Page 8 of Best Friends
“Is he your husband?”
“Ex.” She snorts, making her way down the rickety steps of the home. “Biggest mistake I ever made getting married to that asshole.”
“You’re no walk in the park yourself, babe,” the guy on the ground growls, spitting dirt out of his mouth. He’s still lying prone with Cheyenne straddling his legs.
“Don’t babe me,” the woman hisses, hands on her hips.
I clear my throat. “Uh… you said you have a gun, Ms…?”
“Alma Lynne. Yes. But don’t worry, it’s registered and locked away.” She meets my gaze, looking a little sheepish. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have mentioned the gun but he just gets me so riled up.”
“I understand.” I feel better now that I know the gun is locked away.
“I have a restraining order against him. But he gets high or drunk and thinks we need to talk. It usually goes downhill from there.” She scowls at the man lying in the dirt. “There’s nothing left to say, you lunatic. You need to just stay away.”
“This house is half mine,” he screeches.
She widens her eyes. “You’ve never contributed one cent to the mortgage.”
Cheyenne helps the guy sit up, and the front of his shirt and face are covered with dry grass and dirt.
“Don’t matter,” the guy shouts, “Community property, baby. It’s a beautiful thing”
“Are you divorced?” I ask the woman.
She nods. “Since we don’t have kids, thank God, we’re supposed to sell the place and split the money equally.”
I glance at the shack of a house behind her. The house sags like it’s given up. Peeling paint clings to warped siding, and the front porch leans to one side, half-swallowed by weeds. A broken window is patched with cardboard, and the roof looks like one good storm might take it away.
She cackles at my expression. “You’re wondering who in their right mind would want to buy this shit hole, right?”
I grimace. “I didn’t say that.”
“Your face did.” She grins, showing crooked teeth.
I have no idea what to say, so I keep my mouth shut.
She sighs. “None of the realtors want to bother listing this place, and even if they did, what would we even get for it? It would take more to fix it up than it will ever be worth.”
“It’s still half mine,” the man grumbles.
“All that means is you get half of nothing.” Alma shakes her head in disgust.
“Frankly none of this even matters because you violated your restraining order again, sir.” Cheyenne pulls him toward the patrol car. “I would worry about that first if I were you.”
Alma gives a weary sigh and meets my gaze. “I don’t care about the house. I just want him to stop coming by and scaring me like this.” Her lip trembles and that’s the first sign I’ve seen that she’s at all emotional about the situation.
“Well, we’re going to arrest him, so hopefully you’ll have at least a few days of peace.”
I feel bad that I can’t promise her more. I don’t know the guy’s record, and it all depends on which judge he ends up in front of. If he’s violated his wife’s protection order repeatedly,that elevates the charge to a felony. How severely he’s punished will depend entirely on the judge. Some will issue a fine. Others will throw him in jail.
“Thanks for coming all the same.” She sighs.
“If he is released, and he comes back again, don’t hesitate to call us,” I say.
“Yeah. For all the good it’ll do.” She turns and goes back inside, slamming the door behind her.
I slide into the car and give the perp in the back an irritable look. He’s now slumped against the window, looking morose. “You come back here again and you could end up in prison. Best thing you could do is to stay away and let your wife alone. Once the house sells, you’ll get what’s coming to you. But that won’t do you much good if you’re locked up.”
