Giant Men and Violent Women

Leave It Up To Date

ASHLEY

I'm not sure if anyone has ever been arrested in Darling for anything. Sure, after some poor sap's alma mater loses and he's had too many drinks poured for him at The Dar Bar, Chief Rowens might bring him down here to sober up. That's if the poor guy's wife forbids him to come home to teach him a lesson. Otherwise, I don't think anyone has ever been sent to Darling Jail while sober and against their will.

Leave it up to Date.

Darling Jail is a wistfully constructed building that has the words Darling Jail written in Texas-outlaw style on the outside. When Gram had it built, she wanted it to look like Billy the Kid and Bonnie and Clyde were regulars here. The truth is that the town of Darling never had a jail until five years ago, and this one was only built because Gram thought it would be a nice touch.

I open the door of the Darling jailhouse, and the door jingles to let law enforcement know that they have a visitor. I walk into Darling Jail, and the first thing I notice is the roaring fire. Christmas stockings are still hanging on the mantelpiece, each bearing names—Chief Rowens, Deputy Drew, Erma.

To my right is Erma, wife of Police Chief Dill Rowens. She's seated behind a granite countertop. With perfect red nails to match her lipstick and a bun in her scorpion-black hair, I hear she was a real Bad Luck in her day. Right now, she's flipping through Boston Society.

She looks up, sees me, and winks. "Hey, love," she says to me. "How's the weather out there?"

"Evening, Mrs. Erma," I say to her. "A little chilly."

"Mmhmm. Sounds about right."

Just past Erma, there's exactly one jail cell here, and Date's in it. There he is, sitting on a wooden bench, where the names Bonnie and Clyde, inside of a heart, are carved in it. I know this because Gram had Mercer and me do it when the bench arrived from Boston. Date's sitting next to the heart with his head in his hands.

He came here alone?

As if he heard my question, he looks up and sees me.

"Figures," he says to me.

"What did he do?" I ask Erma.

"Nothing," Date answers.

"Violated curfew," Erma says. "Claims he didn't know Darling has been on curfew ever since the Boston riots." "I didn't."

"Mmhmm." Erma thinks this is bullshit.

"What's his fine?" I ask.

"Fifty dollars. Didn't have it on him."

"Because," Date says, "I forgot my wallet at home." "Mmhmm," Erma says.

"Can I talk to him?" I ask.

"Sure. I'm gonna run on home and grab a bite to eat. Dill's already got a plate waiting for me."

"Yes, ma'am. I got him."

"Thanks, love."

Erma hands me the key to Date's cell, and I help her slide on her muskrat. With a small wave, she leaves through the front door. It jingles on her way out. Date and I are alone. He stands up, rising to his full height, just as tall as me. And, though I didn't think it was possible, he's more ragged-looking than I've ever seen him with his tie loosened completely and hanging around his neck. I make a show of looking around Darling Jail with its Apple computer monitors, granite top counters, deep mahogany floor, and cozy fireplace.

"I guess this is you causing chaos," I say to him. He says nothing.

I grab Erma's chair, slide it to the bars of the jail cell, and have a seat. "Why are you here?"