Sam and Gray's Date Night 5

When we last left our guys…

“Which way did they go?” a man’s voice shouts from deeper in the trees.

Another man answers, closer. “This way!”

“Hi, Officer Yarmark,” Ash croaks.

Colt wheezes, “Please don’t tell my dads.”

Sam

The voices come again from the trees, closer this time.

“I’m going to beat the shit out of them,” one of the men says. I recognize the voice, but I can’t place it.

The second one says, “Fuck, bro, this hill is steep.”

I recognize that one too. And then they fall into place because they’re Tweedledee and Tweedledum—Lucas Fischer and Caleb Parrish. They’re not men at all; Lucas is a senior, like Colt and Ash, and Caleb is a junior. Both of them happen to be the kind of kid who hits puberty earlier than the rest. Harder, too, maybe. Caleb was growing a beard in ninth grade, from what the teachers say.

Colt’s squeezing his eyes shut, like if he can’t see me, I can’t see him. Ash is still flat on his back, trying to finger-comb leaves out of his hair.

“What did you do?” I ask.

Colt’s eyes shoot open with outrage. “What the hell, Sam?”

“That’s Officer Yarmark when I’m mad at you,” I say.

Gray starts to laugh.

“What did you do?” I say again.

“Nothing!” Colt says.

But God bless Ash, he just can’t help looking guilty.

Colt must realize it too, because he mumbles, “We took their keys.”

“You took their keys?” Gray says.

“Their car keys,” Ash says helpfully. He’s getting to his feet, holding one hand out to Colt. “Because they’re wasted. Ethan Johnson’s dad always has extra cases of rum because he’s a distributor—” And then, loudly, he says, “Um.”

“Oh my God,” Colt whispers, but he lets Ash help him up. He tries to meet my gaze, but he ends up looking over my shoulder. Behind me, Lucas and Caleb are still crashing around in the brush higher up the hill. “We were being responsible,” he finally says, like he’s throwing down.

Gray snorts. “Does that actually work on gay dads?”

Colt hunches his shoulders, the challenge in his face gone, but I can’t help myself as I mutter, “You’d be surprised.”

“Wait, seriously?” Gray asks.

“He talked John-Henry into letting him and Ash share a hotel room on their last away game because their friend, quote, ‘was really depressed and they needed to keep an eye on him.’”

Gray studies Colt, and it takes me a moment to realize the look on Gray’s face is newfound respect. Even in the low light, Colt’s cheeks are dark with a flush, and if anything, his shoulders climb higher—but he does seem a little pleased with himself.

“Dave was really depressed—” Colt began.

“Just because of his math test,” Ash says, not looking up as he dusts himself off. “He’s okay now, though.”

Colt lets out a sigh.

“Are these two for real?” Gray asks.

“You get used to it,” I say. I jerk my head toward the trees. “Give me a minute. I’ve got to handle that.”

“Ah, Sammy, let me do it!” Gray is wearing a huge grin, the kind that means trouble. “I’ll scare the shit out of them.”

“You’re not supposed to scare them; you’re supposed to make sure they’re okay, and then you contact their parents, and then you write it up.”

“Last week you told me you scared the shit out of those kids who threw a baseball under the lawnmower.”

Now my face feels hot, and Colt and Ash are definitely looking at me. “That was different.”

“I got this, babe. I’m on it. Just watch.”

And before I can argue, Gray’s pushing through the bushes at the side of the path. Leaves crunch underfoot, and branches snap as he makes his way up the hill. Then he shouts, “Detective Gray Dulac, Wahredua Police!”

Caleb yells. Lucas lets out a cry. The sounds of running steps filter down to us, and then a series of thumps, and then a loud thud.

 Silence.

“We’re all good,” Gray shouts down. “One of them ran into a tree, and the other one rolled down the hill.”

“I’m stuck!” Lucas’s voice is fuzzy—part shock, I guess, and part alcohol.

“I want my mom,” Caleb says, and then he starts to cry.

“Hold on,” I call up into the trees. “I’m coming.”

“No, I got it.” Gray’s voice changes, taking on an edge. “You think it’s funny to run away from the police? You think that’s smart? How smart is it going to be when your mom has to come bail you out of jail?”

Caleb’s crying gets louder.

Lucas is starting to cry now too. “I’m really stuck! Help! Help! Help!”

Good God. I’ve taken a few steps when I remember the other two hooligans. They’re already thirty feet down the path, trying to disappear into the darkness.

I give a sharp whistle and jerk my head, and the two of them slink back toward me.

“Here we go,” I say. “All three of us. And Colt, I know you’re fast, but you’re not faster than me.”

He screws up his face, but he doesn’t say anything to that.

It’s a good thing I’ve got them with me, it turns out, because it takes both Colt and Ash to shift the old tree trunk that’s trapping Lucas’s leg, and by the end, the boys have turned it into a competition—they seem to have totally forgotten that they’re in trouble too. Market Street is closer than the parking lot, so Gray and I herd the four teenagers up the hill. A few minutes later, we’re standing on a sidewalk. And a few minutes after that, a very angry Mrs. Parrish—hair in curlers—is buzzing down her passenger window to shout at Lucas and Caleb. The boys climb in the back, and Mrs. Parrish drives off.

Ash and Colt are trying to dissolve into the shadows again.

I crook one finger.

Ash’s face is bright red, and he breaks first. He steps forward, and I lean in and take a deep whiff. I don’t smell anything on him. Colt, slumping, lets me check him next. Maybe he knows it’s a lost cause, because he doesn’t say it again, but his eyes are begging me not to call John-Henry and Mr. Hazard.

“Here’s what we’re going to do,” I say.

And then Gray says, “What we’re going to do is let you off with a warning. Because you were trying to be responsible. But the next time this happens, I’m going to drag you home, and you and I will stand there on the porch while I let you explain to your dads what you’ve been doing when they thought you were being smart and safe at a friend’s house.”

It takes a minute before the boys seem to understand. Then, slowly, Colt looks at me, like he wants confirmation.

“This is one time only,” I say. “Next time, I won’t take you home. I’ll take you to the station, and your dads can pick you up there.”

Colt grimaces, and the color drops out of Ash’s face—probably because he’s thinking about Mr. Hazard.

“Yeah,” Colt babbles, “yes, thank you, oh my God.”

And at the same time, Ash is saying, “Thank you, Officer Yarmark. Thank you, Detective Dulac. We won’t ever do it again.”

The boys stumble off maybe ten paces before Gray makes a warning sound. The boys freeze. Colt looks warily over one shoulder.

“Anything else you want to tell us?” Gray asks.

Ash gets smaller. Colt’s face freezes.

“Your stash,” I say.

Colt opens his mouth automatically, and every cop who’s ever walked a beat knows what a kid looks like when he’s ready to lie.

“If you make me go get those bottles myself,” I say, “I will drive you to the station.”

“We were hiding them,” Ash says quickly. “So no one would drink them.”

“Uh huh,” Gray says.

“We’ll get them right now,” Ash says. “That’s what we were going to do. We were going to give them to an adult.”

“Right now would be pretty much perfect,” Gray says.

We follow the boys to Ash’s truck, and for about fifteen seconds the boys go into squirrel mode—crawling around inside the truck like they’re in fast-forward. Gray and I end up with three bottles of rum. Each. I don’t recognize the brand, but it looks expensive.

“Have a good night, boys,” Gray says. “Drive home safe.”

I wait a beat. “And buckle up.”

Poor Ash is so nervous, he ends up making a sixteen-point turn to get the truck turned around. But then the taillights fade off into the dark, and Gray and I are standing there, alone, with a lot of rum.

“Buckle up?” Gray says, and then he bursts out laughing.

“I don’t know,” I say, but I’m laughing too. “I had to say something.”

“Why does everyone bitch about parenting?” Gray asks, raising one of the bottles to inspect it. “That shit was easy.”

“I guess I’d better call in that party,” I say.

“Or you could let them finish Ethan Johnson’s dad’s rum,” Gray says with a smirk.

I give him a look, just in case he’s joking, and I make the call. And then we’re standing there, the night cold on the back of my neck, the smell of dry brush and old leaves clinging to me pleasantly.

“I want to take you home now,” Gray says. “And I want to fuck. Any objections?”

It’s hard not to grin, so I just shake my head.

“So, big decision of the night.” Gray leans back like he’s considering me. “Who’s topping?”

It looks like Gray is going to get that special attention after all. But will Sam top? Or is it Gray’s turn? Patrons will decide tomorrow!