When the front of the car rocks forward, I press my foot on the gas and race to the stop sign. Chad is too busy looking down at something in his hand to notice me. The second he glances up, I flip on the lights and turn down his street.
That’s when his gaze hits the rearview mirror, and the brake lights go off. He’s going to run. Dumbass. It’s not like I don’t know who he is and where he lives. I squeeze my fingers around the steering wheel.
But Chad wasn’t ever the brightest kid in school. He was the quintessential bully that pushed kids around for their money, coats, and shoes. He didn’t care if a kid was stuck out in the cold with nothing to keep him warm. Hell, he’d steal a kindergartener’s crayons.
If he could eat it, sell it, barter it, or just plain make a kid cry, he was taking it. But getting A’s in classes. Not unless he stole someone’s test and put his name on the top of it. It’s a shock that he’s not behind bars.
The brake lights flip on as his arm shifts upward, jamming the gearshift into park. A part of me is deflated that he didn’t run. If someone deserves to have his long run of being an asshole ended, it’s Chad.
Once the cruiser is in park, I open the door, placing my hand on the butt of my gun while simultaneously popping off the strap and sliding out as he gets out of his vehicle and slams his door shut.
“What’re you doing on this side of town, asshole?” His chest heaves as his hands curl into fists at his sides. One second later, he stalks two steps toward me.
“My job.”
Chad’s neighbor, the one I spoke to the other day, opens the front curtain and looks outside. Her hand is plastered to her ear as she talks into her phone. Here’s to hoping if I need backup, it comes in the form of a nice neighbor lady calling 911.
“Please,” he scoffs. “You’re a fucking wannabe cop. A fucking loser.”
“Is that so?” My jaw aches as I grind my teeth. Don’t let him get to you. I inhale slowly. Unfortunately, that’s easier said than done.
When I take in his long, greasy hair, pit marked face, and dingy clothing, all I see is the jerk who de-pants a sixth grader during our senior year. It wasn’t a simple yanking down of the pants, laughing, and walking off.
No, it was a knocking the boy down, ripping off his shorts and underwear, and leaving him clutching his privates in the middle of the hallway.
Chad was tossed out of school after that incident and never graduated, but the damage was done. The kid was humiliated and moved away, and Chad Whitlock has had it out for me ever since.
“Yeah.” He cracks his knuckles. First the right hand. And then the left. “I’m going to get you canned for harassment. You’ve been harassing my family members as well.” He lurches forward, striding step after step.
I’ve pulled my gun at a crime scene before, but I’ve never had to shoot a weapon. And I don’t want to today.
“Take a step back.” I raise my hand, palm facing toward him. “That’s close enough.” My hand itches on the holster. In asecond, I could have my gun out and pointed at him. The curtain in Laura Barron’s front window slips down as she steps out of the frame.
“Pussy,” he smirks. “You were always a pussy. Too chicken to fight. Are you afraid to ruin your good looks?”
The front door of Chad’s house opens and Mackenzie steps onto the front porch. “Chad, what’re you doing?”
“None of your fucking business. Get back into the house,” he spits out without taking his attention off me.
“Let Officer Thompson be. He’s just doing his job.”
“What’s it to you? Is he your secret fuck buddy? You givin’ that ass up while I’m out of town?” His head snaps toward her.
My radio announces my location. Laura must’ve called in for my rescue. I’ll have to thank her later.
“You’re a fucking slut as it is. Why not add another loser to your roster?”
“Calm down, Chad.” Mackenzie raises her hands in defense. “You know your dad wouldn’t approve if he heard you were talking shit to a police officer, and you know his snitches will hear about it. And God forbid you end up in prison. Your dad will–”
“Shut the fuck up.” Chad’s chin tips out, but his shoulders relax a fraction. What in the fuck does Troy do to these kids that even from a 6’ x 8’ cell over three hours away, he wields this much control?
“Listen, Chad, there’s no need to be hasty.” I shift my hip away from Chad so that if I must draw my weapon, my shooting stance will place the barrel directly in front of him.
“I saw you getting into your vehicle. The vehicle that you received a ticket for driving without proper registration and insurance. I was stopping by to see if you’d updated your registration, and to remind you the office hours at the courthouse if you hadn’t had the opportunity yet.” I tip my head toward the supped-up Cutlass in the driveway. “I noticed your pickup has updated tags.”
“It does.”
“Then maybe you should drive that for now.”
