Ripple by Heather Smith Meloche

son?”
    â€œJack S. Dalton, sir.”
    Beneath his buzz cut, Officer Fogerty’s thick eyebrows half rise in recognition. His jaw tenses. His hand pushes harder against the firearm at his hip.
    I point my index finger at him. “I do believe you and I are distantly related. In a legal sense only, of course.”
    â€œHow’s that, son?” But he knows. His brother, a cop in Hallend, has tried to arrest me at least a dozen times but never had enough evidence to haul me in. I’m sure it’ll be the same with this brother.
    â€œHey, how are your bro’s hemorrhoids?” I ask. “He looked a little uncomfortable sitting on that hard stool in the doughnut shop in Hallend last month.”
    Carver and Sam stifle laughter.
    Fogerty 2 straightens, leans over me like a spigot trying to douse me with his authority. “Listen, Dalton.” He uses the same you’re-in-trouble tone as his brother. “I want to know what you boys are doing out in the dark prowling the streets.”
    â€œWow. Prowling is a pretty heavy word, Officer.” I’m wickedlythankful Sam’s car and all the cutout evidence is parked and buried safely in a nearby neighborhood. I learned early on never to carry all the evidence on me. Travel light, strike fast.
    We’re also damn lucky the altered deer sign is facing away from Fogerty 2’s car. Unless he figures out exactly what we were doing, he most likely won’t walk around to witness the appendage we’ve added.
    So I
stick to the facts
. “And I think you are jumping to some seriously premature conclusions. I mean, if my friends and I were all seventy-year-old ladies with red hats and canes walking down this street in the dark, you would think we were out for a bit of fresh air on this fine mid-September evening.”
Make up new facts.
“What makes you think we aren’t out enjoying the stars?” I point up to the overcast night sky.
    â€œDalton, listen up.” Fogerty 2 steps so close, I can smell his pine-fresh aftershave and the coffee on his breath. “You are in my jurisdiction now. I don’t know how my brother handled you”—by the twitch in his cheek, I can tell he’s lying—“but here in Pineville, if you don’t play by my rules, I’ll teach you how real quick.”
    â€œHey, that sounds groovy,” I say. “More time to get to know each other. We can discuss Miranda rights and Tasers and compare our favorite county judges.”
    â€œShut up.” He scowls below the bill of his police hat.
    I smile. “Right. I’ll let you be. You’re super-busy, I’m sure. Those doughnuts aren’t going to eat themselves. Hey, guys,” I call to Sam and Carver. “Let’s let Officer Fogerty get back to work.”
    Sam and Carver nod and wave in agreement. Fogerty 2 points his flashlight at them, pinning them still. “I’m watching you, boys.” They nod harder.
    Fogerty 2 peers at them for a long moment. “Sam Kearns?”
    â€œYes, Officer.” Sam stands tall, squinting with Fogerty 2’s flashlight in his eyes.
    â€œYour mom won’t be too happy to know you are out prowling.”
    â€œAgain with the ‘prowling.’” I throw my hands in the air.
    â€œTruly, Officer,” Sam says, “we were simply taking a walk. Pineville, as you well know, is a beautiful city at night.” His words hold an impressive, smooth confidence. He sounds like the senator he never wants to be.
    â€œSee?” I point at Sam. “What he said.”
    The officer jabs his finger at me. “I don’t trust you one dang bit. I’m watching
you
more than anyone.”
    â€œAnd that, Officer, makes me feel real special.” I hold out my hand to shake his. But he ignores me and stalks to his car. He backs the vehicle up a little too fast before turning it around and practically squealing away. And a warm