The Unknown

Mail call

Mike's pov

  I grab my mail and Shane's out of our mail cubbies as we enter the NJC. We've just come from Julie's and Stacey's basketball game. The girls are following behind us, rehashing the highlights of the game. We stop outside my room as I hand Shane his mail.

"What's this?" he asks, holding an envelope addressed to him stating citation enclosed and red light safety program in the upper left corner.

I laugh, "Oh you got a red light ticket, Shane. Tsk tsk. Those are pricey. Shame on you, Admiral Donovan, you should know better than to flout the traffic laws." I'm rather enjoying giving him a hard time, I so rarely get the opportunity since Shane's such a boy scout.

Shane rips open the envelope, looking rather embarrassed by my good-natured ribbing.

"This picture's so dark," he says, "You can't even see anything. How do I even know this is me or my car?"

"Relax," I say. I can tell Shane's getting upset. "There should be a url that we can type in on-line and it will pull up the video feed from the camera. Come on, I'll show you on my laptop, plus you can see your license plate right there." I point to it in the picture.

Julie's pov

Shane follows Mike into his room to investigate his ticket while Stacey and I head to our room to get showered and changed. We sit on our beds and start watching stupid YouTube videos. Neither one of us is motivated enough to get up, shower, or even change out of our uniform.

Approximately fifteen minutes later, Shane lightly raps on our already open door and walks in with the letter in hand.

"There are five things wrong with this red light ticket notice," he says waving it in the air. "Either of you ladies care to venture a guess at one?"

Stacey: "The Queen found out you were driving on the wrong side of the road and she's pissed?"

Me: "Now there's an official government document indicating you drive a Passat?"

Stacey: "People over thirty shouldn't be out after 10pm on weekends?"

Me: "You're having trouble converting the fine from U.S. dollars to British pounds, thus jeopardizing your dual citizenship?"

Stacey: "You're still bitter we threw your crappy tea in the harbor and you were hoping for a written apology?"

Me: "You consider any words not penned by Shakespeare to be an affront to the English language and an assault on your ears?"

Stacey: "You were sure you were a finalist in the Publisher's Clearinghouse sweepstakes and couldn't hide your disappointment in knowing your lifelong dream of being presented with that gigantic check will never come to fruition?"

Julie: "You wanted to ..."

"Let me stop you right there," Shane says, cutting me off mid sentence.

Awww, we were on a roll. Stacey and I are smiling broadly, quite proud of our amateur stand-up comedy routine.

Shane continues, "First, I said five things and second, we'll see if you're still laughing when I'm through with the two of you."

The smiles quickly fade from our faces, instantly replaced with a sense of dread. Shane's eyes are dark and any previous hint of whimsy in his voice has been erased. His tone is now stern and foreboding to say the least.

"#1 On the date of this ticket, I was in London on business and I did not give anyone permission to drive my car that night."

Ohhhh, fuck me. Stacey and I exchange panicked looks, realizing what Shane and Mike saw when they pulled up that video: me behind the wheel and Stacey in the passenger seat. We are so dead.