The blue and red lights cut through our living room curtains like a strobe light at a bad rave. My heart didn’t just drop; it evicted itself from my chest.
“Oh god,” I whispered. “They found me.”
My husband looked up from the TV. “Found you? What did you do?”
“I don’t know!” I hissed, crawling toward the window. “Maybe I didn’t scan that avocado correctly at self-checkout! maybe that U-turn on Main Street was illegal!”
A police car pulled up to our house with the lights flashing.
It wasn’t just a patrol drive-by. They were parked. In my driveway. The siren gave a short whoop-whoop that sounded like the gavel of judgment slamming down on my life.
The neighbors came out to watch. I saw Mrs. Gable across the street, clutching her robe, probably already posting on the HOA Facebook page about the “criminal element” in unit 4B. The shame was burning me alive.
I was sweating, wondering if I had unpaid parking tickets. I mentally reviewed every driving infraction, every jaywalk, every time I ripped the tag off a mattress.
The heavy footsteps crunched up the walk. Thud. Thud. Thud.
Then, the pounding on the door. BANG. BANG. BANG.
“Police! Open up!”
I opened the door with trembling hands, ready to surrender, ready to plead the Fifth, ready to cry.
The officer walked up. He stood tall, silhouette imposing, hand resting on… a cardboard box?
He didn’t pull out handcuffs. He knocked, and handed me a pizza.
I stared at the box. I stared at the badge. Then I looked at the face grinning beneath the brim of the hat.
“Special delivery for the felons!” he boomed.
It was my brother-in-law.
I nearly collapsed on the porch. There was no warrant. There was no raid. It was just Dave.
He just got a job as a cop and wanted to show off the uniform while delivering our dinner.
He thought it was hilarious. He stood there posing, adjusting his belt, waiting for us to admire his new authority. Meanwhile, I was trying to lower my heart rate from “hummingbird” to “human,” and Mrs. Gable was undoubtedly disappointed that she didn’t get to see a perp walk. I took the pizza, but I told Officer Dave that if he ever pulled a stunt like that again, the only thing he’d be arresting was a swift kick out the front door.
