Free Apocalypse Atlanta by David Rogers Page B

cruiser and came up the steps.
    “Alright.” the black cop said finally, plucking the driver’s license out of the clip and handing it back to Darryl.  While Darryl put it away, the cop showed the clipboard to the white one, who was silent as his eyes flicked down the form.  Darryl waited, and finally the white cop nodded impatiently.
    “Read through this, tell me if there are any errors or omissions, anything you think needs to be in the report.” the black cop said, holding the clipboard out to Darryl.  “She’s high as anyone I’ve ever seen right now, but once she sobers up she might decide to try and put this on you.  So it’s to your benefit that everything that happened be listed here.”
    Darryl took the clipboard and removed his shades again, squinting at the form.  The cop’s handwriting was a little sloppy, but his words were concise and easy to follow.  Darryl took longer to finish than the white cop had, and he looked up when he was finished.  “That’s how it went down.” he said.  “Don’t see anything left out.”
    “Good, sign there then.” The cop said, handing over the pen and pointing at the bottom.
    Darryl signed, then surrendered the pen and clipboard.  One of the carbon copies was torn off and given to him, and then both cops headed for the cruiser.  Darryl watched them get in, shut off the lights, then reverse out of the parking lot.  As they accelerated away, he heaved a sigh of relief and folded the report form before putting it into his wallet.  Then he looked at the key in his hand, then back at the building.
    “Damnit.” he muttered, heading up the walk.  As he mounted the stairs to the second floor, he threaded the key back into place on his ring.  When he got to his door, he found it standing open, and stepped inside gingerly.  The lights in the living room were on, and he looked around expecting to see a mess.  But aside from the low table in front of his couch being knocked out of place, and the ashtray and remotes for his entertainment center having been spilled on to the rug, it wasn’t that bad.  He closed the front door, then cursed again.
    “Fuck!”  The inside of the door had a pair of wide depressions on it, just above chest height, where the painted wood surface was cracked and slightly cratered.  He peered at the damage in dismay, finally deciding it looked like Bethany had been beating on it with her hands, repeatedly.  From the looks of the door, she might have eventually gotten through, but it would have taken her awhile.  And that was a solid wood door too, not one of those flimsy interior ones that had a skeleton framework overlaid with thin veneer.
    That thought caused him to glance down the hallway, and he hastened towards his bedroom, where he stared in dismay at the door there.  “That whack bitch!” he cursed again, looking at the splintered mess of the door.  Part of it was still hanging from the hinges, but the majority of the door was lying in the hallway where it had fallen under Bethany’s assault.  He stepped over it and glanced at the bathroom, which was even worse.  It had split into several pieces, all of which were scattered on the carpet just in front of the doorway.
    Darryl felt his fists clenching, and reminded himself to relax.  He would have to get with someone to have both doors replaced; he knew better than to let the apartment complex do the work and add it to his rent.  He’d end up paying enough to replace the doors in half the building if he did that, plus they’d keep his security deposit whenever he moved out.  And there was no guarantee he’d be able to get the cost of the replacements out of Bethany, especially since she was going to be looking for work.  He’d see to that; no way he was going to let her keep working at the club after this.
    “And this weekend was looking so good too.” he muttered angrily, turning away from his bedroom.  Stomping down the hallway, he closed and locked the