Free Ransom by Denise Mathew Page B

you….”  
    There was another wracking cough then came words that chilled me to the bone.  
    “I’ll send you an angel to let you know that I’ve made it to heaven.”  
    There was a loud gurgle, a last heaving breath, then absolute silence.

6. RANSOM

    The cops were on me in seconds as if I was in the wrong. Somehow the guys that had attacked me, including Rick, had recovered enough to slink off into the darkened alley. And with Charity gone too, I had no one to back me up and say that I was the one who had been attacked.  
    “Shit,” I said in a quick breath.  
    It seemed impossible for things to get any worse than they already were. But even as I thought it, I knew that they could. I was shocked at how rapidly everything had shifted from having hot sex, to being attacked and now trying to explain myself to the cops.
    “Put your hands over your head and kick any weapons that you have on your person toward us,” a police officer said. He was short and stumpy with a shock of grey hair that had been gelled into spikes. When he trained his gun on me, I didn’t waste any time doing exactly what he said .
    “I don’t have any weapons on me,” I said.
      Even as I spoke the words I realized that I wasn’t exactly telling the truth; I had a knife strapped to my right calf. I hadn’t thought about the it because in my opinion it wasn’t actually a weapon, more of a sentimental piece. Ma had given me the miniature Swiss army knife for my last birthday before she had died. I had loved it so much that I had bought a holster for it and always wore it strapped to my lower calf. The pocket knife, much like the Legos, had become one of my most valuable possessions. Unlike the building blocks, the pocket knife was multi-purposed, serving as a can and bottle opener, a cork screw as well as countless other tasks. Even with the blade extended it was still only six-inches in length, not exactly a deadly weapon, but I wasn’t so sure the cops would see it as harmlessly as I did.  
    The taller of the two officers, who seemed to be in his mid-forties with piercing green eyes and hair as black as night, spun me around roughly. I stumbled, then took a few sidesteps to regain my balance. I clearly was still more than a little drunk. He rapidly patted me down. It didn’t take long for him to find the knife holster. I sighed hugely, knowing that things had just gotten a hell of a lot more complicated.  
    “He’s got a weapon,” the officer who had searched me said.
      He confiscated the knife, placing it in a plastic evidence bag that he had retrieved from his pocket. My heart fell, not only because I was in a whole heap of trouble, but because I couldn’t lose the knife. It was a touchstone to yesterday, something that allowed me to remember how much my mother had meant to me, and how her loss felt like a wound that would never heal. Unbidden thoughts of Ma and the day she had died swirled through my mind as the officer recited my rights.  
    “You just bought yourself a night in lock-up,” the policeman said after he had finished. I swallowed a few times, trying to formulate a sensible response to his statement, nothing came.
    I felt the handcuffs snap around my wrists, not a first for me. A wave of nausea surged through me when I imagined how pissed Pa was going to be. With the show literally hours away, not to mention that once again our puritanical image might get tarnished, I knew I was in deep shit.
      The cops corralled me forward. I had been arrested a few times before, for public fights and other misdemeanors, but so far nothing had stuck and I had only had a slap on the wrist. It seemed ironic that the one time I was completely innocent could potentially be the one instance that left a mark on my perfect record.
    Though I had suffered handcuffs before, it always made me feel embarrassed at being paraded down the sidewalk like a common criminal. I was already beginning to regret hooking up with Charity.