Page 18 of Justice for Radar

“You don’t look forty-five,” I said.

He looked me over and said, “Right back at you, thirty-two.”

“I said thirty-oneaboutto be thirty-two. Don’t rush me, now.”

He laughed a little and shook his head and said, “I wouldn’t dream of it, but Iamcurious about you.”

“I mean, you have me living in your daughter’s bedroom, so that’s only fair,” I stammered.

“You told me how you met Billy, and how you got out here, but what about before that?” he asked.

I drew in a deep breath and let it out in a big rush. “That’s a long story,” I said.

“I got time,” he offered, and I nodded.

“I was raised in Iowa by my mom and dad. They, uh, they weren’t good people. Super judgmental conservative types, very fire and brimstone – but like in all of theworstways, you know?”

“Thankfully, I don’t have firsthand knowledge, my parents were great – but I can get a mental picture,” he said, and he scraped his generous bottom lip between his teeth.

I nodded slowly and said, “They didn’t beat me a whole lot, per se, but I could never do anything right, you know? Forget any sort of affection or love. I was an only child, but it was like they almost couldn’t wait to get rid of me. A lot of rejection, you know?”

He nodded but remained silent.

“When I turned eighteen and graduated from high school and said I was going to move out, my mom actually said to me ‘good, it’s our turn to have a life now.’”

“Holy shit.” He stared at me, shocked.

I nodded and winced, saying, “Yeah. So, I did. I got married to my high school sweetheart, who joined the military for a career, and I stayed in his room without him at his parents until he got out of bootcamp and was stationed somewhere that I could move to be with him.”

“Okay.” He nodded slowly. “You’re here now, and I don’t see a ring, so I’m guessing that didn’t turn out.”

I bowed my head and shook it, suddenly feeling scrutinized by his warm brown gaze but it didn’t feel judgmental in the slightest. I was surprised to find he was easy to talk to, so of course I immediately had to begin overthinking things and worrying.

“That’s a whole different story and not one you probably want to hear,” I said with a touch of forced laughter.

“Oh, but I do,” he said. “So hit me with it. Good, bad, or ugly, I’m here for it.”

I raked my bottom lip between my teeth and took a deep cleansing breath letting it out,whoosh, as they say, before taking the plunge.

“Rodney’s in prison for trying to kill me,” I said and took another quick drink from my can, so I didn’t have to say more right away.

“That’s…” he looked a little stunned. “That’s fucking awful. Jesus Christ.” He actually crossed himself and I tried not to smile. Radar didn’t strike me as the religious type in the slightest, so I had a sneaky feeling that the whole crossing himself thing was something he picked up from his parents. Maybe even his mamma, but that he didn’t realize he even did it.

“Yeah, um, he was deployed a time or two, came back with PTSD and started drinking to manage his symptoms… things got bad. Really bad… and sort of ended with me getting hit a whole lot, and um eventually he um…” I took another deep breath and let it out all shaky. “He stabbed me seven times and I had to play dead. While he was distracted, digging my grave, I managed to get away, ran to a nearby house, and the people there called 9-1-1 for me. I almost died. The trial was really long, really bad, and really ugly, but he wouldn’t take a plea – for which I am grateful. He’s serving the maximum sentence.”

“Well, that last part is good, but it’s not lost on me that here it is however long later and you’re finally willing to try again and… well… this. Holy fuck.”

“Yeah, if I didn’t have bad luck, sometimes I think I wouldn’t have any luck at all.” I laughed, and it sounded forced.

“I’m so sorry, babe,” he said and shook his head. “But look at it this way… that shit is all behind you and in the rearview and you just keep driving. Your best life is just ahead of you and truth be told, I’ve peeked at some of your artwork. It’s really good, and you seem to do well for yourself on that front.”

“It’s a living,” I said with a shrug. “Ultimately, I would like to work for myself, but it’s hard getting started when you don’t have the formal education backing you up, you know?”

“I know that’s right. I’m in the same boat… just high school diploma here, and took the long way to get into the business that I’m in. Really wish I could do more PI work and less of the bail shit – but I gotta do what brings in the money and the bail bonds industry is where the surefire money is.”

I nodded slowly and asked, “So what about you?” My curiosity was piqued. “What’s the Cliff’s Notes on how you got here in your life?”

“Ahh, it’s a bit of the same and also a bit more involved to be honest,” he said. “Graduated from high school, got into the bail bonds thing through a friend of mine’s dad who was getting a little long in the tooth to be chasing down young bucks through back alleys and shit. So, he got me and my buddy to do the running and cuffing instead which is how I got started with this whole thing. At the same time, I did what you did and married my high school sweetheart, but she was a wild child and got mixed up in all kinds of drugs and shit while I was putting in the hours. I didn’t know, at least not right away. We got pregnant pretty early on. She lost the baby and I think the drugs went from recreational and became a way to cope. You know?”

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