“And what are you doing,” Chip said, seizing him in a headlock and bringing him low, “driving around drunk when you’re not even any fucking good at it, you stupid little prick, we were following you the last half-mile, we saw you swerving —”
Carver struggled in his grasp. “What do you mean, you werefollowingme?”
Chip let him go. “Mom called me when you were losing it. I figured you’d make a run for it, so I called Tommy and had him meet me. He patrols around here Saturday nights.”
“Keeping you all safe and sound,” Rizzuto said. He adopted a serious posture and started poking Carver in the chest with a thick forefinger, to Carver’s displeasure. “Seriously — you can’t be out here drinking and driving. A few beers is alright, but police aren’t as dumb as you think, alright? I can tell you’re drunk. You think I don’t see drunk people almost every day? And you know how serious this shit is? I was just on a parkway scene a few weeks ago, drunk guy doing one-forty flew off the road and went airborne into a ravine. You know what that looked like inside the car? Like a fucking Hefty bag full of meat exploded, okay?”
“Jesus,” Carver said, making a face. “I was going fifteen miles an hour.”
“Yeah, that’s how it starts, pal. Then next time you think, hey, it’s okay, nothing bad happened last time. Get it?”
“I get it.”
Chip was stifling a laugh. “You actually talk like that?” he said to Rizzuto. “You say ‘pal’ and shit?”
“That’s just what we say when we want to say ‘motherfucker’,” Rizzuto explained as he handed Carver back his license and registration.
Chip shook his head. “Alright, I got it from here,” he said. “I’ll drive him home. Thanks, man.”
They hugged and dapped each other up. Rizzuto patted Chip hard on the back, then returned to his cruiser, staring Carver down and pointing at him as he did. Carver allowed Chip to herd him over to the passenger side door of the Maybach and put him inside. He sank into the plush seat and leaned his head back, utterly spent.
Chip got in and started the Maybach up. “Oh, this is smooth,” he said when the engine kicked on. “Beautiful girl. You want to go for a little joyride?”
“Only if you promise to drive us into a ravine.”
“Bitch bitch bitch, moan moan moan.” Chip pulled out, passing the stop sign and making the requisite right turn. “What happened now, what’s the big disaster?”
“I don’t even think you would get it.”
“You know, you always talk to me like I’m this idiot, but you do realize I’m more educated than you are? I have a JD, that’s a terminal degree. Call me when you get a PhD in economics, numbnuts.”
“Please, dude,” Carver said, closing his eyes. “I wasn’t calling you an idiot. Christ. I was saying it’s shit you have no personal experience with.”
“Uh-huh.”
“And maybe if you were so smart you would have passed the bar.”
“I knew that was coming. You little prick, you try passing the bar.”
“I could.”
“Then do it.”
“I don’t want to go to law school,” Carver admitted, and Chip laughed. “You made it sound like hell.”
“I think it was. I blocked most of it out. Probably why I can’t pass the bar.”
Carver opened his eyes and looked at the window as they passed dark trees, low stone walls and stately houses. “I fucked everything up tonight.”
“What’s everything?”
“Uh… my marriage, my working relationship with my wife, my relationship with Mom and Dad.”
“Okay,” Chip said. “So — white-collar crime, or everybody found out you’re a homo?”
Carver sighed, his heart twisting as if wrung out by hand.
“Second one?” Chip said. “‘Cause that’s not actually a bad thing for you, seriously. I’ve known a lot of closeted homos, they were all miserable. The ones who are out are fine.”
