The officer was polite enough, but he almost seemed embarrassed for my humility. We sat at a booth that was only a few tables away from where my wife sat. This was actually a nicer table; all tucked in the corner near the pictures of all the beautiful people with surfboards. Maybe after this was over I could have my wife move over here. I could picture the food flying over here at my head before that would happen. Just another lovely once in a blue moon date night without the kids. I was dressed up nice for me, even wearing a splash of my Saturday night special cologne. My wife was dressed up also, but my back was to her. She was facing the city’s finest dressed in his everyday blues. I’m pretty sure he wished he was facing the kitchen. My wife’s glare was probably hotter than the sizzling fajita that just zoomed by in a waiter’s outreached hand. A faint smell of tequila lingered in the wafted smoke trail. I shot of tequila sounded good about now.
The waitress brought us two sweet teas. Instinctively I, and then noticed him, removed the lemon hanging from the lip of the glass. Did he not like lemons or did he have the same phobia about people touching things that go in your drink. I love lemons, but I also have that phobia. I know that waitress didn’t wash her hands. I could see it in her eyes. I removed the wrapper from my straw and speared in into the tea and took a long swallow.
The officer didn’t touch his drink right away but rather removed a notebook from his shirt pocket and set it on the table. Then the click of his retractable ball point pen immediately brought me back to task. I was not happy about this situation, but today’s society has covered good deeds in hogwash. Right now I was swimming in it.
Always have witnesses, I thought to myself. Even when it’s innocent.
The officer sipped his tea and then began.