Page 117 of Riding the High

“Feeling better?” I ask.

He smirks—the snide motherfucker.

“Hey, Sheriff. Or should I say, soon-to-be Deputy?” heasks. “I’ll be feeling much better after your resignation letter is handed in. I’m guessing that’ll be by the end of the day?”

He points toward a cooler.

“Beer?” he asks, sipping his.

“Nah.” I grin and take a seat on one of the chairs at the dusty patio set. The table is littered with flyers and a few beer caps. “I wouldn’t share a beer with you if it were my last,” I tell him, extending my arms behind my head. I’m too relaxed and he’s hating it, but he does his best to fake his confidence.

“Why are you here?” he says slowly.

“Thought you’d never ask,” I reply with a wide smile. “You really had me over a barrel all night and all day. That is, until mywifetold me that, while she was waiting to bring me lunch, she noticed you rifling through the mailboxes.”

“So?” he says, folding his arms over his chest. “I’m allowed to get my mail. That’s not a crime.”

I look down. “That’s true. But the funny thing is that she said you were picking up mail from Box 2, which is my box.” I pause for a beat but don’t wait long enough for Brent to chime in. “And stealing my mail … now that is a crime.”

He gulps down a good portion of his beer. His plan is foiled and he knows it. But he hasn’t even heard the best part yet.

I stand and start to wander the overgrown yard.

“So then I got to thinking. What if those cameras I installed last month to catch the kids that keep spray-painting the side of the building couldalsorecord someone rifling through my mail through the side window?” I’m in full flow now and Brent is silent. “And the fucking craziest thing is, it can. Technology is so good these days, it even picked up my name on the envelope.”

I toss a thumb drive onto the table and stalk toward him, gripping him by the collar.

I keep my voice low as I look straight into his eyes. “Every day, right around the same time, there you are, rummagingthrough my mail when you think no one is looking, stuffing anything you think might be interesting into your pockets just so you can try to push me out of the job I earned, the job I’mgoodat.”

I let him go, giving him a little shove, and he slumps down on the chair below him. I reach into my pocket and toss another thumb drive on the table. I should’ve known this fucking guy was into nothing good when he was so adamant about monitoring me.

“Funny thing about cameras is they not only catch when you steal mail, they catch everything,” I say, nodding toward the second drive. “You remember Holly Shaw? The nineteen-year-old we brought in for possession? Meth, if I’m not mistaken.”

All the color drains from Brent’s already pale face as I continue.

“She was brought in last week again, after being picked up by Deputy Davis for soliciting at the Husk.” I mention the local truck stop off the highway, which is notorious for drug activity and prostitution.

Brent is a statue as I plough on. “You can have a look if you want to confirm. But I’m pretty sure this is her with you, early the next morning, right before you released her, no charges filed. Doesn’t show you doing anything corrupt per se, but it does show her getting up off her knees and leaving you to do your fucking pants up in the corner of the hallway.” I shake my head. “Guess you gotta know your camera angles, you sick fuck.”

It’s a video I can’t unsee. I stumbled across it while looking for proof that Brent was stealing my mail. It shows Brent’s back and bare ass at four a.m., and him moving out of the way to reveal Holly standing and straightening herself out, wiping her mouth.

“Sexual favors for no charges laid? Seems like something the town might care about a lot more than my marriage,” I say. “Andnow it makes a lot of sense why you’re so hellbent on proving I’m doing something wrong. To cover up your own wrongdoings.”

Brent chucks his beer bottle across the patio. It shatters everywhere and Gemma comes to the door.

“S-so what are you gonna do about it?” his voice booms, but he’s waiting for his fate. He’s all bark and no bite. What’s meant to intimidate me, I just find funny. I rub my jaw as I think.

“Youare going to resign and get the fuck out of here. You will never work as a cop again, and if I find you anywhere near the station, Ginger or Mabel, so help me God.”

He snatches up the thumb drives and puts them in his pocket. I have two other copies if he tries to pull anything—Bev made sure of that.

“You … you’re gonna tell them anyway. You can’t make me leave town,” he barks.

I move closer to him and flex my fists to keep calm.

“Brent, you have no idea what I’m capable of when it comes to the wellbeing of my wife and my daughter,” I say.

He shrinks with my words a little more, knowing I mean them. He knocks his beer bottle off the table and it smashes on the patio before he storms past me into the house, and I follow behind.

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