Look but Don't Choke

Chapter 25

      We were at the police station before the seven AM traffic could bottleneck the I95. Driving up there was surreal without the usual legion of commuters clogging up traffic. Fog still clung to the air, graying the skyline as we drew closer to downtown. The only thing visible was two out the five skyscrapers that were just tall enough to breach the haze. The engine had hummed softly as we drove, Manny up ahead in the unmarked car and Harley and I drowning in silence until his voice broke through my thoughts, "Is it me, or was that cop mad at you?"

      "It's probably just you."

     He didn't say anything the rest of the way, but I could feel his eyes rake over me every other half mile, not in anger or judgement, just curiosity. I let the silence simmer between us until we finally pulled up to the police station. Manny was waiting for us at the door, his face still a mask of professionalism.

     As he led us through the station he laser-focused on Harley, "...It won't take too long."

     "Are they going to be able to see me?"

     "Oh no. It's a photo-lineup. We're going to show you some pictures of the suspects and just see if you recognize anyone. Then ask a few questions and you're good."

     "How long will it take?"

     Manny's tone was calm, pleasant even,"Not long. Thirty--maybe forty-five minutes."

     They went on like that for a while, chatting it up like old friends. I think Manny even managed to produce a tepid joke. He ignored me until it was time to take Harley to look at the line-up, that's when he threw me an obligatory glance over his shoulder, not an ounce of good humor left in him.

     "You," he said at me. "Wait at my desk."

     "Uh...okay," There wasn't much else to say to him at that point so I obeyed and sat down with my hands folded across my lap like an obedient child. He left me there to attend to Harley and I passed the time by watching the second hand tick it's way around the face of a wall clock.

     What would I say to him when he got back? How am I supposed to explain myself? Ultimately there was little I could do, he'd caught me red handed. It wouldn't have been any worse even if he'd literally caught Harley with his hands up my skirt. Hell, he almost did. Ignoring the mild chatter around me I looked down at myself; the rumpled shirt, my skirt still trying to hike up my thighs, my bed-head....I was toast and I knew it.

     By the time I looked at the clock again I wasn't any closer to coming up with an excuse. Eventually I spotted him walking back, his footsteps confidant as usual only more dense as if he was dragging his feet. He landed heavily into a cheap office chair, leaned back like he had all the time in the world, and stared.

     His deep-set brown eyes bore through me, no doubt thinking of every name he could call me in the book. When his mouth opened, I braced myself, but he only exhaled a tense breath and kept staring as if he didn't know what to say.

     "It wasn't what it looked like," the words tumbled out in a soft whimper, just low enough that no one else could hear and just high enough for him to absorb the complete bullshit coming out of my mouth. "I was just in the neighborhood and I stopped by and--"

     And what? My brain raced to think of a suitable excuse to my behavior but it came up short.

     "I'm sorry," I said in defeat.

      He cleared his throat. "How long has this been going on? The whole time?"

     "Not long. Just this last week."