The Sharpest Lives

Chapter Eight: Whoever Said...

Chapter Eight: Whoever Said A Messed Up Couple Could Work Should Take A Shit To The Face

[Frank]

I couldn't help thinking that I'd done the wrong thing. That I'd just signed Gerard's death warrant, that my soul was condemned to burn in hell for what I'd done- or rather, what I hadn't done. The few chances I'd been given to fix this problem had been  ignored and ruined.  I had ruined him. Ruined both of us.

I could feel my heart beating in my chest, the adrenaline rushing through my veins, making every thought in my head scream and panic. As I watched the two officers head towards me, I tried desperately to think of an excuse. No, not an excuse; a lie. A blatant, ugly lie that I would regret. The right thing to do would have been to tell the truth. To let him get caught. To watch him go to court, to watch him face the penalties, to sit back and enjoy the show, as he suffered. Maybe then he would recover. Maybe then, after the pain, the punishment, I would have my Gerard back.

I wasn't willing to take that chance. Every unsteady beat of my heart reminded me of that. I could not let go. I would not let go. This was so wrong.

The sharp tap on the window made me jump, even though I'd been expecting it. I turned to face the stony-faced, bearded officer, and tried to keep my own expression as blank as possible. He signaled that I roll the window down so I could hear what he was saying. I tried to stop my hand from shaking as I did. The cold air that swept in was as icy and bitter as the cop's face, and the rain that flew on the wind blinded me for a second until he leaned down to look through the open window blocking the wind and rain.  His collegue behind him stood behind him with a black umbrella, gazing blankly into space.

He stared at me for a while, his frosty grey eyes piercing, until he spoke with a voice like a tractor on a country road.

"Afternoon, sir," he rumbled, and I couldn't help being slightly distracted by the way his moustache quivered when he spoke. I had to admit, it was a pretty impressive moustache. "How're you doing today?"

"Good, good. I'm fine," I said, hugely grateful that my voice didn't sound as worried as I felt. I even managed a fake, plastic smile. I wondered if I was overdoing it.

"Good." He didn't return the smile. I willed myself not to panic.

He sighed heavily, tired of small talk. "I don't know if you know why we're here, son," he said, refusing to let my eyes leave his, "But we have reason to believe that someone in this area is in possession of drugs."

Right then, I felt my heart plummet and land on the floor under the accelerator, in a bloody puddle under my feet. There'd been one stupid notion at the back of my head that Mikey had been wrong in some way. But he wasn't.

So there was no way I could avoid the temptation to lie on his behalf. To kill him.

"Drugs?" I let my eyes widen is false shock and prayed that it was convincing enough to fool him.

"Have you seen anyone suspicious?" he asked, his gaze scrutinizing. I hoped that he wouldn't lean in too close; the smell became more noticeable closer to Gerard, and if he caught it…

At that point, I contemplated ending my pain and just confessing.

But if he was asking me if I'd seen anyone, didn't that mean he didn't have any reason to suspect us? That if I played this game right, if I cheated my way through it; I could win and everyone would go home to their happily ever afters?

"No, officer. Well, I mean, I've seen a few…shady looking people, I guess, but no one that I'd think is…suspicious."

You don't know how badly I hoped that was convincing. I was disgusting. I was enjoying the adrenaline rush, the high I got from watching the lies I told take effect.