Page 78 of Rich Girl
My fingers loosen up around the handles, and the bag drops to the ground with a loud thud, along with the jack and the clipboard.
Police cars surround us from every which way, the tires tearing into the dirt from the fields surrounding the road we are currently on. The sirens are impossibly loud and the lights blinding, to the point where it is almost impossible to see the dark sky above.
“Get on the ground! Hands behind your back!”
I follow the directive and place my hands behind my back while my face is being pushed harder into the ground. Handcuffs are placed around my wrists before I have time to react in any way. They pat my entire body, removing my cell phone, wallet and pocketknife, before they pick me off the ground and place me onto my feet.
“This has got to be a mistake,” I inform them when I finally come face to face with a person. “I’m not your guy for whatever the hell this is.”
Everyone has a mask on, and I can only see their eyes. It’s like I am in a spy movie. I glance around, hoping that I can reason with one of them. When I notice a sheriff’s deputy stepping from around the group surrounding me, I let out a sigh of relief. Unfortunately, it is short lived.
“Ray Parker?” he asks for confirmation.
“Yes, that’s me. I…”
“You are under arrest for aggravated assault and kidnapping of Hayden Benedict. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say may and will be used against you in a court of law. You have a right to an attorney…”
I am in complete and utter shock. My world goes blank, and I don’t fight it when they march me to a police car. On the way there, like in a dream, I pass the guy who called for service tonight. He smirks at me, satisfaction obvious in the expression on his face.
When the officer walking me to the patrol car places a hand on my head, I just bend over and sit in the car. There is still a lot of action outside, but nothing registers anymore.
I tell myself that this is a misunderstanding, and that what they gave me as the reason for my arrest is not what I think I heard.
You are under arrest for aggravated assault and kidnapping of Hayden Benedict.
The words are on a loop inside my head. How did this happen? Is this something that she plotted with her friends? Because it is obvious this guy who called for a fake flat tire knows her. Is this what rich people do when they’re bored?
I try to tell myself that someone must’ve misunderstood Hayden’s motives for being in New York. But the reality is that I am in the back of a police car, being hauled to the county jail where I hope they’ll allow for me to at least make a phone call. I don’t know much about situations like this one, but you are allowed to one phone call, right? Isn’t that what they say in the movies?
My mind spins as I try to think who I should call. I do have an attorney on retainer, but that’s for business purposes. The only thing he could help me with would be to find me a criminal attorney.
“Fuck,” I mutter to myself. This is a cluster of major proportions.
The ride to the county jail is not as long as the drive it took me to get here. For a second, I find myself amused by the fact that they’ll need to call in for a towing service on my towing truck. The guys at the shop will have a field day with that.
All joking inside, these are some serious allegations they threw at me. While I obviously know they’re not true, it’ll take a while to prove it.
“We’ll have to book you first,” the officer driving the vehicle tells me when he pulls into the parking lot at the jail. “They’ll take your fingerprints and mugshot before you go into a cell.”
He gives me a sympathetic smile, but there’s not much he can do. We met before when I got called at scenes of accidents. Neither one of us expected to meet again under these circumstances.
“Am I allowed to make a phone call?”
“Yeah, don’t worry. We’ll get you someone here,” he assures me.
The next hour is spent with them doing what he explained to me in the car. They take my fingerprints, a mugshot, then they remove the laces on my boots and belt on my jeans.
“Who did you want to call?” the officer from earlier asks me softly as he walks me to a cell.
“Uh…”
I am thrown off for a second. I don’t know who to call since I’ve never thought I’d ever have to make a phone call like this. I don’t have family to call, and I obviously can’t call Hayden, not that she’s my emergency contact or anything.
“Fuck.” I repeat the word over and over.
“A friend? An attorney?” the officer pushes for more information. It’s almost like he’s trying to help me.
“Uh, Cal Prentice,” I finally say. We’ve become closer friends in the last six months or so. Now it’s time to put this friendship through a test of fire.
