“We were tipped off that there may be a significant amount of cocaine in the residence connected to a recent bust over on Rosecrans.”
“What?” I give an incredulous laugh. “In here? Nah, you got that twisted.”
“You have search warrants?” Bristol demands. “You won’t be searching anything until you show me one.”
Amazingly they produce one.
“It was a huge bust connected to one of the largest operations on the West Coast,” Officer Mars says. “We have to follow every lead in a case as significant as this.”
“That may well be,” Bristol says, eyes glowing the color of gunmetal. “But that has nothing to do with Mr. James.”
“Ma’am, we have this warrant.” He shifts his weight and hooks a thumb in his belt loop. “And we need to conduct a thorough search.”
“This is ridiculous.” I shake my head dazedly. “A tip? From who?”
“We aren’t at liberty to say,” Officer Mars asserts. “May we come inside?”
“No, the hell you may not,” Bristol says. “I’m calling our lawyer. This is ridiculous.”
“Bris, it’s obviously just a misunderstanding.” I lead her over to the couch and sit. “Just let them get it over with. They won’t find anything.”
“Sir, we’re just doing our jobs,” Officer Mars says softly. “It isn’t personal.”
“Not personal?” Bristol shouts. “What the hell do you mean it’s not—”
“Babe, it’s okay.” I wrap my fingers around hers and pull her to wait with me on the couch. I wave a hand to the room. “Knock yourselves out for nothing. Waste our tax dollars doing this when you could be doing something real.”
“I don’t like this,” Bristol whispers to me as they search the room systematically, finding nothing, of course. “I’m calling our lawyer.”
“They’re almost done. They won’t find anything.”
“What’s this?” Officer Mars pats the back of my backpack, which I notice for the first time bulges more than usual. “I’m going to have to open this.”
He pulls out a pocketknife and slits the back off the bag.
“This is outrageous.” Bristol’s voice stings like a scorpion. “Now you’ll have to replace his bag . . .”
Her voice trails off as a huge block of cocaine in an oversize Zip Lock bag falls from the lining of my backpack.
Officer Mars swears softly, flicking a surprised glance my way. I surge to my feet and point to the bag.
“That shit isn’t mine.”
“It’s in your bag, in your residence,” the other officer says carefully. “Your ID and other items that clearly belong to you are here.”
“Grip, don’t say another word.” Bristol has her phone to her ear. “I’m getting our lawyers on the phone right now. I knew this was some kind of setup. God.”
“Tell the lawyers to meet him down at the county jail.”
“Jail?” The word torpedoes from my mouth at full speed. “The hell I am. I’ve never been to jail a day in my life, and I’m not going now. Not for some shit that isn’t even mine.”
“I’m sure we’ll straighten it out then,” Officer Mars says, his face set in impassive lines, though I can tell it isn’t what he wants to be doing. “We have to take you in, Mr. James.”
It’s all surreal, and none of it sinks in. Not the officer reading me rights I promised my mother I’d never have to hear. Not Bristol’s urgent conversation with Prodigy’s lawyer. Only the cuffs feel real, enclosing my wrists again for something I haven’t done.
“No cuffs,” Bristol’s hard voic
e batters the officers. “You’ll take the private exit where no one will see, and keep this off the radar as long as you can.”