“Shit. Not again,” I mumbled under my breath when I turned down my block and saw the caravan of black SUVs scattered in front of my house, blocking my driveway. I pulled up to the curb, threw my car in park, and quickly headed up the walkway. I was met by Deputy Franklin, who was coming down my front steps, followed by several other deputies whose attitude changed the second they saw me.
“Mr. Richmond.” Franklin stopped in front of me and extended his hand.
“What are you doing here?” Needless to say, I did not shake his hand. I had tunnel vision at that point. My mind was on one thing: Why the fuck was this guy at my house again? Okay, two things, the second being Lisa, who was probably packing to leave my ass as we spoke. She’d been on the brink, and this was just enough to send her over the top.
“Where’s my wife?”
“She’s fine.” His feelings didn’t seem the least bit hurt about my lack of pleasantries. He just eased his hand back down to his side and slipped it into his pocket. “You’re right. No need to pretend like we’re friends. I’m here on official business. We received a very credible tip that Jay Crawford has been right here in good old Queens the whole time me and my men have been gallivanting all over Texas looking for him.”
“Well, I don’t know where this credible tip came from,” I was quick to say, trying to step past him. His men closed the circle. “But I can assure you that Jay is not in my house.”
“Relax. I believe you.” He was wearing this stupid smirk on his face. “However, we did search your house just in case.”
My jaw tightened. I’d seen enough during their last visit to know how careless cops could be when searching someone’s house. As a matter of fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if they messed up shit on purpose. I suddenly had visions of couch cushions ripped open and china cabinets turned over. I didn’t know how much longer I was going to be able to stand there and not go check on my wife—and our possessions.
“So my question to you,” Deputy Franklin said, “is: Have you seen him?”
He waited on my reply, but I treated it like a rhetorical question and simply waited on him to continue speaking. I didn’t want to jump the gun and say anything that might make me look like I had something to hide.
When he got tired of waiting for me to speak, Franklin continued. “Not here, of course, because like you said, he’s not here. Which doesn’t necessarily mean he hasn’t been here. He’s clearly just not here now. But anyway, have you seen him… anywhere?”
“What you see is what you get, Deputy,” I said through a tightened jaw. He stood there staring at me for a moment, probably trying to read my facial expressions, so I remained stoic and stone-cold still.
“Are you sure you want to play it this way, Mr. Richmond?” he asked in a calm tone. I stood my ground and didn’t so much as breathe. “I mean, this could get ugly.”
He waited a few more seconds, but faced with nothing but silence from me, he nodded his head and walked away, pulling out a two-way radio.
I made a move to go into my house, but Franklin called out to another marshal, “Deputy Clarence, hook him up.”
Before I could even think, the deputy yanked me by my right arm, and the next thing I knew I was being handcuffed.
“Kyle Richmond, you’re under arrest for aiding and abetting a fugitive and lying to a federal officer,” Franklin said.
“What? You can’t prove that!” I said.
“Wanna bet the next five years on it?” Franklin challenged as they led me toward one of the SUVs.