CHAPTER 51: THE LONG ARM OF THE LAW
Jimmy O'Bannon snorted as he buttoned his shirt, glaring at the uniform and pads in his locker stall. Tonight had to be one of the Komets worst games of the season. The Quad City Mallards came into their barn and beat the living crap out of them. 6-1 they lost. Six to friggin' one! To a team named after a duck!
A scowl marred his face as he thought of his own play tonight. Shots at bad angles, shots that missed the net, playing out of position on defense.
Bottom line, he flat out sucked.
Then again, everyone in the locker room can say the same thing.
After getting dressed, he left the locker room. Some of the players planned to gather at one of the sports bars near the arena. O'Bannon decided to pass. Right now he preferred to be miserable by himself.
He trudged to the parking lot and settled into his car. He jammed his keys into the ignition, then just sat there, staring at the steering wheel. Snippets of the game replayed in his mind. His scowl deepened as he saw himself getting faked out by Mallards players, and taking desperate shots that missed the net by a mile, and the three passes he made that were intercepted, and how the drive and determination he usually had on the ice deserted him.
O'Bannon thumped the steering wheel with his fist and sat back. Times like this, he wondered if he really had what it took to make a career out of this game. Forget the NHL. Could he even make it to the "big-time" minor leagues of the ECHL or AHL? What if he spent the next five or six years bouncing around from one small minor league franchise to another, as a few of his teammates had? Would he wind up thirty-years-old playing for some Podunk team in Bumbleflats, Montana, his window for having any prayer of making the NHL long since passing him by? Then what? What else was he qualified to do?
In this world.
He shook his head. No. He left that "other world" behind.
Or, at least, he tried to.
Clenching his teeth, he looked out the window, gazing at the pinpricks of light that burned throughout darkened Fort Wayne. The dreams had started up again. After a week of peaceful sleeping, memories of war and death tormented him. Last night was a particularly bad one. Helghorst Island. Spells and curses shooting all around him. Beatrice Hill hit by a Killing Curse. Eli Witting impaled by a flying shard of stone.
And he could do nothing to save them. Them, and so many others that day.
I'm not going to go through this tonight. He started the car and pulled out of the parking lot. A few blocks away he came upon a convenience store and pulled into it. This would be one of those nights he'd definitely need a few beers to help him sleep, and hopefully, to prevent another dream like that.
He pulled into a space along the side of the store and got out. He immediately took notice of the big, black pick-up truck parked next to him, with a trio of college-age girls standing around it. His eyes lingered on the closest one; slender with long black hair, an angular face with a little too much make-up, and full, red lips. She also had nice, long legs covered by black stockings.
She caught him staring at her and responded with an approving smile. "Hi."
"Hi." He nodded and started toward the store. Just as he stepped onto the concrete walkway, the girl called to him.
"Excuse me."
O'Bannon stopped and turned. "Yeah?"
Still smiling, she sauntered over to him, joined by her two friends, one blond, the other with brown hair. Both just as hot, though again, wearing more make-up than they needed.
"Um, we were wondering if you could help us out." The brunette stuck her hip out to one side and slowly blinked her eyes.
"What do you need help with?"
"Well, one of our friends is having this huge party, and she wanted us to bring some beer. But the asshole clerk in there," she nodded toward the store, "asked for ID. I left my fake ID at home, and when the guy checked Cheryl's ID," she turned briefly to the blond, "he told us to leave or else he'd call the cops. Please tell me you're twenty-one."
"That I am."
The brunette's smile grew wider. She took another step closer to him as his eyes roamed up and down her body. "Well then, that being the case, would you mind buying us a couple cases of beer for our party?"
Warning bells went off in the back of his mind. Common sense told him to say no and go about his business. He didn't even know these girls.
But they're hot. He also took note of how the brunette looked at him, smiled at him.
O'Bannon remembered that day over a year-and-a-half ago, his unexpected run-in with Yuki Tamazaki at Mount Ida College, and the party they'd gone to after the football game. There'd be a lot of underage drinking going on there, and no one bothered them.
And look what happened with me and Yuki after the party.
Again his eyes roamed up and down the girl's body. Maybe if he played his cards right, he could wind up in bed with her, too. It sure beat going home, drinking alone, thinking about the crap game he played and worrying about another nightmare.
"Well, that depends," he said to the girl. "A, will you be at this party, and B, can I join you?"
The brunette gave him a sultry smile and waggled her thin eyebrows. "Yes on both counts."
O'Bannon smiled and bowed. "Then I'm your man. By the way, I'm Jimmy."
"Courtney." She shook his hand. "And these are my friends, Robin and Cheryl." She glanced first at the brown-haired girl, then the blond.
Courtney handed him a couple twenties and he strode into the store. He soon emerged with two cases of beer, to the delight of the trio.
"Okay." He put both cases in his truck. "You girls lead the way, and I'll follow."
"Actually, I'll come with, if you don't mind." Courtney smiled at him, looking hopeful.
"Hey, who am I to turn down the services of a beautiful navigator?"
Courtney grinned and bounced on her black high heels. She tossed her keys to Robin and told her to drive her pick-up.
O'Bannon opened the passenger door for Courtney, who looked a bit surprised.
"Um, thanks," she said as she slipped into the car.
"You're welcome." He closed the door and walked round to the driver's side. Something tells me this is gonna be an awesome night.
He got behind the wheel, looking at Courtney. She tilted her head, giving him another sultry smile. His heartbeat increased, as did the heat below his waist.
Something niggled the back of his mind. The image of another girl who wore too much make-up and threw herself at any guy she met. Ivy Chatham, otherwise known as, The Salem Skank.
She'd come on to him more than once. But every time, he turned her down – unlike Jared that one time, which earned him a severe tongue-lashing from Rosa about "poor judgment" and a "lack of dignity." O'Bannon wanted a relationship, preferably with a strong woman, a woman of character. Girls like Ivy, in his opinion, lacked character. They came off as shallow with little self-respect. He sensed that vibe coming from Courtney. Hell's bells, they only met five minutes ago, and already she was in his car coming on to him. For all she knew, he could be some chainsaw-wielding psycho.
But I'm not, so it's cool.
He pulled out of the parking space and followed the pick-up onto the street.
"So, you go to college around here?" he asked.
"Yup. IPFW." She referred to Indiana University-Purdue University at Fort Wayne. "What about you? You go there, or some other school?"
"Me? No, I don't go to school. I actually play for the Komets."
"Oh? That's the hockey team, isn't it?"
Judging by that reaction, Courtney didn't appear to be much of a sports fan.
"Yes it is. So, what about you? What are you majoring in?"
Courtney shrugged. "Psychology, for now. But it's getting too hard. I'm probably gonna change it. To what I don't know. Whatever. I'm just having a good time."
He winced at that. She didn't sound like a very motivated person. In his line of work, where motivation was critical, it bothered him to see someone who lacked that trait, especially someone he wanted to spend time with.
Dude, you're not looking to marry her, just have a good time with her.
"So, like, with the hockey team," Courtney continued. "Do you get to travel and stuff?"
"Yup." He nodded, following the pick-up as it made a right.
"That's gotta be cool, goin' all over the place."
"I don't know if 'cool' is the word I'd use. I mean, we can spend six, seven hours cooped up in a bus, then we're cooped up in a hotel. And it's not like we're going to exotic places, unless you consider Port Huron, Michigan or Rockford, Illinois exotic."
"Ew, that sounds like it kinda sucks. But it beats sitting in some class with a teacher who was born in, like, the Stone Age."
"Yeah, I guess it does."
O'Bannon followed the pick-up into an upscale residential neighborhood, through a gate and up a circular driveway crowded with dozens of vehicles. His eyes widened when he saw the big three-story, Victorian-looking house.
"Damn! That's where your friend lives?"
"Yeah. Cool, ain't it? Her dad runs some kind of electronics company and gets all these government contracts. He's got a ton of money. But I guess you do, too."
"Huh?"
"Well, aren't all athletes rich?"
O'Bannon half-snorted, half-laughed. "Not at my level. I'm in the minors. When I get to the NHL, then I'll be making enough to afford a place like this."
"So you think you'll be making that kind of money one day?"
He chewed on his lower lip for a moment, then nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, I do."
Courtney smiled. "Cool."
They got out of the car. Pounding dance music blared from the house, and from a few parked vehicles further up the driveway. A throng of people congregated around the porch and the vehicles, drinking and talking animatedly. He popped the trunk as Robin and Cheryl joined them. Courtney pulled out four cans from one case, handed two to him, and kept the other two for herself.
"You guys go ahead," she told the other two girls. "We'll catch up."
Robin and Cheryl looked at one another knowingly, giggled, then headed off.
O'Bannon's eyes widened for a moment. He glanced over at Courtney, who smiled as she slowly twisted her body from side to side. She sauntered back to the car and opened the rear passenger door. Waggling her eyebrows, she got into the backseat.
Damn. It looks like I won't even have to try hard with this one.
He joined her in the backseat. They cracked open their beers and drained them.
"Ahhhh." Courtney pressed herself back against the seat. "I think this is gonna be a fun night."
"That's what I'm hoping for." He smiled at her. "So tell me. You in the habit of picking up strange men in parking lots?"
She turned her head toward him. "Only really cute ones. And you are really, really cute."
She slid over to him. He stiffened he felt her hand gently grasp his inner thigh. His heart hammered in his chest as Courtney leaned in, her lips parting. He wrapped an arm around her waist as they kissed.
Their mouths opened wider and wider. Their tongues dueled. Her hands slid up and down his chest. His lips moved down her neck. Courtney moaned as he gave her a gentle love bite. His hand slid over her butt.
"Yes, Jimmy." She kissed his cheek, then nipped his ear. "Yes."
She straddled him. Their kissing grew fiercer. Her fingers worked their way along his chest, undoing the first button of his coat. Then the next, the next. He started undoing the buttons of her coat, kissing her along her jaw.
In less than a minute their coats were off. She went to work unbuttoning his shirt, while he started pulling off her sweater. Excitement and lust overwhelmed him. He couldn't wait to get her naked, to –
Someone knocked on the window.
Courtney gasped. O'Bannon wiped his head around.
A man with a round, dark face stared through the window at them. O'Bannon noticed a gold badge pinned to the man's dark blue jacket.
He was a cop.
The officer tapped the window with his flashlight again and motioned for them to get out.
O'Bannon exited first, followed by Courtney, who stood hugging herself, her eyes focused intently on her shoes. His eyes flickered around, spotting a couple more police cars parked at the end of the driveway. Two more officers headed up to the house.
"Evening." The cop nodded to them. "We got noise complaints from some of the neighbors around here. Can I see some ID?"
Both he and Courtney retrieved their driver's licenses. The cop looked them over, then aimed his flashlight inside the car. O'Bannon's gaze followed the beam as it settled on the beer cans in the backseat. Tension gripped him. This can't be good.
"You both been drinking tonight?" The cop leaned in a bit, no doubt to catch the odor of alcohol on their breath.
"Yes, Officer," O'Bannon replied.
"I just had one beer," Courtney answered.
"You haven't been drinking and driving, have you?"
They both shook their heads and answered, "No."
The cop paused, staring at their licenses again. He then glanced up at him. "You do realize this girl is nineteen, don't you?"
"Yeah." He shrugged.
"And you were providing her with alcohol."
His throat tightened. Dread mounted inside him.
"And the beer in your trunk. That belong to you, Mister O'Bannon?"
His brow furrowed. How could he . . .
His head snapped toward his trunk. Worry tore through his stomach as he realized he never closed the trunk. The two cases of beer were there for the whole world to see.
Including this cop.
"Yeah, that's his beer," Courtney piped up. "He's the one who bought it."
He turned back to Courtney, eyes wide. The girl didn't even look at him, didn't even seem bothered by the fact she just threw him under the bus.
I can't believe it. We were gonna . . .
What? Have sex? What the hell else was he going to do with this girl? This girl he barely even knew.
"Is that true, Sir," the cop asked.
He looked at him, then glanced at the open trunk. The though of lying came and went. What was he supposed to say, anyway? The beer was in his car, and sure as hell Courtney wouldn't be of any help to him.
"Yeah." He lowered his head, frowning. "Yeah, I bought it for them."
"Uh-huh." The cop just stared at him for a few moments. "Please turn around and place your hands on top of the car."
O'Bannon blinked twice. "Wh-What?"
"I'm placing you under arrest."
"Arrest? For-For what?"
"Providing alcohol to underage persons. Now please, Sir. Place your hands on top of the car."
Shock overwhelmed him. Almost unconsciously, he turned around. His legs quaked as the cop patted him down, then handcuffed him.
This can't be happening. This can't be happening.
XXXXX
O'Bannon sat in a holding room, his right wrist handcuffed to the table. He stared at the wall, images of the last hour going through his mind. The cop reading him his rights, sitting in the back of the police car, being fingerprinted, getting his mug shot.
I got arrested. I can't believe I got arrested.
He glanced at the door, waiting for someone to come in, dreading it. What would happen? Would they take him to jail? Most likely. He grinded his teeth as worry consumed him. What would Mom and Dad think when they heard he got arrested? And the team! Crap, would Coach give him the boot? Would that be it for his pro hockey career?
C'mon. How many other athletes get in trouble with the law and still keep playing?
Of course, many of those athletes were big-time players in the top sports leagues in the country. He was an all right forward for a small-time minor league hockey team. Who would cut him any slack?
Quit being a pussy. You've been through worse scrapes than this.
He drew a few deep breaths. He'd fought Death Eaters and giants and trolls in that "other life." He was strong, he was resilient. Whatever happened, he could overcome it.
But this still sucks.
Damn, I need a drink.
The doorknob clicked open. He turned, his chest tightening.
A balding, overweight man with sergeant's stripes entered the room, carrying a stuffed manila envelope. O'Bannon cocked an eyebrow when he noticed the man smiling.
"Mister O'Bannon?"
He nodded silently.
The Sergeant continued to smile. "I just wanted to apologize. This has all been a misunderstanding. You're free to go. Here are your things."
He sat there, paralyzed. Had he heard right? "Excuse me?"
"This has been a misunderstanding. You're free to go." The Sergeant placed the envelope on the table.
O'Bannon continued to gawk at the Sergeant, who just kept smiling. What the hell did he mean "misunderstanding?" They caught him with the beer, beer he'd bought for underage girls. They had him dead to rights. Why would they just let him go?
Hinkey hairs stood up on the back of his neck. He kept staring at the Sergeant, who kept smiling at him.
"What exactly do you mean by 'misunderstanding'?"
The Sergeant shrugged. "This has been a misunderstanding. You're free to go."
O'Bannon's jaw stiffened as the Sergeant uncuffed him from the table. He could only think of one explanation for his miraculous deliverance.
The Sergeant stepped to the side, letting him get up. He continued staring at him, that damn smile still plastered on his fleshy face. After a few seconds, O'Bannon nodded, collected his personal items from the envelope, and walked through the door.
He tried to be happy as he walked through the bland hallway toward the lobby. He wouldn't be going to jail. He wouldn't get kicked off the team, or embarrass his family. He should be happy.
But happiness only existed below a mass of surprise and trepidation.
Whoever they sent still must be around here.
He opened the door leading to the lobby, tension knotting his shoulders. His eyes swept the utilitarian room with its brown and beige tile floor, wooden benches, and the big, thick glass separating the reception desk from the rest of the world. A middle-aged couple sat on one of the benches filling out forms. An officer behind the glass stood and spoke on a phone.
None of them appeared to notice the striking woman with long dark hair and robes standing on the other side of the lobby. O'Bannon, however, did notice her, and to his shock, recognize her.
Oh my God.
"Jimmy." Mrs. Infante greeted him.
His vocal cords froze. Even if he could talk, he had no idea what to say. He never expected to see Rosa's mother again. Part of him didn't want to see her again, or anyone else from that world. The fewer reminders of the previous ten years of his life, the better.
"Um . . . hey."
Silence hung between them for several seconds. Finally, Mrs. Infante took a deep breath. "Come on. Let's get out of here."
He followed her outside and down the concrete walkway, the parking lot to their right. He spotted his car parked in one of the spaces. Mrs. Infante must have been responsible for that as well.
"I take it you're the reason I'm not in jail?" he asked.
Mrs. Infante turned to face him. "That's right."
"How did you even know I was here?"
"The Department of Magic has charms to alert us to incidents like this. We obviously can't have a witch or wizard sitting in a Muggle jail. Along with possibly compromising the International Statute of Secrecy . . . well, let's face it. History has shown our kind haven't fared well when left in the hands of Muggle authorities."
O'Bannon nodded. "Yeah. Well, thanks." He started toward his car.
"That's it?"
He stopped as Mrs. Infante stepped toward him. "I haven't seen you in nearly a year, and all you can say is, 'Yeah. Well, thanks'?"
O'Bannon sighed. "Okay. Thanks for getting me out of there, Mrs. Infante. I appreciate it."
Again he turned to leave.
"Dammit, Jimmy."
"What?" He spun around, arms out to his sides.
She strode up to him, exasperation etched on her face. "What is going on with you?"
"What'd you mean?"
Mrs. Infante's eyes widened. "What do I mean? Jimmy, I had to come here to get you out of jail. Obviously something is very wrong."
"Nothing's wrong."
"Like hell. I talked to the officer who arrested you, and that girl you were with, before I modified their memories. Merlin's beard, what has gotten into you? Buying alcohol for underage Muggles? And that girl? You meet her outside some store, and just like that, you agree to get her beer, then try to have sex with her in the back of your car? That's not like you."
"I was just looking to have a good time. You know, blow off some steam. I had a bad night."
"What sort of bad night?"
O'Bannon groaned. "We had a bad game, okay? We got our asses kicked tonight and I totally sucked. That's it."
"I'm sure you've had bad games before and never acted like this. So is that the only reason?"
He clenched his jaw. Moments later, he turned away, watching the vehicles moving up and down the street in front of him.
Mrs. Infante gently clasped his shoulder. Her tone softened. "Are you having nightmares? Flashbacks?"
He whipped his head back toward her. "N . . . How . . . I mean, uh . . ."
She gave him a sympathetic smile. "It's okay, Jimmy. I have them, too. So does Cesario . . . Irving . . . so did Liana." A sullen look came over her face.
He stared at her silently. He thought back over the past few months. All the nightmares he had. All those flashbacks, like opening night, the kid who reminded him of Colin Creevey.
He hated them. He wanted them to stop. What's worse, in this world he had no one who would understand. At least with Mrs. Infante, she would know what he was going through. Hell, she fought in both wars against Voldemort.
I just want someone to tell me it's going to get better.
He opened his mouth . . . then closed it. Mrs. Infante and so many others had depended on him during the war to be a leader, to show strength even in the darkest of times. How would it look now if he admitted his weakness to her?
No. I'm not weak. I'm strong.
Another concern surfaced. If he told Mrs. Infante about all his personal demons, he'd be re-opening the door to "that world," the world that caused all this pain in the first place. He wanted that door shut forever.
"I'm fine. I can handle it."
Mrs. Infante sighed and shook her head. "Jimmy, it doesn't make you less of a man to admit you have nightmares from the war."
"Okay. Every once in a while I have a nightmare. But I deal with it. Heck, sometimes all it takes is a couple beers and I'm fine."
"Alcohol isn't the answer, Jimmy. Believe me, I've seen my fair share of aurors and Guild members who thought turning to the bottle would help them cope with what they went through during the war. It only made things worse for them."
"Well that won't happen to me." He poked himself in the chest. "Besides, it's not like I drink all the time. It's no big deal."
"It is a big deal when you do something that gets you arrested by the Muggle authorities." A stern look settled over Mrs. Infante's face. "This is why the Department of Magic gets so worried when Muggle-borns decide to work in this world rather than our own."
"Well the Department of Magic will just have to deal with it." O'Bannon's voice went up an octave. "I did check it out. The last law that prohibited Muggle-borns from working in this world was overturned by the Continental Wizarding Legislature in 1944."
"And they probably didn't anticipate Muggle-borns taking jobs that carried with it a degree of public notoriety. Look what happened when Jimi Hendrix dropped out of school to become a musician. Forget about all the enchantments and spells needed to modify his background information so Muggles wouldn't get suspicious, he actually used magic when he played the guitar. Thankfully the Muggles thought he was just extremely gifted and never caught on to the fact Hendrix was actually a wizard. But look at all the accidental outbursts of magic he had because of his drug use, accidents the Department of Magic had to fix. It got so bad the Department had to assign someone to him full-time until he died."
"That won't happen to me. I'll be careful."
"You call this being careful?" Mrs. Infante thrust a hand toward the police station. "Buying beer for a girl you don't know and winding up in jail?"
"All right, so I messed up. It won't happen again."
"How can I be sure?"
"I said it won't, okay?" Face scrunched in aggravation, he headed toward his car.
"Jimmy. I'm worried about you."
"I'm a big boy now, Mrs. Infante. You don't have to worry about me."
"I can't help it!" She dashed in front of him, forcing him to halt. "You're not just my daughter's best friend. You're part of my family, and I care about what happens to you! And I don't want to see you go down the same path Jimi Hendrix did. Let me help you."
"I don't want your help! I don't need any help, especially from you wand wavers! I just want to be left alone, and live my life, in my world! And after everything I did for you people, I earned that right. So just leave me alone!"
He stormed past her and got into his car. As he stuck the key into the ignition, he noticed the look on Mrs. Infante's face, like a mixture of shock, anger and . . . sadness?
O'Bannon drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. Disgust slithered through him. How many times had Mrs. Infante let him stay at her house, make him meals, answer whatever questions he had about the Wizarding World? He'd been blessed to have two best friends who had such a wonderful family.
And here he just yelled at one of those family members.
Maybe I should apologize.
Instead he stayed put. If he was going to get over all his "issues," he had stay away from that other world forever.
O'Bannon started his car and pulled away from the curb.
I need a drink.
NEXT: The quartet reaches . . . THE TIPPING POINT
