick!”

“Zoe, you can’t chase a cop car down!”

“Too late!” I start honking my horn, racing after their blue lights.

“I see you!” Wyatt shouts, “Zoe, I’m coming at you from the left!”

“Officers!” I honk my horn, bellowing, “Officers! It’s me! Zoe Cocker! Tom! Turn around! It’s me! Stop the car!”

TWENTY-EIGHT

Tom

Ihear my name screamed from a distance, and Officer Peters mutters, “What the hell?” peering with disbelief into his rearview mirror.

I spin my body, handcuffs tightening against my twisting wrist-bones, and my eyes widen. Zoe is driving my Jeep like she’s in an action film. Swerving around cars. Momentarily riding atop the middle barrier. Careening off it before she smashes two plants the city put there for beautification. She yelps like she almost just hit two people.

Officer Walters rolls down his window and we hear more clearly her hollering, “Tom! Officers! Stop! It’s me! Zoe Cocker!”

He mutters to his partner, “Does she think because she’s Wyatt’s sister that we won’t ticket her for reckless driving?”

“Looks like it.” Peters rolls his eyes.

Dying to know what she has to say, I venture, “We’re stopping, right?”

Peters peers into the mirror again. “No way.”

Walters asks, “What?”

“Wyatt Cocker is chasing her down now.”

Walters and I twist in our seats and discover another police car, blue lights and sirens blazing, speeding up to her side. Sure enough, the face behind the wheel is Zoe’s brother.

Peters starts laughing.

Walters joins in.

Not me. I instead repeat, “We’re pulling over, right?”

Walters chuckles, “Oh, we gotta pull over as fast as fucking possible.”

Peters adds, “We gotta see this!” and hits his right turn signal, with his partner motioning to cars we pass, gesturing to them that they need to slow down so we can park. Everyone accommodates them except for a silver corvette that pulls ahead, and zips to freedom since these guys are clearly too occupied to care about how fast he’s going. “Dick,” Peters mutters.

“I got the license plate,” Walters chuckles. “We’ll show up at his castle later and give him a warm welcome.”

They both laugh, leading me to wonder where these two got their disdain for wealth privilege. I bet there’s a story.

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