The Drinking Game

Sean's Mind is Elsewhere

Thankfully his truck knew the route because Sean's brain couldn't pay attention to the road.

Someone cut him off, a daily occurrence in the Garden State, but today he screamed at them. They drove through the intersection leaving him at a red light.

Reaching across the bench seat littered with coffee cups of days gone by, he flipped open a CD case. He hummed while picking out his favorite, Mozart. The light turned green and Sean had enough time to push the disk into the player before the car behind him honked. He raised a hand in acknowledgment of the green and pressed the accelerator. “Everyone's in a hurry."

Moments later, the Turkish Rondo came blaring out of his speakers. His truck looked ready to die but the sound system kicked butt. At the next light Sean lit a cigarette and blew the smoke out his window.

The still August air kept the smoke dangling just outside his window. He longed to be at his townhouse and doing laps in the pool. Unfortunately, there would be too many kids with their stay at home moms for him to get a serious work out. Maybe a walk, but the humidity would stifle him. He chucked that idea.

His thoughts turned to his conversation with Cam. His lieutenant had been nervous and in one big hurry to get Sean out of the office. His natural radar screen said this situation is anything but copacetic. “But what are you hiding?"

Two more drags and a cough had Sean stabbing his cigarette out in the ashtray. “I have to quit these things."

Now he really wanted to see that crime scene. He'd have to wait until the detectives left and maybe he could talk his way past whoever was left.

“I could wait until they released the report."

He shook his head, the idea quickly discarded. There'd be no sleep until then. And he couldn't afford not to be at his best now that a Fed was on the scene.

There was a much pleasanter thought. She was gorgeous. He hadn't seen such a beautiful Federal agent. Ever. At least he'd enjoy the scenery while she was here.

Sighing, he pulled into a spot by his home, but didn't turn off the engine. A dull ache spread across his chest at the thought of Ken.

“Damn. I'll miss you buddy."

He could take the rest of the day off, but that didn't mean he couldn't work. A phone call to his office netted him the FBI chick's hotel. Maybe now he was ready to talk about the Redhead Killer. Take his mind off of Ken.

He put the truck in gear and pulled out of a spot.

Then his cell phone jangled.

***

Cam licked his lips and left his car. His yellow, polyester shirt stuck to him. The smell of barbeque filled his nostrils making his stomach rumble.

The yellow crime scene tape still adorned Ken's door and a patrolman leaned against the front of the townhouse. Not a care in the world.

This would be easy. The uniform straightened when he saw a superior officer approaching.

The lieutenant flashed his badge and a fake, warm smile. “Officer, I'm just checking with my men."

The patrolman nodded and went back to his casual posture.

Entering the townhouse, the oppressive heat hit Cam. He took a step backwards. Why didn't they use the air conditioner? August had come in like a broiler intent on burning the Garden State residents.

Sweat jumped out of his pores as he debated making his presence known to the detectives before heading out the back door. Eyeing the steps he frowned. He hated stairs. Post retirement he was moving to a ranch house.

A deep sigh escaped him, as he started his vertical trek. The detectives' voices reached him as a murmur. Heaving at the landing, he stopped until his heart slowed.

“Any luck," he gasped out when he reached the top.

Detective Gladstone turned his silver blue eyes to his commanding officer. “Hey, Cam. Not a lot of progress. Lots of prints, though."

Cam froze, but kept his expression impassive. Had he left any prints? “Any you can use?"

“Possibly. You know we can't tell until we can compare them with something."

“Mm," Cam said, despite not really listening. He relaxed. He'd been in this room enough times. No one would suspect him “Probably some of mine."

Gladstone let loose a sardonic laugh. “Probably all of us have been in this room at some time."

Cam echoed his mirth, with his own chuckle. “How true. Well I'll leave you boys to it."

“Later, Cam."

His men looked bleary-eyed from the long night. He should have brought coffee. Shrugging, he descended the steps. They'll live.

With a glance out the front window, Cam turned and headed to the rear of the house. He had a mission to complete. A quest that would save his own butt.

No officers guarded the kitchen slider and after ducking under the crime scene tape, Cam found himself on the back deck.

His palms began to sweat. Licking his lips he traversed the width of the deck and hobbled down the three wooden steps. The woods lay two feet away from him.

One more glance at the window, then he plunged into the grove of trees. Not even the shade diminished the discomfort from the heat. That's it. He planned to move to Maine to live in a single story house.

Where'd he leave that thing? God, he better find it. What if some dog took a crap on it?

Behind him a window slid open. “Lieutenant?"

Cam whirled as much as his bulk allowed. “Gladstone?"

The man's beaming face irritated Cam.

“You going on a hike?"

All of Cam's words left him like a cheapskate when it's time to pay the bill. “Um—"

“If it's the call of nature, go further in. The lady next door looks out here all the time."

The grin burst onto Cam's face, “Thanks for the tip." He moved to deeper into the woods.

A moment later, his foot crinkled an old yellow plastic shopping bag. Relief raced through him. “Thank God."