Party (17 page)

Yield sign. White and red, like Morrigan’s shoes, leaping in front of me.

I jerk the wheel again, every muscle locked in place.

Three tons of Chevy versus three pounds of street sign.

I win. The sign flies through the night air and ends up on the opposite corner of the street. The Blazer screeches to a halt, straddling the corner curb. Thank God it’s so late. No oncoming traffic.

Red lights, blue lights, a spotlight in my rearview mirror.

I lose.

Now I am FUBAR, fucked up beyond all recognition.

Song changes. Rancid.
Good morning heartache, you’re like an old friend
.

God, why not just kill me now, huh? Just end the damn movie of my life, roll credits.

I sit with my hands on the top of the steering wheel, breathing hard, blood dripping from my knuckles. The cop walks up slow behind me, one hand near his weapon, the other shining a flashlight into the car, probing.

I roll down the window.

“How’s it going?” he asks.

There is still dust settling in front of my headlights. Correction,
headlight
. The Yield sign took prisoners. That’ll cost me.

“Pretty crappy,” I say. My voice is shot from screaming. I shut off the engine. Rancid shuts up.

“I was thinking the same thing,” he says. “License, insurance, registration.”

“It’s in the glove box.”

“Go ahead.”

I take my time leaning over, hoping he at least notices I’m wearing my seatbelt. I don’t recall putting it on. I hand him everything in a jumbled pile. My hands aren’t even shaking. The worst night of my entire life is only getting started, what’s to be nervous about? Mostly I want sleep, or death, or for Morrigan to choke on her own drunk puke while she sucks off my best friend.

“Got any weapons in there, knives, guns, rocket launchers?”

“No, nothing.”

“Been drinking tonight?”

“Actually, no.”

“Actually? You mean you usually do?”

Ha-ha, you got me, Ossifer. You should take your act on the road, you bastard.

“Actually, no,” I repeat.

Go ahead, take me in. Reckless endangerment, destruction of civic property, speeding. What else? Let’s go, rack them up. My life’s over anyway.

“All right, you sit tight right here. Keep your hands on the wheel.”

“Yes, sir.”

He goes back to his car and calls in my information. I don’t care. All I can see is Morrigan. And Ryan. If I’d walked in a couple minutes later, she’d have been riding him like a Harley.

The cop comes back in a few minutes.

“Your name sounds familiar,” the cop says.

“I’m probably wanted in fifty states or something.”

“I’m not that lucky,” the cop says, and hands my papers and license back. “Joshua Conroy … you go to Santa Barbara High?”

“Yeah.”

“You know a girl there named Ashley Dixon?”

Jesus, what are you doing to me? What is this? What the hell else did you have planned for me tonight, huh?

“Yes,” I say, gritting my teeth.

“You Morrigan’s boyfriend?”

I have now entered … the Twilight Zone.

“Was.”

“Ah. Let me guess, something happen with her at that party by Shoreline tonight?”

“Could say that.” And … wait, how’s he know about the party? Something must’ve gone down.

“Ashley ever happen to mention having an older brother?”

Yeah, Morry told me, and Ash talks about him all the time. James Dixon. Santa Barbara cop. Kicked some dude’s ass once a few years ago when the dude grabbed Ashley’s …

I swallow hard. “Yeah. Um … yeah. Hi. Nice to meet ya.”

“Well,
that
I sincerely doubt.”

He’s kind of grinning at me. Laugh it up, cop. Go ahead. Make my day.

“You sure you haven’t been drinking tonight, Joshua? I hear some crazy stuff went down at that party.”

“No, sir.” Crazy stuff? If you call your sister’s best friend whacking off my buddy crazy, then yeah.

“You mind if I do a quick Breathalyzer?”

“Why not.”

“Okay, c’mon out here and just kick back against the truck for me, okay?”

“Yes, sir.”

I do as he says while he gets his little machine. He gives me instructions, and I blow. Isn’t that the truth? I blow.

“Good,” he says, and pulls the plastic mouthpiece out of my mouth. He checks the results. “You’re ten points over the legal limit.”

I almost puke. Knees turn to water. It’s a lie and there’s nothing I can do about—

“Just kidding!” He laughs. “Sorry, couldn’t help it. You’re clean. But see? Your night coulda been a lot worse, huh?”

If it was one of the guys in my place, I’d be laughing my ass off. Why can’t this sort of thing happen to, oh, pick a name at random …
Ryan Assfuck Brunner?

“So now the question remains, what’re we gonna do about that?” He points to the Yield sign, which has cleared two lanes of street and lies faceup on the opposite sidewalk.

“Just lock me up,” I say. “Throw away the key, whatever.”

“Wow, you definitely had some girl issues tonight,” he says. “But I understand. Morrigan’s a, uh … unique personality.”

I manage a sick smile. “True that.”

“All right, Joshua,” he says, “here’s what we’re going to do. I’m going to report that you lost control of the vehicle due to gravel on the road. So I’m going to write this up as an accident report, which you’ll need to report to your insurance, and they’ll pay for the damages. Probably. The damage isn’t too bad, so it won’t cost too much, but it might kick the crap out of your insurance for a year or two. Depends on your company.”

Great. Dad’ll freak.

“But you won’t have to do driving school or pay a fine,” he finishes. “Plus your insurance would probably go up if I did that anyway. Fair?”

“Fair,” I say. “Thanks.”

“And I want that headlight fixed first thing. Don’t let me catch you driving tomorrow night with one headlight.”

“Okay.” And what else, Ossifer Dixon? Let’s go, get it over with.

“And don’t go bragging to all your buddies about this, or I’ll come to your house and arrest you for all sorts of stuff you never even heard of. Get me?”

“You mean …”

“Go home, Joshua. And slow down.”

“But the—”

“Go. Home.”

Thank you, God
. For real. Sincerely.

Maybe you do care after all. My bad. Sad that getting off with an accident report is the best thing to happen to me all week, but still … thanks.

“Yes, sir,” I say, and climb into the truck with my accident report.

He gives me a nod, gets in his cruiser, and drives away.

I pull off the curb and turn left as headlights light me up again. I pull off to the side of the road to calm down before I try driving home.

So that was close. And it could’ve been worse.

Yeah. Worse.

The car passes me—going the speed limit—then hits the brakes.

The little blue car swings around and comes up behind me. They park the car, and the headlights shut off. I wonder for just a second if it’s like gangbangers or something. Of course, right
after
a cop leaves. But the people who get out of the car are anything but.

I close my eyes and rest my head on the steering wheel.

Un. Be. Fucking. Lievable.

I get out of the Blazer again as Morrigan’s parents jog up to me; Mr. Lewis looks pissed, Mrs. Lewis looks pissed
and
worried.

Hey, God, remember when I asked you what I did to deserve this? I renew the question.

“Have you seen Morrigan?” Jim Lewis demands.

No
Hi, howareya, how’sitgoin’?

“Yes,” I say, and kick back against the truck as Mrs. Lewis joins him.

“Where is she?” she asks.

I shrug. “Partying. Getting hammered.”

Mr. Lewis fumes. Good.

“We broke up last week, you know,” I add. “I know she told you, Ashley said so, so why ask
me
where she is?”

They stare at me dumbly. Unreal. They have no idea what I’m talking about.

“Do you not hear a word she says to you?” I ask them.

“We thought everything was okay,” Mrs. Lewis says.

“Well, it’s not!” I say. “Do you want to know why she broke up with me? I’ll tell you. It’s because I
wouldn’t
sleep with her.”

Aw, yeah. Couldn’t have said anything better. They look
slapped
. Chalk one up for the ex.

“That’s right!” I say, because this feels
good
. “I would
not
have sex with your little girl, and she broke up with me because of it. That’s the kind of
adorable little princess
you’ve raised. And if you don’t believe me, you can ask her yourself!”

Mr. Lewis recovers from the smackdown and puffs out his chest, all manly. “Don’t you dare talk about my daughter that way, you little shit!” he roars at me and takes a menacing step toward me.

Oh, bring it on, old man.

Tie my ass into a pretzel or send me to the ER, whatever, do your worst, because frankly, I’ve had it with sitting on my ass and I got nothing left to lose.

But Mrs. Lewis grabs his arm. “Jim,” she says. “Hold on.”

He hesitates.

Lucky thing. I’d’ve drop-kicked that sucker.

Mrs. Lewis pulls him back so
she
can take a step toward me. “Are you being straight with us, Josh?” she asks. Lines crease her forehead. I’ve never seen her this worried.

“You think I could make something like that up?” I say. “It’s the truth. And if you want to kick my ass for being honest with you, then step on up, because I’m done being a nice guy about it.”

Am I really picking a fight with my ex’s parents? On the street?

You’re damn skippy I am.

Mr. Lewis still looks pissed, but he doesn’t make a move. I hate to say, I don’t think it’s because I intimidated him. Damn.

Mrs. Lewis looks back at him, then again to me.

“What else?”

“What else,
what?”

“What else do you … know about her?”

I lift my arms. “I have no idea what you are asking.”

“Is she … all right?”

“All right?” I spit back. “I don’t know. Why are you asking me?
You’re
her parents.”

Mrs. Lewis looks back at her husband again, and they stare at each other. What the hell is
this?
It’s like they’re using telepathy or something. Fucking parents, man.

“Do you know where this party is?” Mr. Lewis says finally.

I shrug. “Near Shoreline Park.”

“We were headed that way,” he says.

“Then you’re headed right.”

“Was Ashley taking care of her?” Mrs. Lewis asks.

“I don’t know. Most likely. I didn’t really talk to either of them. Morrigan’s not my girlfriend anymore, remember? So, to be perfectly honest, not my problem.”

“You’re right,” Mrs. Lewis says, which shocks the hell out of me. “It’s not your problem. I appreciate your honesty.”

She goes back toward the car, squeezing Mr. Lewis’s hand as she passes him. “Let’s go home and wait for her.”

“What?” he shouts. “After driving around all night looking for her!”

“Jim,” Mrs. Lewis says. “Please. If she’s with Ashley, she’ll be fine. Ashley won’t let anything happen to her.” She glances at me. “Was Ashley drinking?”

I’d love to lie, just to make this harder on them and by proxy on Morrigan, but I can’t quite pull it off. “No,” I say. “She was just keeping an eye on Morry. She’s sober.”

“See?” she says to Mr. Lewis. “Let’s go.” She walks around my truck and I hear her get back into the Civic.

Mr. Lewis turns his gaze on me. He walks up and crosses his arms.

“So you didn’t sleep with her?”

I look that sucker right in the eye. “No.”

“I’m just supposed to believe that? Pretty girl, couple teenagers out all night at a party?”

“I don’t much care what you believe, man. It’s the truth. Ask her yourself. I made a promise, and I’m keeping it. Not for nothing, man, but even if she came crawling back to me right this second, I still wouldn’t do it. But I’m sick of trying to explain why to everyone, so you’re just gonna have to deal.”

He arches an eyebrow, and holy
shit
does he look like Morrigan right then. Crazy.

“I find out you’re lying,” he says, “we’re gonna have a talk.”

I lift my arms again and take a step back. Kicking range, just in case. “We’re having a talk right now, man. I mean, you make it sound like we
should
have done it. And if that’s
the case, you got major problems that got nothing to do with me.”

His chest swells up and I brace for a swing. Oh, do it. Do it, and put an end to this glorious goddam night, man.

But Mrs. Lewis calls from the car. “Jim, come on. We should get home.”

He glares at me for another second, then pivots away and stalks back to the car.

“And hey, one more thing,” I call. “You don’t have to tell me how pretty your daughter is. I know that. Why don’t you tell her for a change?”

It’s one of the things Morrigan’s told me over the last couple months, that this dickwad hardly even looks at her. If that’s true, and it is based on what I’ve seen at her house, then he deserves to hear it for squaring off with me.

I swing back to the Blazer and climb in, happy to have the last word.

I pull out onto the road. I can see Mrs. Lewis on her cell in my rearview mirror. I hope she’s able to get Morry on the phone again. That would be priceless.

I drive slow the whole way home just in case another cop’s on the prowl. It’s been the worst night of my life, but I’m also the luckiest son of a bitch I’ve ever known, and I don’t want to press my luck.

Heh.

Are you mad?

Mom and Dad are going to be pissed, you know. You
do