THE OFFICER STUMBLED back in shock from the window of the car, a young woman in a tight red dress exiting the vehicle on pretty velvet heels.
“He’s just a friend, Christopher!” she said.
“You said you were going to church!” said Officer Dunner, incredulous. “That’s how you dress for church? Who is that guy? Hey, you! Get out of the car!”
Whitt felt his heartbeat double and then double again. A strange desire prickled in him, a taste for violence. His world was shaking with the impact of his steps. The two officers were approaching the car as the male driver exited, his hands up in surrender.
“We’re just friends.” The young man’s voice was high-pitched with panic. “We just went to lunch, that’s all.”
“Who the fuck are you?” Dunner was crowding the young driver, his partner Swartout coming along for the ride, blocking the man up against the vehicle. “That’s my girlfriend, mate. That’s my car! What are you doing in my car with my girlfriend?”
Whitt watched as the girlfriend grabbed at Dunner’s uniform, trying to stop him barging the driver with his chest as the other officer came around him, hindering his escape.
“Tommy, Tommy, get back in the car,” the girl cried. “Christopher, leave him alone!”
Before Whitt could intervene, the two officers had taken hold of the driver and were shoving him into the hood of the car.
“Hey! Hey! Hey!” Whitt pulled out his badge. “What happened? You two officers, stand down!”
“I didn’t do anything!” the young driver protested. “I didn’t know she had a boyfriend! Ow! Shit! Let go of me! This is assault!”
“We got this under control, Detective.” Swartout came toward Whitt, a hand up, trying to back him off. “It’s just a lovers’ tiff. Nothing serious. Why don’t you go check the roadblock at end of the bridge? We can handle this.”
“Officer, I told you to stand down.” Whitt stepped around Swartout. The young woman was still trying to drag Christopher off the driver, until he shoved her, almost knocking her to the ground.
“Let him go!” Whitt snarled.
The blow was sudden. Even Whitt didn’t see it coming. As he balled his fist, his arm seemed to move of its own volition, as though a trigger had been pulled. He swung up and punched Officer Dunner in the side of the face, a direct hit in the right temple, splitting the flesh. Whitt hadn’t punched anyone in more than a decade. It seemed to be over before it began, the shock reverberating through his arm, shoulder, chest. The officer flopped onto the concrete, releasing the young man he’d pinned to the bonnet of the car.
Whitt’s head spun. He staggered back, blinking. There had been no decision to hit the officer, no warning from inside his brain. He’d just done it, like a muscle reflex.
He saw Vada running toward him from the end of the bridge. His heart was hammering. Officer Swartout was coming forward. Vada got between them.
The young couple from the car were clutching each other, staring in horror at the collapsed officer on the ground.
Vada had Whitt’s arm and was leading him toward their vehicle, throwing apologies and excuses over her shoulder.
“You’re shaking,” she said to Whitt. “Edward, what happened? Are you okay?”
He couldn’t answer. Didn’t have an explanation to offer her. The officer he’d slugged was slowly waking, trying to stand with the help of his partner. Whitt slid into the passenger seat and covered his face with his hands.
“I’ve messed up,” he said. “I’ve messed up bad.”
“I know,” Vada said.
“I’m…” He looked at her. Didn’t have the strength to say it. “I’m…”
“I know,” she said again. He was off his head, had been for days. She knew it. Of course she knew it. She shut the door on him, and Whitt grabbed for his leather satchel that was lying on the back seat. He needed to even out. He was scaring himself.
He pulled a hip flask from the front pocket of the bag.