Page 118 of Petty's Crime

I catch a glimpse of Meat, his phone held toward me as he FaceTimes my dad. Despite how much I look though, I can’t see the person I expect to find. I’m not sure whether I’m disappointed or not. The evening’s going to end the same way.

The first set down, a ten-minute break to rush to the bathroom, down a drink, then it’s back on stage. We turn it up a notch and launch into our favourites. The claps and shouts become thunderous, well, at least from one part of the room.

Then we’re down to the final song, and I pause.

Petty doesn’t miss his cue. As the drumbeat starts, he pushes through the curtain and onto the stage. As he steps into the spotlight, my heart speeds up. He looks so good in his clean jeans, white shirt, and of course, his cut.

I put my hand to my mouth as if surprised, and the drumbeat slows and then stops.

Petty raises a microphone to his lips as he falls to one knee on the boards.

“RoseLyn, when I found you, I found the love of my life. I want you—”

“No!” The loud shriek needs no help from amplification, and all heads turn to swivel Britney’s way.

She tears off the wig she’s used very effectively to disguise herself and is pushing through the crowd, winding her way around tables. Tears, real or more likely fake, stream from her eyes.

Petty gets to his feet as she climbs up onto the stage.

“You don’t get to disrespect me,” she screams, throwing a punch into his face. I wince at the blood streaming from the side of his mouth. Britney’s arms flail as he moves back, his hands held up defensively.

But she doesn’t stop with him, turning and throwing herself toward me, her fingernails heading right for my skin and I brace…

She’s torn away from me and is held tight by Twister and Cuff. She’s screaming and shouting obscenities at us, clearly out of her mind with rage.

Another man, escorted by Red, comes to stand in front of the stage. He looks disgusted. “Call the cops,” he demands.

Oh, I might not have seen him before, but I know exactly who he is. He and his wife had been eager to accept an invite to a free night out tonight. He’s Britney’s parole officer and has seen for himself that she definitely isn’t obeying the rules.

The cops don’t take long to arrive. Bart had managed to get the casino to offer free tickets to law enforcement tonight, so the parole officer didn’t think it odd that he received one for himself. Though dressed up in their suits and off duty, they’ve come prepared for whatever the night might bring. Quickly, badges come out as well as handcuffs.

“I want her charged,” Petty says, but softly so as not to upset the paying guests.

“We’ll need your statement.”

Petty nods. “I’ll come to the precinct tomorrow.”

“You bastard! You set me up! You fuckin’ deserve to be in a box. I’m going to fuckin’ kill you—”

“Ma’am, I suggest you shut up,” one of the cops struggling with her advises. “You’re making it worse with these threats.”

Ignoring him, Britney screams, “You’re fuckin’ dead!”

It takes a moment to get her off the stage, and once she’s gone, the auditorium is so silent you could hear a pin drop.

“Ladies, gentleman, theys and them.” Bart takes the microphone. “I’d like to apologise for the interruption and get back to business. While Petty and RoseLyn get back to what was so rudely interrupted, the waitstaff will be coming around with free glasses of champagne for everyone.”

Just like that, the mood turns and becomes expectant.

A drum roll sounds, and Petty resumes his position on the floor. He doesn’t bother repeating what he already said, instead heading straight for, “Will you ride with me through life? Become my old lady and be my wife?”

The beat stops, and I let a theatrical pause linger, before putting him out of his misery and replying, “Yes.”

I’d had it planned in my head. I was going to jump into his arms. But despite Britney trying her best to ruin this moment, the earnest look on his face, the hope in his eyes, glues me to the spot.

He takes advantage, standing, taking my hand, and placing a gorgeous diamond ring on my finger. Then, reaches his free hand behind him, in an obviously rehearsed move, and takes what one of his brothers—I think it was Roller but couldn’t be certain as I’ve only eyes for my man—hands him. When he holds out a cut bearing the wordsProperty of Petty,I thread my arms into it.

Then we kiss to the sound of cheers and foot stamps, and that drumbeat starts all over again.

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