Deep Fried and Pickled (Book One - The Rachael O'Brien Chronicles) (34 page)

We all followed except Bridget. She leaned on the wall outside the entrance. “I’m okay. I’ll watch the bags.”

From inside my stall I told the girls, “It’s eight-twenty-four. Did you see the security check line? It looks as if half the state is evacuating for spring break.”

In a zombie stance, Macy lathered her hands. “Our flight, doesn’t board until nine-forty. We have over an hour to go through that line and get to the gate.”

Slugging behind a maze of people to get through the x-ray machine, I checked my watch at every corner. Macy and Katie Lee choose lines to the left while Bridget and I went right. When my turn came, I hesitated. The man in front of me wiped gum from his shoe on the edge of the conveyer belt. I gave him a wide berth, and Bridget stepped in front of me.

Bridget tilted her head back. “Its ten after nine.”

The girls waited for me under the flight monitors while security passed my bag through a second time. “Miss,” one of the workers said, “you need to come with me.”

“Why?”

“Miss, come with me.”

I followed him to a door. Stenciled words read, “Airport Security, Private.”

Macy shouted, “Rach, what’s going on?”

A tall man wearing blue pants, two inches too short, motioned his hand at a gray plastic chair. “Take a seat.”

Dumbfounded, I followed orders. “What’s this all about?”

Two others joined us in the room. Then a fourth gentleman, gray at his temples, entered. He wore an airport detective badge that said
Grady
. He pushed the door, but before it shut, Katie Lee shoved her sandaled foot in the crack.

“Can we help you, miss?” One of the security men asked Katie Lee.

“I’m traveling with her,” I said.

She let herself in, followed by Macy and Bridget. Katie Lee anchored her hands on her hips. “What’s this all about?”

In a voice that vibrated the flimsy drywall, Airport Detective Grady asked, “Where you ladies headed?”

“New Orleans, sir.” Katie Lee looked at her naked wrist. “Our flight departs in --”

“Thirty minutes,” I said.

The security employee who had handled my bags gave my leather travel case to the detective. Unzipping it, he asked,

“Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

I thought this was some kind of joke, but no one laughed. “Can you be more specific?” I asked, darting my eyes from him to the girls.

The detective began placing items on the table: lipstick, concealer, eye pencil, cigarettes. Pushing the items to the side, he made room for a small wood pipe and two tiny plastic cylinder containers the size of my pinky fingernail. “Do you call these nothing?” he asked.

Rattled, I squeaked, “A pipe?” My inside voice shouted.
You aren’t going on spring break
.

“Miss O’Brien, this is drug paraphernalia. Illegal in the state of North Carolina.”

“They’re not mine,” I blurted.

Detective Grady grimaced but managed to refrain from rolling his eyes. He didn’t have to ask questions to scare me. His presence ignited my nerve endings into a series of pulsating shocks. I started to hiccup, and as an added bonus I thought I’d hurl.

Katie Lee went on the defensive. “She’s not in possession of drugs.” Hearing her words plunged me into an out of body experience. That was my cosmetic case with my makeup, but the drug stuff I’d never seen before. I hadn’t packed them. They weren’t in my cosmetic case this morning, or maybe they were. We awoke so early. I dressed and left.

How in the hell would I get out of this?  Would Macy, Katie Lee, and Bridget hop on the flight, leaving me to be booked on drug charges?
That’s what Bridget wanted. She was sabotaging me.
The conversation in the room garbled around my eardrums, and my vision went out of focus. I could only form grunts, and one-word answers to the questions being asked as my mind wrapped around the ramifications of wearing an orange jumpsuit in the women’s penitentiary.

Bridget batted her lashes. “Can’t you let her go with a warning?” She’d already helped me enough.

My roommates eyes sparked with electricity. Katie Lee lived for these moments. She stood tall with both hands on her hips and interjected some of her best bullshit scare tactic commentary. “Y’all can’t charge her. You never read the Miranda Rights. Rachael, don’t say anything until you have counsel.” She slammed her hand on the table. “Y’all are harassing her, and that is a state violation.”

I believed in mind over matter and chanted,
this can’t be happening.
Surely, the earth had stopped rotating, and I’d been flung into someone’s else’s problem.

Katie Lee tapped her foot. “Y’all don’t have anything on her, and our flight leaves in under twenty minutes. If we miss our plane, we expect reimbursement on the ticket and hotel accommodations--and being inconvenienced.” She dug my hole deep and wide.

The detective knitted his eyebrows together and glowered, “This is a serious offense, possession of a drug apparatus is prosecutable in the state of North Carolina.”

I stroked the face of my watch with my thumb, hyperaware of my saturated armpits, and the time. We had fifteen minutes to get to our gate.

I’m risk averse. Not the kind of lunatic that craves the adrenaline rush that goes with carrying a pipe and drug vials through airport security. I needed to set everyone straight. It was a setup, but how could I prove it? “This is a misunderstanding.”

The detective opened the door and motioned to Macy, Katie Lee and Bridget. “Step outside for a moment. I need a word with Ms. O’Brien.”

From outside the door, Katie Lee raged, “Y’all, they can’t do this to her. We need to find a payphone. My daddy can call in a favor from Judge Driskill.”

“There’s no way we’ll make our flight,” Bridget said.

When the door closed, I told Detective Grady, “I didn’t pack those. I’ve never seen them before.”

“Who put them there?” he asked.

I couldn’t focus on the logistics of the pipe and containers ending up in my cosmetic case. All I could think about was my dad, and that he was going to murder me after he posted bail. Teary eyed, I sniffled. “I don’t know. Maybe someone in my dorm thought, this would be funny.”

The detective filled in some paperwork that rested on a clipboard. He didn’t look at me when he spoke. “Since you are not in possession of any drug substances, I’m going to confiscate the pipe and drug vials. This time I’m sending you on your way with a warning.” I swallowed hard to suppress a hiccup, but my mouth wasn’t producing saliva. He set his pen aside and met my eyes. “I want to make it clear. These items are illegal and will not be tolerated.”

My body had slumped like a balloon with a leak. Detective Grady handed me my carry-on. “Ms. O’Brien, make sure you pack your own bags.” Before he changed his mind, I stood and waited for him to open the door. I acknowledged his advice with a nod.

Outside the door, I saw the agitated faces of my girlfriends and willed Katie Lee not to make any additional commentary. Not bothering to check the time, the four of us turned on our heels and bolted for the B gates.

“Rachael,” Katie Lee said. “Why did you pack those?”

“I didn’t.”

“We’re going to miss our flight,” Bridget said.

“I can see the gate,” I said. “The door’s still open.”

The sign above Gate B24 flashed, New Orleans, delayed twenty minutes. The woman behind the counter picked up the handset and announced, “Flight 1326 to New Orleans is now boarding first class.”

Sitting down in a chair in the boarding area, I dropped my bag, and let my head sink between my legs. Sweat dripped my neck.

Out of breath, Macy’s eyes welled with tears, and she wiped them with her polished fingers. “The pipe and containers are mine.”

I popped my head up and spewed words like dragon flames. ”Jesus, Macy, why the hell did you put them in my luggage?”

“I’m lost,” Bridget said.

“I keep them in a wooden box, in my underwear drawer. But I didn’t pack them.”

Tongue tied, I had trouble constructing sentences, but managed to ask, “How did they get into my cosmetic case?”

“I’ve been racking my brain. I don’t fuckin’ know,” Macy said.

“What were those tiny containers?” I asked.

Macy darted her eyes. “Old coke vials.”

“You do coke?” Katie Lee asked.

“No. I mean once. Over New Year’s eve. In Little Jamaica.”

“Wait a minute,” I said. “You sent me a holiday postcard. You were in Times Square, not the Caribbean.”

Macy rubbed her forehead. “It’s a neighborhood in New York City. You drive through and pick up what you want.”

Bridget put a new roll of film in her camera and wound it into place. She secured the lens cap, and looked up to scold Macy. “So Rachael just wangled out of a drug bust with your pipe?”

“Rach, I hope you believe me. I get buzzed, but not enough to forget putting my pipe and vials in your bag.”

Katie Lee moved toward the line of people waiting to board. “Y’all, let’s just try and get to Louisiana without involving the police.”

NOTE TO SELF

Someone in the airport almost got me arrested. I think she’s blonde and slept with my roommates boyfriend. Evil Bitch.

33

H
urricane
C
ocktails
A
nd
C
rawfish
K
isses

The
taxi drove past the muddy Mississippi where container ships and riverboats churned the water in a swift chop. Darkening clouds threatened rain on the Delta swamp and the moisture hanging in the air would’ve taken wrinkles out of linen.

During the eight-hundred mile airplane ride, at baggage claim, and inside the taxi, I kept physically and verbally distant from Bridget. Despite vacationing with her, I planned to converse in no more than Tarzan grunts.

The cabby piled luggage for four onto the sidewalk outside The Chateau hotel which was situated on Decatur Street near Jackson Square. A killer location. Katie Lee said it was a boutique hotel, which was a fancy way of saying small and cheap.

The hotel brochure boasting a cozy forty-five rooms. Cupping my hands around my eyes, I peeked inside the front door. The intimate lobby walls screamed zim-zam-va-va-voom. Floor to ceiling petal-pink and gold damask wallpaper and oversized tassel-tiebacks, the size of a mini Nerf footballs, held eight-foot-tall silk draperies. A tufted sofa with dainty legs, two eighteenth century replica armchairs, and large vases with silk arrangements dotted a sitting area by the front desk. No straight college guy, would book a reservation in this boudoir. I still held hope for meeting cute guys, just not inside here.

“What are we going to do first?” I asked.

The girls shouted, “Bourbon Street.”

Katie Lee disappeared to check in, and Macy hunted for a luggage cart. Bridget sat on a suitcase and tilted her eyes on her wristwatch. “I’m so glad to be on break.”

“Is there a line inside?” she asked.

I ignored her.

Bridget held her head in her palm and anchored her elbow on a knee. “Why are your feathers ruffled? We’re on vacation.”

The ringy-rhyme purr of her voice snapped something inside of me. She prayed on vulnerabilities, and I’d had enough. I had to end her twisted game, before someone,
most likely me
, got hurt. My voice rasped low and steady. “I’m not stupid. I know you planted the drugs in my suitcase to get me arrested.

She stood up. “You’re delusional.” She moved toward the hotel doors.

I pinched Bridget’s wrist and held tight. “You’re not very careful, are you? I know a lot more about you than you think. I’m wondering if the detective at the Greensboro police would be interested in you latest ploy?”

Bridget shook from my fingers. She neither confessed nor apologized.

“Forget about pulling any more crap. You and I are done.”

“Hey y’all.” Katie Lee said. “Our rooms aren’t ready. We can leave our bags in a closet behind the desk. She unfolded a tourist map of the surrounding area. “The hotel manager says Bourbon Street is a short stroll.”

Macy came out of the double doors with a cart and a bellhop who began to load our luggage. He handed Macy a numbered ticket, and she gave him a five.

Bridget followed him, “I have a headache,” she said. “I’m going to stay in the lobby until our room is ready.”

“Come with us,” Katie Lee said. “A walk might do you some good.”

Looking at her watch, she shook her head and moved inside the hotel.

“Were you two arguing?” Katie Lee asked.

“I wouldn’t call it arguing. More of a statement.”

“What’s going on?” Macy asked.

“I told Bridget, I know she planted the drugs in my suitcase.”

“Why’d you say that?” Katie Lee asked.

“Because she did. It’s the only explanation, and I’m not amused by her sense of humor.”

“How’d she manage that?” Macy asked.

“In the airport, when we went to the bathroom. She stayed outside.”

Macy processed what I said. “God, I was still asleep and didn’t pay any attention to her.”

Katie Lee had a hand on the hotel’s door handle. Her thumb stroked the fleur-de-lis etched in brass. “Y’all, I know Bridget, and she just wouldn’t do that. Let me go get her.”

“Why would Bridget steal paraphernalia from me to put in your suitcase?” Macy whispered.

“She’s mental.”

“No, seriously?” Macy asked again.

I huffed. “I don’t know.”

Ten minutes later, Katie Lee came out, alone. The three of us barely spoke as we crossed uneven cobbles, past a bustle of musicians and tourists who congregated in the French Quarter. We stopped in T-shirt souvenir shops, watched street performers and Macy posed for a pencil character drawing of herself while holding her middle finger up in front of her face.

The Louisiana air drugged us with a perfume of fried kitchen oil, and olive tree blossoms while the heat basted us like chickens in a rotisserie. I looked up and down Bourban Street. “Let’s get a drink.”