Page 72 of Make Me Sin (Bad Habit 2)
Then my father relaxes slightly and does this thing with his head, a jerky upward tilt of his chin I’ve never seen him make before. It looks suspiciously like a gangster greeting and a wordless acceptance, all in one.
Or maybe I’m making it up. I probably have a head injury in addition to everything else.
Officer Garcia asks, “Mister . . . ?”
“Edwards.” A.J. steps into the room. When the male officer takes an involuntary step back, I try not to smile.
“Mr. Edwards. We’d like to speak to you about the incident last night. Your attorney has requested he be present.”
A.J. looks at my father, then at me, then at the officers. He nods.
“Why don’t we go to the commissary and let Ms. Carmichael rest—”
“That won’t be necessary.” My father interrupts Officer Lawrence with a pointed look. I’m not sure what’s going on, until he adds, “I’m sure Mr. Edwards is comfortable giving his statement right here.”
Then I get it. The police are trying to separate us, to see if our statements match. Or at least my father thinks that’s what’s happening. If it’s true, the officers make no indication one way or another. They motion for A.J. to take a seat in one of the uncomfortable-looking plastic chairs by the window, but he opts to stand, announcing this fact by staying put and crossing his massive arms over his chest.
It’s clear from his stance and his glower that he’s not a big fan of the police.
After ten minutes of questioning, during which I sink farther and farther into the bed, soreness and a bone-deep fatigue setting in to every crevice of my body, Officer Lawrence asks A.J., “And after you left Ms. Carmichael with the neighbor and instructed him to notify 91
1, what happened?”
My eyelids, which had been drifting shut, snap wide open. My heart begins to pound.
This is the part where they arrest A.J. for aggravated assault on a police officer.
Without taking his unflinching gaze from Officer Lawrence, A.J. says, “Then I readjusted his expectations of living a long, pain-free life.”
Officer Lawrence, clearly not the brightest bulb, asks, “The neighbor?”
“No. The piece of scum who beat my girl.”
Officer Garcia sends me a sympathetic, over-the-shoulder glance. I breathe a tiny bit easier, seeing that look, but then rewind to the part where A.J. called me his girl, and suffer a minor heart attack.
Meanwhile, my father watches A.J. like a hawk tracking a meal. He looks more than a little scary.
“So just to be clear, you’re saying you beat him up. You’re the person who inflicted the physical damage to Officer Cox that necessitated his emergency surgery.”
Before A.J. can answer the question my father interjects, “No one said anything of the sort. Additionally, not only was Officer Cox off duty at the time of the incident, and in plain clothes, there’s no evidence my client knew he was a police officer.”
Officer Garcia consults her notes. “According to Ms. Carmichael, Officer Cox was incapacitated when she left the apartment, due to her copious application of pepper spray to his face.” She looks at A.J. “Is that correct?”
“Incapacitated? No. He was still able to form a sentence. He told me to go fuck myself. After that, he was incapacitated.”
My father sighs. “All right. We’re done here. Officers, thank you very much. If you have any further questions, here’s my card.” He produces two business cards from his breast pocket, hands them over, and opens his palm toward the door, a clear indication of the direction they should head.
Officer Lawrence turns and walks out like an obedient child. Officer Garcia, however, lingers behind. Her sharp brown eyes assess the three of us, not unkindly, but not in a friendly way, either. I get the sense she’s trying to decide whether or not to say something she might regret.
“When he wakes, Officer Cox may very well want to press charges.”
My father calmly says, “That stupid fuck is going to be facing so many charges of his own, he won’t have time to think about anything else.”
Garcia slowly nods, not rankled in the least by hearing my father’s unflattering description of her coworker. She looks at A.J. “Mr. Edwards, I’d like a word with your attorney.”
A.J. shoots a glance to my father, whose face reflects nothing, not a hint of surprise or worry.
The former Tommy Two-Time says with perfect composure and civilized sincerity, “Of course, Officer Garcia. Anything to assist our fine police department.”
