“Just so you all know, I’m filming every bit of this on my iPhone, and my brother is doing the same from a different vantage point.”
Vahin nearly melted. Pat’s footsteps sounded over the sidewalk as she drew closer.
She continued, “Officers, am I to understand this bartender served alcohol to a minor? That is the issue, is that correct?”
Morris’s expression grew hard, his lips drawing into a thin line.
The other officer spoke. “Yes.”
Vahin could see instant fury wash over Morris, but he didn’t turn to look at his partner.
“I thought so.” Pat drew nearer, then stopped. “Believe me, I know how this goes. You write him a ticket, or warrant, or whatever, you hand it to him, and then he goes to court. He doesn’t get in your backseat. He doesn’t get touched by you anymore. And he definitely doesn’t require you to pull your gun.”
Over Morris’s shoulder, the other cop hastily slid his gun back into his holster.
Triumph sounded in Pat’s voice. “I’m not sure you understand me, Officer. This is being filmed. Right now, your hand is on Vahin’s elbow. You’re touching him, and he’s done nothing more than deserve a ticket. I suggest you go ahead and write it and be gone.”
Vahin finally glanced behind him, both marveling at Pat and afraid she was pushing things too far. Pat stood less than five feet away, high-heeled shoes planted firmly shoulder width apart, the frosted tips of her hair reflecting the lights, both hands holding her phone out in front of her as if she were the one holding a gun. Though her hands trembled, her voice didn’t.
“So what’s it going to be, Officers? A ticket or does this video of you touching Vahin and whatever happens next continue to stream live on YouTube?”
Morris’s grip dropped away. His eyes met Vahin’s with unexplained hate for several seconds, and then he moved back.
In less than three more minutes, it was over.
The officers got into their car and drove away.
Vahin crumpled the yellow ticket in his hand and stuffed it in his pocket as he turned to Pat, who still stood pointing her phone at him. He moved toward her. “I think you can stop live streaming now.”
Her voice finally started to shake. “I’m not live streaming. I have no idea how to do that.”
Despite himself, Vahin let out a laugh and closed the distance between them, lifted her phone, and wrapped her in his arms. “Was it even filming?”
She nodded against his chest. “Yeah, I think so, but Steven wasn’t actually at a window. He’s not even here. I followed you out.” A sob broke and her back shook.
Vahin pulled her tighter. “That doesn’t matter.” He felt a tear run down his cheek. “Thank you, Pat. I don’t know what would’ve happened—”
A door slammed, and there was more pounding of feet. Without releasing her, both Vahin and Pat angled toward the sound.
ManDonna bounded toward them, her beehive wig wobbling back and forth. “The show just ended, and Alex told me. Are you two okay?” She looked around, not waiting for their answer. “Where are they?”
Only then did Vahin notice ManDonna was barefoot, both of her stiletto-heeled shoes clutched in her hands like they were a pair of samurai swords. He had no idea why, probably because he was losing his ever-loving mind, but Vahin began to laugh. Laugh until he could barely breathe. Laugh until the tears truly fell, tears that had nothing to do with the laughter.
