Page 25 of Shifting Years
"So, youaren'tin a ditch somewhere. I've got the whole force looking for you boy, because someone reported your car smashed against a tree." He spoke to me, but his gaze lingered on Mike, already sizing him up. The interrogation followed, like an explanation of why I was way out there. Telling him I had to see the guy who had his mouth around my dick wasn't an option.
He stepped forward, smelling my breath for alcohol before checking for bloodshot eyes. He grabbed Mike's backpack. "This your dealer?"
"No, it's not like that."
My father tore through the backpack, not caring about the books and what looked like a diary.
"Hey, man!" screamed Mike. "You can't grab my stuff. That's like unreasonable search and seizure."
Dad ignored him, focused instead on the rolled-up joint. "Boy, you're under arrest."
***
"Badass!" Kim sipped tea and gave Mike a lingering thumbs up. "Most of the great punk bands and singers got thrown in jail too, you know."
"I've been on both sides of metal bars, more often than I like and it's not fun," said Mike. "Is this what your Alpha's worried about? You getting arrested?"
"He saysmyclubs are violent, but he loves country music. Why are those places okay? Do you know how many fights happenthere? They have sawdust on the floor to soak up blood!"
"Jail isn't a place for anyone to end up. Trust me, I know. I'm the son of a policeman and someone who stopped being anyone's child long ago." It's said Alphas don't cry, but that's not true. Yet, the tears were long dried and buried under decades of experience and a whole lot of pain.
"We went to jail," I said. "It led to me losing someone important."
***
Chapter Ten
June 1969
Mike
We rode in silence to the police station, with me in the backseat behind the metal mesh. Todd's father had the same aura as the governors on television who wanted permanent martial law or free rein to shoot college protesters.
He said nothing and split his attention between driving and staring at me in the rearview mirror through his thick glasses. It felt like a trick to sweat me out.
We stopped, and he tightened the handcuffs once I got out. There were none on Todd. Either the sheriff's son never got in trouble or arresting his kid would be a scandal.
He pushed me into a small office as officers stared, then quickly looked away. Todd took a seat on a wooden chair and his father sat me down with a shove. He placed the joint on his desk next to a book filled with intricate, erotic drawings. The two muscled men in leatherwear on the cover pretty much advertised the book's contents.
Todd explained how I was returning his wallet, hopefully diverting his father's attention from what I carried.
It didn't work.
"Where did you find it, boy?" he asked me.
"On the street."
"Where, exactly?"
"Bar area."
"Whatkindof bar?"
"The kind that serves alcohol."
His jaw tightened. "License?"
"In my backpack, where I kept Todd's."
