I turned nearly completely around in the back seat to watch the Kit Porter look-alike walk with the other officers to the trunk of the old man’s car. I really couldn’t believe what I was seeing nor could I concentrate as their words echoed in my head (SHE DIDN’T CHEAT ON YOU . . . FUCKIN MORON . . . . ASSHOLE . . . DIDN’T CHEAT . . . .DIDN’T CHEAT . . . ). I shook my head hard to clear the voices and was frozen with shock as the officers opened the trunk of the man’s car to reveal even more bottles of pills and duffle bags stuffed with cash which was evident when they unzipped them to view the contents.

Dumbfounded at the sight, I wanted to laugh but wanted to know what the fuck was happening even more.

Before I could even ask the question, my captor began to explain as she entered the patrol and starting writing a few words on her report.

“Girl, you may have just caught a huge break,” she said without looking up from the notepad or looking back at me.

“Why?” I shyly asked, not wanting to further complicate my situation with defiance. “Who is that guy”?

“That’s Victor Mattucci, big time senior drug dealer, bingo boss, and bookie. Runs prescription drugs across the Canadian border and that huge bingo game at the VFW on Thursdays. We’ve been after for him months. Seems you may be kinda, sorta responsible for helping us nail him with the goods.”

My heart skipped a beat as a small but bright light bulb of recognition began to glow. “Is that same Mattucci who has that great pizza joint on the beach?” I asked as K and I were frequent visitors to that place. Not only did his place have great pizza, it also hosted L-word parties on Sunday nights and was one of the few eateries I knew where live action for sports betting could be taken! Who would ever suspect a lesbian loving pizza joint hosting Vegas style wagering. (FUCK ME, I THINK I JUST BUSTED MY BOOKIE)

“Yep, same guy,” the officer replied still not looking up from the report and still not driving us away from the scene of my crime.