Bad Company (Seven Deadly Sins #1) ✅ Completed

Chapter One: The Last Straw

Two weeks earlier...

As I sat in the dank interrogation room of Brooklyn's 57th precinct I remembered my two earliest life lessons: police officers (NYPD ones in particular) had no sense of humor. If they'd had any going into the police academy, they sure didn't keep it coming out. I would know. My dad was one.

And the second life lesson?

Easy.

My mom had even less of a sense of humor than cops when she was sober.

The juvenile officer leaned back in the cheap plastic chair, almost bored as he swept his cold beady eyes over me. It was not the first time I'd been sized up by a cop. It seemed to be happening more and more lately. Given that little fun fact, it wasn't too surprising that Officer Stanton, like so many of his brethren, found me utterly lacking. It was etched all over his saggy, tired face.

Stanton was a big guy, six two or three at least and about two hundred and eighty pounds, most of which hung around his waistband. His gray tie had day old coffee and mustard stains smeared across it and his pants looked like they hadn't been ironed in...ever.

He stunk too. Like stale cigarettes and burnt coffee grounds.

Officer Stanton was the perfect frontman to the dreary backdrop I found myself in; a dingy, grey room that sucked all the hope and life out of anyone stupid enough to find themselves on the wrong side of the one-way glass. No doubt it was a well-worn stop for the thousands of juvenile delinquents turned career criminals on their road to fortune and glory.

His eyes cut slowly over to my mom, though it was me he spoke to, "So kid, sticking to your lame story, then? No plans on making this any easier on yourself?"

It was obvious the seasoned law enforcement officer thought I was a twit. I was just one more stupid adolescent hell-bent on finding attention in all the wrong places. Not dangerous on my own - definitely a follower, not a criminal mastermind. He probably figured I'd just end up another teen mom. Not the kind of teen mom with their own show, getting paid fat stacks, while a fascinated public sympathized with my trials and tribulations. Oh no. I would be more of the traditional type - the one guys like Stanton considered societal leeches. The kind of young loser that was only good for promoting a continuous wave of social services counselors and defense attorneys.

In short I was a complete waste of his time.

I sighed. I'd been saying the same thing over and over again not because I was trying to get myself out of anything but because it was the truth, "Like I said officer, I only planned on taking the car out for a minute. I was already on my way back home when I was unconstitutionally profiled and subsequently harassed."

"Is that right, Miss Taylor? Now, did this unconstitutional profiling and harassment occur before or after you had your fun endangering the public welfare, not to mention the lives of several highly decorated police officers?" he asked, his eyes cutting back over to me. There was no pity or anything even resembling sympathy in them. There was nothing but harsh judgment.

Somehow I didn’t think helping at-risk teens had been Stanton’s initial law enforcement calling. He seemed too old and pudgy to still be a regular beat cop. Actually, with the deep set wrinkles around his eyes and his ashen skin coloring indicative of a heavy drinking problem, he should’ve been either a sergeant or detective by now. I would put money that he’d been bumped down from one of the more prestigious units a time or two. Maybe vice, or with his knack for empathizing with the youth of today he’d probably come right over from a tour of duty at traffic court.  

I sighed again. It wasn't my fault half a dozen unmarked police cars had taken it upon themselves to chase me down most of the greater Brooklyn area. At least I stopped before I crossed the border into Queens. By the time the cops had finally reached me, the car was parked and I was waiting patiently on the ground with my hands behind my head.

I'd been very cooperative.

Stanton opened the file folder on the desk between us. He read from my list of greatest hits like he was ordering take-out: truancy, loitering, disorderly conduct, vandalism, driving without a license, minor-in-possession. I felt my mother's eyes boring into the side of my skull. She didn't say a word as she sat next to me, ramrod straight in her tight skirt and cheap shoes.

She didn’t have to say anything. I knew she couldn't stand cops. She detested the arrogant, cocky smirks they wore when they wrote her out another speeding ticket instead of just letting her off with a warning (what did she expect, though? She really was a lousy driver). Abhorred the way they all stuck by each other, no matter which laws their fellow officers broke, opting to look away when even the lowliest criminal’s sense of decency would’ve kicked in. Hated them because my dad was one of their very own brother-in-blue, making her life a living hell. Any one of these reasons would've been enough, but I knew the real reason she despised cops so much she wouldn’t spit on one to save his life; Angela, "Angel" Taylor hated cops with every cell in her body because they always made her beg.

But she was still my mom. My only lifeline in the sea of trouble I was now sailing in. I turned to her and gave her my best little-girl-lost look. The one I'd always used to get out of trouble in the past. It had worked pretty well up until my actions warranted police involvement. It was same the look I'd learned to imitate before I could walk.

"I swear, mom, I only took the car for a minute. I just wanted to get something to eat."

"Eliza, you're only sixteen with a revoked learner's permit. How could you be so stupid?" she hissed under her breath.

She'd already asked me that. Twice.

Honestly, I'd wondered the same thing as I'd watched the police lights flash in my rearview mirror. Maybe it was some kind of cry for attention - an act that would provoke my mom to be around more often and not leave me behind for better prospects.

Or maybe I was just really, really hungry.

It wasn't like I'd stolen a car or anything - I'd taken ours for Pete's sake. It was just crappy luck I'd rolled through that stop sign as I was leaving the drive-thru. It was even crappier luck a cop just had to have a McRib at that precise moment in time and saw me do it.

From my lowered eyelids I watched as she dismissed me entirely, turning her full attention onto Officer Stanton. She leaned forward, and masterfully dropped one shoulder, giving him a nice view down her shirt without seeming too obvious.

"Maybe you know her father, Detective Taylor out of Manhattan's 13th?" She gave a small toss of her perfectly curled hair and sighed a little dramatically, "Anyways, her father and I would really appreciate anything you can do for Eliza. She hasn't taken the separation really well. You know how girls and their fathers are, right?"

As my mom started her familiar spiel, I sunk lower in my chair and closed my eyes. It was best to let the master work alone. She'd gotten me out of tighter spots over the last year. Good thing cops loved to flirt with other cops' wives, especially their ex-wives. That, along with my dad's rep were one of the few reasons I'd never spent more than a couple of hours in a holding cell. Nobody wanted to mess with Detective Taylor's daughter.

But they all wanted to mess with his ex-wife.

All I had to do was sit there and act like a piece of furniture - oblivious to all the innuendos that would start flying around the dingy interrogation room within seconds.

Besides, it wasn't like she was really waiting for any kind of answer from me.

Just as well.

It wasn't like I had any kind of answer to give.