Page 110 of Famous Last Words
He rears back, looking at me hard. “Did I ask you?”
I roll my eyes. “Look, can you just write me a ticket or whatever, so I can get the hell out of here.”
He studies me for a long moment, chewing his gum excessively as a knowing smirk slowly ghosts his lips. “You on something, pal?”
I balk. What?
“No,” I say through gritted teeth, my jaw clenching at the insinuation.
“Stay there,” the cop says, taking my papers and walking back to his cruiser.
I look in through the window to find Fran’s eyes wide as they stare at me.
“Is everything okay?” she asks, panicked.
I nod even though I’m not sure if that’s true, but I really don’t want to stress her out. Glancing back over my shoulder, I notice the cop talking to his partner, both of them looking at me. When the other officer gets out of the vehicle, carrying a small breathalyzer device, my racing heart kicks into next gear, slamming hard against my chest. I don’t know why I’m nervous. I’m not drunk; I don’t drink. But my whole body is trembling.
“Robbie Mason?” The other office approaches me with a lot less aggression than his partner. “Have you had anything to drink tonight?”
“I don’t drink. I already toldhimthat,” I say again, a little more forcefully this time, jutting my chin at the first cop.
“You got an attitude with me, pal?” The first guy steps up to me and honestly, I have to duck my chin to hide my smirk. I don’t know why I’m laughing, but come on, I could annihilate the guy with one right hook. This is fucking absurd.
“Mind if we perform a quick breath test?” The other cop steps in front of his partner and I comply, breathing into the machine until I hear a beep.
“He’s clear.”
“I told you I don’t drink,” I say smugly.
The first cop, the one with the small dick energy, swings around, his eyes wide and full of anger as he glares down at me.
“That’s it, you piece of shit,” he mutters, pushing me up against my car with unnecessary force. “Get your fucking hands up and spread your feet.”
“You’re frisking me?” I laugh, and I know I should shut the fuck up, but I can’t help it. “Bro can’t charge me for a DUI, so now you gotta try make a fucking point.”
“What’s going on?” Fran yells.
“Ma’am, stay in the vehicle, please.” The second cop placates Fran with a hand held in the air. He turns to his partner, lowering his voice. “Come on, Mitch. Let’s just write him a ticket and be done with it.”
“Nah,” saysMitch, “homeboy here wants to talk a big game. Hotshot hockey player thinks he’s Mr. Fuckin’ Untouchable.”
He shoves my head into the car and starts patting me down each of my legs, then up over my torso, his hands delving into the pockets of my jeans, checking for anything. Again, I need to bite back my grin, because sure, this is highly unethical, but I can’t wait to see the look on his stupid face when he?—
“Well, well, well, what do we have here?”
I turn my head, noticing a small baggie of white powder dangling between his thumb and forefinger.
“What the fuck?” I yell, because seriously, what the fuck?
“I’d say that’s a class D felony right there, huh Patterson?”
I glare at him. “That’s not mine!”
“Stay where you are, Mr. Mason!” the second cop instructs me.
“That’s not mine!” I yell again. “He put it there.” He had to. It’s the only explanation.
“That explains the pupils,” the first cop says to his partner. He spears me with an arrogant smirk. “Hands behind your head, pal.”
