Chapter 45
Carter was dragged into Chief Tolland’s office by his arresting officer, Kyle Jones. The cuffs were removed and Tolland instructed him to take a seat across from his desk, and for Jones to close the door.
After leaving the restaurant, Carter had taken off in the Coldblooded Cruiser-a luxury tour bus that was the closest thing Carter had to an official residence. Back in the day, the Cruiser was a destination of debauchery for his groupies and followers that made Vegas seem like a trip to the monastery. But he had matured greatly since those days, he thought to himself, as he placed his feet up on the chief’s desk and listened to the many charges against him-disturbing the peace, assaulting JP Warner, and taking a thirty-five foot bus for a drunken joyride through town.
Jones had a superior look on his face that Carter wanted to rip off. In fact, he wanted to remove his entire head. But as he attempted to get up to confront him, he winced in pain. He would have to take care of Jones in a battle of wits, instead of his preferred method-a battle of fists.
Tolland demanded he remove his feet from his desk. He almost equaled Carter in size, and commanded respect, reminding him of his military father. JP had spoken highly of him. The two men glared at each other, before Tolland asked, “What do you have to say for yourself?”
“First of all, I’m not sure when knocking the snot out of JP Warner became a crime. Who in this room hasn’t wanted to do that? You should be sending me flowers.”
“I don’t know how you conduct yourself in other places, Mr. Carter, but Rockfield is not the Wild West, or worse, an arena for professional wrestling. We don’t take the law into our own hands in this town.”
Carter shot a look at Jones. “Oh, you don’t?”
Jones looked ready for round two, but this was Tolland’s show. “We can debate the merits of your assault in a court of law, but drinking and driving is much less subjective, once you’ve received a Breathalyzer test.”
“I am not, and never was drunk. I have been falsely accused.”
This finally sent Jones over the edge. “Stop the lies! I saw you consume at least eight drinks in under an hour.”
“How do you know what I was drinking?” Carter fired back.
“People in the next state knew what you were drinking! You interrupted everyone’s dinner!”
“You’re just mad because that hot number you were with was checking me out.”
“Enough!” roared Tolland. “Jones, you sit. Mr. Carter, Officer O’Rourke will now take you for your Breathalyzer.”
Carter was not going to make it easy on them-he needed to stall for time. He declared any physical or eye tests at the scene inadmissible, claiming he wasn’t made aware of his right to refuse. He added that he wouldn’t take further sobriety tests without a confidential call to his attorney. His claims were legally accurate, and Tolland knew it. Unlike Jones, he didn’t play by his own rules.
Once Carter’s requests were met, he continued to stall, requesting a sample of his breath be preserved for independent testing. He also demanded to be released for an independent blood test following the completion of the necessary paperwork. It made him seem like a guilty man seeking a technicality, and as a bonus, it looked as if Officer Jones might blow a gasket.
When he ran out of material, Carter headed off for his test. He returned fifteen minutes later with the results. They ran the test twice. Both times Jeff Carter registered a zero point zero. He had no alcohol in his system.
Carter smirked. “I guess I’ll be on my way.”
Jones was livid. He pointed an angry finger in Betsy O’Rourke’s direction, accusing her of doctoring the test, and made the claim that she’d altered the test because she’d succumbed to Carter’s charm.
Tolland admonished Jones, declaring that he had no proof that the test wasn’t properly administered, or that Carter had any charm. He then turned his attention to the accused. “Not so fast, Mr. Carter, I’m going to hold you on the assault charge.”
Before he could pretend to argue, a knock rattled the door. They looked up to see Officer Williams, who informed the room that the bus had been towed to police headquarters and searched. He held two objects in his hands. “Chief, we found this camera in the bus. We think it possibly taped the entire arrest.”
“Oh yeah, I forgot to tell you guys-I’ve been taping my life for a documentary for GNZ. I’ll bet it caught the whole thing … looks like I’m busted.”
Jones squirmed in his chair like he had been attacked by a swarm of nerves.
Carter grinned from ear to ear. He placed his feet back on the desk and announced, “This should be good-I love reality TV. Can somebody make some popcorn?”
Tolland cleared the room of everyone except Jones and Carter, closed the blinds, and played the video on his computer.
It began with Carter driving the bus, noticing a police car in full pursuit from behind. He looked into a camera and recited the alphabet to prove his sobriety. He missed the “Q” and “R,” but he appeared sober. He just didn’t know the alphabet.
The camera angle then changed to outside the bus, where Officer Jones approached the driver’s side after the bus had pulled over. Jones demanded that Carter step out of the vehicle. Carter responded with, “If you want a ride, try putting a jackhammer up your ass.”
Jones didn’t look happy at the comment, but it didn’t make what he did next any less shocking. He pulled out his gun and shot out the window of the bus, glass shattering everywhere.
This time Carter took the threat seriously, and exited the bus with his hands up. After Jones handcuffed him, he began mercilessly punching Carter in the ribs. He fell to the ground, where Jones sent vicious kicks into his midsection.
Tolland had witnessed enough and angrily ejected the disc from the computer.
Carter grimaced as he re-lived the worst ambush he’d been involved with since an unfortunate encounter with his old nemesis Rowdy Roddy on Piper’s Pit. But he still found joy in his victory.
“I thought this wasn’t the Wild West and you play by the rules here. Or worse … professional wrestling.”
Chapter 46
The Hastings Inn shrunk in the rear-view mirror as Gwen and I drove off in the Rockfield Gazette van.
Jones lived in a remote north section of town not far from the restaurant. The drive would only take five minutes. I sat in the passenger seat, unable to take my eyes away from Gwen’s long legs as she alternated between gas-pedal and brake.
Her attention was split between the road and the cut just above my left eyebrow. She reached her hand over to gently wipe a spot of blood, and asked again, “Are you okay, JP?”
“I’m fine,” I responded curtly.
“What’s wrong? This was your idea, if you remember.”
“Nothing,” I said. But I think jealousy had gotten the better of me. When I saw her in the restaurant with Jones, images filled my head of Stephen DuBois taking Gwen Delaney to swanky Manhattan restaurants, while I ducked bombs in some war torn country nobody ever heard of.
“I’ve known you since you were five years old, JP-I can tell when something is bothering you.”
I decided to evade. The more things change… “What do you guys talk about on a date?”
She smiled. “We don’t talk, JP. We’re at that great stage of the relationship where it’s just sex, sex, sex.”
I suddenly understood the term “acid reflux.”
Our arrival saved me a response. Gwen turned off her lights as we drove up Evergreen Street. We then came upon a long, sloping gravel driveway.
She stopped the car in the middle of the dark, lonely road and explained the battle plan. “About fifty feet down the driveway it splits like a fork. The left leads to Kyle’s house, but we will take the right to his neighbors’ home, the Walkers. They are on vacation, so we will park at their house and walk through the wooded area separating the homes”