Sativa.

15. Warrant

Some kids smoked cigarettes or joints under the slides at school. Other kids sat tucked in the corner of a dusty library. Blaine never chose a side. She was somewhere in between. Only the local greenhouse was her library.

Blaine worked at the greenhouses after school from age twelve to seventeen. Her best summer memories are the days her Mother returned home grumbling under her breath about the minefield of flower pots and fairy gnomes cluttering her front porch.

Blaine is a gardener to this day. She's squared off a section of the lawn with a stack of bricks she found in Travis's tool-shed. After the 7 Eleven burnt down (her job literally up in smoke) she's taking her frustration out on the dirt clods and vines choking the side of the trailer house.

Blaine's mind wanders as she plants. When she checks the time she's covered in dirt, encircled in a ring of torn plastic pots, and ten minutes late picking up Travis for the second time this week. She packs dirt around a droopy tulip that sulks worse after the rushed sloppy transplant.

After checking the lock on the front door she hurries to the car, kicking a thermos and a few scraps of trash from under her feet. Shit, forgot to clean the car too. Using the rearview mirror she wipes at sweat and dirt leeched onto her skin. Blaine's face is as streaked with black as messy as a twelve year olds makeup template.

They've dated a year -- he should be used to a bit of a mess by now. A baggy blue sweat-shirt and dirty jeans is surely not winning her any beauty pageants. Being grungy is better than being an eon late though.

Blaine has just gotten comfortable -- mirrors set, dial cranked on the radio -- when blinking red and blue lights signal behind her. She swears she used the blinker when she turned onto the highway. Biting her lip, she eases over to the side of the road.

The man outside the window is recognizable from his double chin alone. Officer Bridges, the dick. He visits the trailer park less frequently now but still hassles Travis. She suspects he has an inkling about their weed dealings but doesn't have the evidence to prove anything.

"License and registration." He barks at her officially. Sounding more like a lap-dog wheezing when it gets over excited. Blaine bites her lip harder to keep from smiling.

"This is my sister's car. I'm just picking up my boyfriend from work." Still, she grabs her wallet and passes her license.

Pudgy red-faced Bridges simply frowns at her ID before marching back to his police cruiser. Even then his walk resembles that of a constipated duckling. She taps her hand against the steering wheel and diligently checks the rear-view mirror anxiously waiting. She's almost twenty minutes late when he finally meets her at the window again.

"Miss, are you aware that there's a search warrant out on this car for illegal drugs?"

Taken aback Blaine quips, "Of course not! This isn't my car!"

"Then you'll have no problem if I run a search?"

The entire situation is utterly ridiculous and she's tempted to hit him with the door then speed away. Barely controlling her temper, Blaine stands up and waves her hands over her head. "Search me then."

Getting patted down on the side of the road by Officer "the pig" Bridges, is humiliating. Her cheeks are flaming, a flush of embarrassment and frustration, as he switches from searching her to the car. Gutting out the glove box and hanging his rotund rear in the air while feeling under the seats.

Annoyed, she crosses her arms and snaps, "Can I go now?"

Relishing in taking his sweet time Bridges scribbles on a paper, refusing to answer until he's done. "You can go. But the car is being impounded for further investigation."

"What for? You didn't find anything!"

He holds up his clipboard. "Got the papers right here, miss. If you want more information you'll have to ride down to the court-house with me."

It's a wonder her brain doesn't burst under the sheer stupidity of his procedure. She presses her palm against her forehead and sucks air through her nose, deliberately trying to calm down. "I don't have time for that!"

Arguing is useless. Before she can be arrested for disorderly conduct Blaine starts walking down the side of the road with only her wallet and her phone. Travis misses her first call but picks up towards the end of her second.

"Hello?"

"Hey."

"What's up?"

"Have you talked to your sister today? The damn car's getting impounded."

A long pause. "No. Did they say why?"

"Drugs!" She scoffs. "Can you believe it?"

Another pause, this one seeming more endless than the last. "Fuck. Well alright. I guess. Where you at?"

"Its not alright." A car whips past her and she has to shout over the sudden blast of wind. "I'm still right by the trailer park."

"Well if you can make it back home go there. I can get someone to drive me back."

"What about the car?"

"I'll call Serenity and she'll get it taken care of."

"Okay. Later."

"Later. Love you."

"Love you too."

The call ends abruptly. Left with static Blaine looks down at her phone, stunned. Somehow talking with Travis has caused her to worry worse. She's stressed and stranded but that didn't stop her from noticing a lack of surprise in Travis's tone. Could Serenity be mixed up in drugs after all?