Cucked by a Cop

5

"What the hell do you mean it didn't go through?"

Officer Thompson's words warbled like white noise in her ears. She was stuck on the word 'problem,' like a rat in a dead end maze.

"It had to go through," she said, and her next sentence trailed off into a whimper. "It's my real license."

"Relax," the earthquake said into the phone. "I just need to look it over in person."

Veronica saw headlights swim across the living room blinds. A car engine humming. A creak when he shifted into park.

"What the fuck?" The phone fell from her ear. She felt like she weighed five thousand pounds.

He planned this, she thought. Had to.

A knock at the door.

There's just no way.

Her brain spun like a centrifuge. There were no good options. Wake up Richard? Hide?

The knocking grew louder.

Call 911? What has he really done? Who are they gonna believe?

She walked on bloodless legs to the shaking door. Closer, closer. She opened it.

Officer Jason Thompson filled the doorway. She stared at him, eyes like prey, as he lifted a big black boot and stepped inside.

"Where is it?"

Veronica pointed to the kitchen counter.

"This happens sometimes," Thompson said. "System acts up." He looked over his shoulder from across the open floor plan and shrugged. "Computers." He rounded the faux marble countertop and squinted at the tiny license on its gleaming surface. "Then again," he said, "we'll find out."

"No," Veronica said forcefully. "That is my real license. Come on. Why would I—"

But Thompson ignored her. "Thing is: Fakes are so good these days, you sometimes can't tell."

"It's fucking real," she whined. "I swear."

"Calm down," he said. "These situations tend to run on autopilot. See. Cops are stupid, so the city crafts very strict protocols for us, so we don't fuck up." He watched his cell phone screen for a few seconds and shook his head. "And the protocol in this instance demands that I bring you to jail."

The wind was vacuumed from her lungs. Barely a whisper: "No."

He nodded.

"No. You can't. I know my rights."

Thompson laughed. "Do you know how many times I've heard that? I can almost guarantee that you don't."

"Fuck you. I'll get my husband," she said, walking into the kitchen. "Just wait till he hears about this."

Thompson's eyebrows went up. "Is that a threat? Cuz, if it is, you're not only gonna go to jail. You're gonna get charged with a felony."

Veronica's eyes watered. She looked at the bedroom hallway and Thompson followed her gaze. He peered down the hall at the closed bedroom door. He chuckled. "Hate to tell you, but your knight in shining armor is sleeping one off."

"What do you want?" she shouted.

"It's not about what I want. It's about following the law." She opened her mouth to protest, but he put up his finger.

"You see..." He put his cell phone in his back pocket, but didn't move out from behind the kitchen island. Veronica was geeking out. She couldn't see his hands. But he was doing something. Something imperceptible below the countertop's surface. Did she hear jingling? Was he reaching for his cuffs? His gun?

"The law," he said, smiling devilishly, "is all about balance. You did something wrong, and now you have to balance the scales by doing some good."

She scrunched up her face. The wine had caught up to her now. Her heart rate was climbing, her head felt light as air. She didn't follow. She stammered: "What?"

"What I'm saying is..." Thompson stepped out from behind the counter, his pants around his ankles. "What're you willing to do to make things right?"