“I think so,” I reply, unsure if that’s the proper response. Wondering if I should request a lawyer. I’ve never been to a police station for any reason unrelated to my father’s job. I’ve been disciplined at school for skipping or for not turning in assignments on time. My dad doled out his version of punishments at home. But I’ve never actually been arrested or had any interaction with a cop who wasn’t a coworker of my dad’s.
“A Mr. Brett Nichols alleges an altercation took place between you and him on July 19, around 11 p.m., at Lucky’s Bar. Were you there that evening?”
“Yes.”
“Were you drinking?”
“No.”
Mason nods. “The bartender, Owen Powell, confirmed you weren’t served.” He flips to a new page. “Was Mr. Nichols drinking?”
“I think so. I’m not certain. He walked by our table after we arrived, and he was holding a beer then. I never actually saw him drinking.”
Another nod. “Now, for the altercation itself. Mr. Nichols alleges you approached him?”
I swallow. “That’s true.”
“Why did you approach him?”
“It looked like—he seemed to be bothering a friend of mine.”
“And that friend is?”
“I’d rather not say.”
Mason flips through more papers. “According to witness reports, it was Wren Kensington.”
I nod once.
“I need a verbal confirmation for the record, Sawyer.”
“That’s correct.”
“All right. So, you believed Mr. Nichols was harassing Ms. Kensington. Then what happened?”
“I went over there to tell him to leave her alone.”
“Did Ms. Kensington ask for your assistance?”
“I could tell he was making her uncomfortable. But, no, she didn’t explicitly ask me to get involved. We were across the room from each other.”
“What happened once you went over there?”
“I asked him to move away. Brett wasn’t listening. He got aggressive, was in my face. So … I hit him.” I shift in my chair, quickly adding, “Only once.”
“Reports stated Mr. Nichols fell to the floor. You only hit him once?”
I’m probably imagining it, but there’s a glimmer of what looks like amusement, maybe even pride, in his eyes. I wonder what my dad would think if he still worked here and quickly banish the thought.
“Correct.” I clear my throat. “I wasn’t trying to injure him. Just get through to him that I wasn’t fuc—I mean, kidding around.”
Mason closes the folder. “Thanks for coming down, Sawyer.”
I glance around the bare room. “That’s … it?”
“That’s it. Your statement was corroborated by other witnessstatements. Mr. Nichols was described as aggressive and volatile by multiple patrons. They also saw him drinking. That does not mean your response was warranted, but it doesn’t make him a credible witness either. After he was informed of that, Mr. Nichols opted to drop all charges. Lucky’s Bar also chose not to pursue the matter. I just needed to take your statement as part of the procedure before we officially closed the matter.”
Mason stands, holding a hand out to me. I stand, too, shaking it.
