Free Dead End Job by Ingrid Reinke Page A

signed that statement, right?” I had been happy to see him, but now was starting to lose it. “Do I need a lawyer or something? I don’t know any defense lawyers. I guess I could just find someone on Yelp, but I don’t really have any money to pay for it right now because I’m not getting paid until the 30.” I was nervously rambling. My heart was pounding. I started walking faster, away from him.
    “No, no, no! I’m just kidding around with you, Louisa,” he said, catching up to me and stopping me by putting both hands squarely on my shoulders. He turned me to face him and looked me in the eye. I didn’t breathe. “All kidding aside, I’m driving you home because you seemed pretty shaken up this morning, and I want you to be safe. It’s just a precaution, don’t worry about it.”
    “Oh, OK, thanks,” I said in a whisper. I felt hot tears forming in my eyes and looked down at the ground, embarrassed. Feeling dumb around this guy was getting to be a habit for me. I stepped away from him, blinked a few times and tried to recover. “I did have a pretty bad morning, and you’re being really nice. In fact, you can hold my purse again if you want.” I held my bag out to him in a lame attempt at humor.
    To my surprise, Rocky turned to me and smiled. Then he laughed a deep booming laugh that seemed to echo through the hallway. It was really a great laugh. It was infectious, and I started to giggle as well, not because what I’d said was really that funny, but because I was so relieved.
    “I think you can do it yourself this time, my dear. Don’t push it,” he said playfully and winked. We were both smiling when we got off of the elevator in the garage. He again opened the door for me on the passenger side of his cruiser, which was parked in the same spot we had left it. I like to think that he had been waiting for me at the station, knowing that I was not guilty and would need a ride home, not a ride to the city jail. It was a nice thought.
    As we drove through the city Rocky asked me questions about myself. He wanted to know where I grew up, what I studied in school, and where my family lived. I asked him how long he had been a police officer and he told me he was going on 12 years with the SPD, and before that he had served in the Air Force.
    As we drove along north on Highway 99, away from downtown, I realized that I had not told him where I lived, and said as much, but he smiled and said that the police department keeps pretty good records and for me not to worry about it. He told me that he lived across town in West Seattle, and liked to run along Alki beach during the summer months with his Rottweiler, Harry. I told him about my lame attempts to run around Greenlake, and he laughed again.
    When he pulled up to my apartment, he parked illegally in front and turned off the engine. He got out of the car before I could even pick up my bag and opened the door for me. We walked up to the front, still chatting, and he turned to me and put his massive hand on my shoulder.
    He looked me in the eyes sincerely. “If you need anything, let me know, OK? Here is my card with the department number, and I put my cell phone number on the back as well. Get some rest.”
    “Thanks Rocky,” I said. Surprisingly, I suddenly found myself fighting the urge to hug the big man. I was so grateful to be home, and the short car ride with Rocky had made me forget about Merit, Sarah, and the murder. The few minutes I’d spent with him had been strangely intense. I pushed away my impulse, thinking that it would probably be a little bit weird to throw my arms around this near total stranger, so I just smiled at him again, and then quickly broke eye contact.
    I rushed in the house and shut the door without looking back. By the time I’d climbed the two staircases up to my room and peered out the window, he had gone. I felt a surprising pang of sadness. I also didn’t know what to do with myself, so I did what every full-grown,