Baby Doll(4)

Rick turned up the volume on the satellite radio, the Rolling Stones’ “Get Off of My Cloud” filling the car. God, he loved this song. He’d hoped the music would soothe him, but he was still annoyed. He’d been having a blast, schooling Lily and Sky on the beauty of the Beat poets, and he hated leaving them. He considered staying overnight, but he’d already been gone for two days. The last thing he wanted was for Missy to come looking for him. She’d shown up at the cabin once before, and it had been a very close call. From that day onward, he’d promised himself he’d never give Missy a reason to be suspicious.

Almost as if Missy were reading his mind, Rick’s cell phone buzzed. He didn’t even need to look at the display to know that his wife was calling. He sighed but answered anyway.

“Babe,” Missy whined predictably, her voice filling the car through his Bluetooth speakers. “It’s almost three in the morning. You said you’d be back early.”

“I know, Miss. But I got into the writing zone and didn’t realize it was so late. I’m gassing up the car now. Please tell me you’re warming up the bed?”

“It’s already so late and we both have to work…”

“Are you kidding me, babe? You better be wearing something sexy or I’ll be very disappointed.”

“Love you, Ricky,” she whispered breathlessly and hung up.

He could already see her pouring her third glass of Merlot, smiling as she planned her “seduction.” God, she was so boring and predictable, and he hated when she called him Ricky. He’d told her that over and over again, but Missy never listened. Rick could feel his whiskey buzz wearing off and the beginnings of a headache forming at the base of his temples. Manipulating Missy was easy but terribly exhausting.

He entertained the idea of a divorce at least once a week. The prospect of getting rid of Missy, the idea of telling her uptight prick father to shove his money up his ass, was tempting. He’d spent many planning periods online searching for a bachelor pad, a place where he could indulge in all the things that made him happy. But it was too risky, having her out there, asking questions, following him around. Knowing her, she’d probably hire a PI, someone she’d seen on one of those inane talk shows she liked so much. No, the only way he’d ever be free of Missy was if she were dead. For now that wasn’t practical, so he tolerated her.

Rick continued driving, drumming on the steering wheel as Led Zeppelin’s “Black Dog” began to play.

Damn, this is a good tune, Rick thought. His phone buzzed again. He glanced down at the console and saw Missy’s sex kitten pose.

Goddamn it! He felt annoyed already missing Lily. And then it hit him. Rick realized he hadn’t bolted the lock at the cabin. He slammed on the gas and began searching for the next turnaround. He was so focused on getting back to the cabin that he missed the cop car patiently waiting on the side of the road. A siren began to wail and Rick looked up to see the flashing police lights. He fought the urge to slam his hand down on the steering wheel. There was no need to panic. He’d had close calls before. Surprise visitors, like his basketball buddies dropping by the cabin for a drink and news about his progress on the great American novel he was supposedly writing. There was that extended vacation to Hawaii with his in-laws that had made seeing his girls impossible. Or Missy’s surprise visit where he’d barely gotten upstairs in time. He’d made it through all of those bumps in the road without a problem. This was some piece-of-shit local cop, and he was Rick Hanson.

Rick eased on the brake and pulled onto the side of the road. He reached into the console, took two pieces of gum, tore off the paper, and shoved them both into his mouth. He chewed quickly, hoping the spearmint would mask the smell of whiskey on his breath. He was well over the legal limit. If he got a DUI, the entire town would know. Missy would be all over him. His boss would be pissed. He could even lose his driving privileges. He still couldn’t believe this was happening. If it weren’t for Missy, he’d still be with the girls. It was all her fault. The stupid cunt.

Forget her, he told himself. Focus, Rick. Focus!

He rolled down his window and watched in the rearview mirror as the highway patrolman—a townie, from the looks of him, with his ruddy face and portly waistline—ambled over.

“License and registration, sir.”

Rick gave an obedient nod and handed over his identification and vehicle information. The cop shined his flashlight on the documents, then shined it back at Rick, the bright glare forcing him to squint uncomfortably.

Fucking prick, Rick thought, but he kept his expression neutral.

“What’s the trouble, Officer?” Rick asked.

“You know how fast you were going, sir?”

“Not sure. But from the looks of things, I’d say it was too fast.”

The cop frowned, apparently not appreciating Rick’s attempt at levity.

“You realize traveling at a speed of eighty-five miles per hour in these weather conditions is a disaster waiting to happen?”

Rick knew people. He studied them, understood their psychology, how to earn their trust. This was a no-brainer.

“I’m very sorry, Officer. You’re totally right. It’s just that my wife is waiting up for me and I guess I got careless.”

Rick held up his phone, displaying the photo and Missy’s impressive attributes. The cop paused for a moment, then his demeanor changed entirely. A smile spread across his wide, fat face.