Soul Mates (19 page)

The cop emerged from his car, standard marine buzz-cut, standard I’d-give-my-own-mother-a-ticket look on his face, and started towards Tyler’s car. Tyler rolled down the window. He figured the less he made the cop wait for anything, the happier he’d be. The officer stopped in front of his window and bent down a bit so he could look in the car. He surveyed the car quickly, flashlight in hand, first observing Jayson in the back seat, then Lilith in the front seat, who could not possibly look more bored, and then finally settled his eyes on the driver, Tyler.

“Evening officer,” Tyler greeted.

“License and registration,” the cop said robotically and without a shred of emotion.

“Sure. Can you get the registration out of the glove compartment, babe?” Tyler requested, trying his best to sound carefree. Lilith complied while Tyler fished through his wallet for his license.

“Can I ask what I did wrong, sir?” Tyler had it in his mind that if he showed, not impatience, that is not the correct word, but a desire to get down to what the officer wanted, why the cop pulled him over while he was driving along minding his own business, that that action might quell some of the suspicion that the cop most definitely had.

“Sure can, Tyler,” the officer answered as he was still looking at Tyler’s license with his flashlight trained on it. “There was a fire back there on Chelsea’s Circle. Owners of one of the houses I.D.’d your car and said they saw it speed away from the scene.”

How stupid does he think I am? People were asleep; they were ASLEEP. So let’s say that the explosion woke them up, by the time they jolted themselves out of bed, wiped the sleep from their eyes and ran to the window, we were already halfway down the street. Not to mention it’s the middle of the night and dark, and my car is a dark color. No one I.D.’d shit. The cop is just trying to read my reaction to his bullshit bad news, so you take it easy. You take her nice and easy, Ty.

As cool as a battle-tested veteran airline pilot, Tyler answered, “Well, officer, I’m really not sure how that could be. We just came from my buddy Jayson here’s house, and we were going to the bowling alley down the road; they have night bowling with music. So, I’m really not sure what happened, or who thought they saw my car by the scene, but it can’t be true.” Tyler was surprising himself. He was nervous, but when it came down to talking to the cop, he did not so much as stutter or mutter word-one. He was clear, articulate, and most importantly, confident. Tyler thought he saw disappointment on the cop’s face.

“I see. So you wouldn’t mind if I searched your vehicle then?” the cop asked.

“I don’t see why I would mind. I’m not sure what you’re looking for though; but be my guest,” Tyler answered immediately, as he shrugged his shoulders to complete the illusion.

“Superb. Everyone out of the car and have a seat on the curb there,” the officer ordered. The three of them did as was asked of them.

The police officer began to search the car, starting with the front seat. Tyler knew that there was nothing to find. He and his friends were not the drug type, so he was sweating absolutely nothing, until a thought burglarized his mind.

Match-heads.

Match-heads? So what? One of your buddies that was in your car one time smokes. It’s left over from that,
Tyler thought
.

I can see matches, but match-heads? What sense does that make
?
What the hell do I know about what my fictitious friend does with his or he
r
–
no “his”, definitely “his
”
–
matches?

As if the officer was privy to Tyler’s inner monologue, “Hey. Tyler is it? Why don’t you come on over here for a minute?”

All of Tyler’s confidence seeped right out of him from the leak that those words had sprung. He could feel himself becoming lighter than air as the confidence leeched through his skin and traveled up-up-and-away into the night air.

Lilith touched Tyler’s forearm in support before he left her side on the curb. All of his trepidation and anxiety left him at once, the absconding confidence sinking right back down to its host, as Tyler did as he was told. He felt fine, and since he had already somewhat suspected that he would be running into this little snafu, he was all the more prepared to be completely conversational about it.

Wow, that apprehension really turned tail on him.

“Yes, officer?”

“What’s that there?” the officer asked as he shined his flashlight to the floorboard of the car behind the passenger seat where stupid Jayson had the home-made firework stowed. Tyler took a close look, as if he had no idea what they were until he got right up close to it.

“They look like match-heads, officer,” Tyler said this without a hint of sarcasm. He was actually able to feign a tone of almost trivial concern. He was in control and knew that as long as he kept a level head, this would not escalate, regardless of the officer’s scare tactics that may work on fourteen year olds.

“You’re right. They 
do
 look like match-heads. Would you happen to know why there may be loose match-heads in the back of your car?”

“The only reason I can think of is my friend Steve Tappler. He’s a smoker and I gave him a ride home from prom a couple of weeks ago. God forbid he waits before he gets out of my car before he lights up. But I guess he was jonesing for his nicotine. Anyway, he was smoking in my car. That’s the only thing I can think of.”

“Match-heads? Come on son. I can see a whole match or two, but 
match-heads
? I’ve never seen a kid carry anything to light cigarettes or something else than a cheap Bic or Zippo,” the officer thought out loud.

“I don’t know what to tell you, officer. I’m just as stumped as you are,” and the finishing touch, “I 
do
 appreciate you pointing that out to me though; especially in the summer time. It gets awful hot in parked cars. With my luck, I would come out to nothing but a smoking car frame.”

“Yeah, don’t mention it, son, but we’re not done yet. Where’d you say you were all headed?”

“I said that we were coming from my friend’s hous
e–
” Tyler pointed his thumb behind him at Jayson.

“And what address would that be?” the cop asked. Before Tyler could answer, Jayson decided to pull his share of the weight.

“16 Centamore Ave., St. Anastasio.”

“I.D. me, son,” the cop countered and looked at Lilith, “you too, miss.”

Not sure if he should continue his story or not, Tyler decided he would. After all, he was doing great so far. “So, we came from Jayson’s house, and we were going to the bowling alley down the road. It’s pretty much the only thing open this late. They do the bowling with dark lights and lazers and crank the music late at night, like I said before.”

“Alright, well, why don’t you walk on down to the bowling alley, I’ll hold on to your licenses and give them a once-over, and make sure everything is on the up and up and I’ll come back to get you.” The officer was not just
suggesting
this as the next part of the group’s night; he was insisting upon it.

“Sounds like a plan. Let’s go, guys,” Tyler said to Lilith and Jayson. The officer got in his car and turned his interior light on, presumably going to work on their I.D.’s and seeing if there was anything he could do to ruin their night. The group began to walk to the two blocks down to the bowling alley.

“What a real suck-dick that cop was,” Lilith said.

“A what? Did you call him a ‘suck-dick’? That’s a new one,” Jayson chuckled.

“Yes. That’s what I called him. He has nothing better to do than bother us because we’re teenagers. People are so prejudiced against teenagers,” Lilith discoursed.

“Yeah, I know,” Jayson agreed, rubbing the back of his head.

Tyler could not help feeling dumbfounded by what he was hearing. 
Prejudiced against teenagers? We are guilty of what he thinks we’re guilty of, and the only reason that we aren’t sitting in the back of his police car right now, is because he doesn’t absolutely, 100 percent KNOW we are guilty. Scratch that; he knows, he just has no proof!

Tyler’s cell phone began to ring, and he saw that it was his parents. He knew that he needed to answer it otherwise his parents would be concerned and keep calling, or worse, they would start calling other parents, or worse still, they might send out an APB on him…not literally, but one never knows when you are dealing with strict and protective parents. However, that APB would be promptly answered given their current predicament.

While Tyler made up an excuse about why he was late for his curfew, Lilith worked on calming Jayson down.

“Jesus, do you think he’ll really let us go? I mean, he found 
match-heads
. I’m so fucking stupid! I thought I was being careful,” Jayson squawked his self-deprecation to Lilith in hopes for some sympathy, although everyone hates the gee-I’m-ugly-wink-wink tactic.

“Relax! He’s just trying to give us a good scare. Trust me, he knows we did it, but that whole line about identifying Tyler’s car was bullshit and he knows that we knew it was bullshit. So, now he is passive aggressively punishing us the only way he legally can and knows how,” Lilith explains.

“And how’s that?”

“He’s fucking with us, dummy. In a half hour, maybe even an hour, he’s gonna come to the bowling alley, give us our I.D.’s back, and then fuck-off back to his parking spot in the firehouse parking lot and nap for the rest of his shift.”

“I hope so,” Jayson prayed.

“I 
know
 so,” Lilith answered.

Tyler rejoined the group after walking behind them a way so that his parents could not hear the incriminating commiseration between Lilith and Jayson. They reached the bowling alley and peered in through the glass doors of the entrance and saw a packed house of teens partaking in what the bowling alley dubbed, Rock n’ Bowl. Cheesy, but effective, and let’s face it…suiting.

“We’re not really going fucking 
bowling
, are we? I feel like in order to be a bowler you have to have a 
huge
 ass,” Lilith shared. They all laughed in the still, late night and enjoyed the transient levity.

The group went in and rented their bowling shoes, along with a lane, while they waited for the police officer to return with their identification.

“I fucking 
hate
 bowling. It’s the only sport where you can be a fat lump of shit and still be considered a professional athlete,” Lilith complained.

“What about fishing?” Tyler chimed in for the sake of being argumentative. Why? The mood just struck him.

“Fishing is 
not
 a sport. Jump in the water and engage a shark in hand-to-hand combat, and I’ll call it a sport. You’re tricking a dumb fish into biting into a hook. Anyone can do that. To me, a sport implies that some sort of physical exertion and some dexterity is needed,” Jayson argued.

“Whatever you say. I don’t really consider you the authority on what constitutes a sport though; no offense,” Tyler answered, allowing foul mood to leach through. He was following a path in his life that would lead to a promising career in the local police department. What was he doing putting his future at risk like this? And for what? A few laughs on a slow night? He was sick of being talked into doing things that were not normally within the confines of his character make-up. How sick of it? Sick enough to think that maybe he had seen enough of his troublesome girlfriend. This thought had crossed his mind, however ephemeral. It remained on his mind no longer than a passing license plate number one sees while driving.

It was what alcoholics refer to as his “moment of clarity.” It would have done Tyler a 
world
 of good, had he listened to this feeling; but then there would be no story to tell.

Finally the police officer showed up, as hat-in-hand as he would allow himself to look. He walked over to the trio, tossed the three I.D.’s onto the table that was assigned to their lane, and hollered over Avenged Sevenfold’s hit, Bat Country, for the group to “make sure they stay out of trouble and have a better night.” The officer did not wait for any acknowledgement. He wanted to be rid of these little “punk-bastards” (as they would be referred to at roll call the next day) who got the better of him and move on with his shift. God help the next person he pulled over that night.

“We 
were
 having a fine night!” Lilith spat at the officer.

The officer stopped and turned to look at the group. “What did you say?” He heard all right. He was just wondering if one of them had the balls to say it one more time, while he was actually facing them this time. There was nothing he could pin on the group in terms of the fire, but he was sure he could find 
something
 wrong with Tyler’s car if pressed further. Paper work did not bother this officer. Especially when it came to settling a score, in which case, he would relish it.

“Jesus…” Tyler muttered to himself under his breath. Haven’t they had enough trouble for one night? “She just said to ‘have a fine night’, officer.” The words “fine night” 
were
, in fact, in her statement, so perhaps he bought it over the obnoxiously loud music, perhaps not. The police officer got what he wanted though, and that was for three punk-bastard teens to shut their mouths and back down to his authority when pressed. After Tyler’s Oscar winning performance during the car-search, the police officer was a hair trigger just itching to go off.