6

Chapter 603 Worse Than Itching Ass Stitches

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Eric thought he would have a nice relaxing day lying in bed on his side and worrying about when his ass stitches were going to start itching. It hadn't started yet, but the doctor warned him that it would happen and he couldn't scratch. Since he'd told him that, that's all that he could think about.

On the bad side, a doctor had to cut his butt open a bit to get the car out, but on the bright side—and there was always a bright side if you looked hard enough—little car Jax was dirty but unhurt. He'd cleaned him up and he was as good as new—the doctor retrieved little Jax without putting a scratch on him. He was still pissed at Carl for not helping him. The guy was such an asshole.

And then the shit began to trickle down starting with a call from Charming PD telling him they thought they found the car thief and wanted him to come down to look at photos. He couldn't very well refuse or they might get suspicious and he didn't want to tell them about his little Jax induced butt injury, so he agreed to come in.

He was shown into an interview room and felt a touch of nerves instantly. This was going to be easy. All he had to do was look at the pictures and answer truthfully that he didn't recognize anyone and leave.

A few minutes later, a man walked into the room and introduced himself as Deputy Police Chief Hale. Eric's heart sank a little and he felt a trickle of fear. Why is the deputy police chief handling a trivial case like this? Charming was a small town maybe they were short staffed.

"This will only take a few minutes," Hale assured him setting a stack of folders down on the table between them and taking a seat across from Eric.

"OK."

"Do you recognize anyone in these photos?" Hale asked showing him a sheet of paper with six photos of men of various ethnicities and ages. Eric knew from all the cop shows he watched that this was referred to as a six pack.

"No, I didn't see the person that took my car," Eric explained starting to relax. This was going to be easy. He'd been worried over nothing.

"How about now?" Hale asked replacing the first sheet of pictures with another.

Eric looked at them and felt the color drain from his face. There was a picture of Carlos. What the fuck was happening?

"Do you recognize any of these guys?" Hale prompted.

"Uh, no," Eric said shaking his head. His butt was starting to itch. The doctor told him it would be a couple of days. Why now? Why at the worst possible time? The doctor also told him not to try to scratch the stitches with a knitting needle or chop stick. Stress was making him itch like a mother.

"OK," Hale said taking the picture and putting it in the folder. "How about here?" he said pulling another sheet of paper from a folder. "Recognize anyone?"

He'd been shown Carlos' picture, so the worst was over. All he had to do was study the paper with the pictures and say he didn't recognize anyone. He looked at the pictures, his heart beat faster and his palms grew damp because there on the end was a picture of Carl Namid. What the hell was happening? Should he lie? Should he admit to knowing him? His even more fiercely deep inside. Not for the first time, he regretted is adventure at TM with little Jax. This was the worst itching sensation he'd ever felt in his entire life. He shifted his weight on the chair and wiped his palms on his Dockers.

"No one looks familiar."

"Not having any luck today, I'm afraid," Hale said with a pleasant smile. He pulled out the sheet of paper with Carlos' picture. "You're sure none of these guys look familiar?"

Eric didn't trust himself to speak. He shook his head wanting nothing more than to scratch his ass with a chop stick and get the hell out of that room—not necessarily in that order.

"No."

"OK," Hale said putting the page back in the folder. He pulled out another folder. "Maybe you could help me with something else. Since you didn't know any of the men in those pictures, how do you explain this?" Hale fanned out a series of pictures of him and Carlos in his now destroyed Ford Fiesta, the late much loved Big Jax his first Fiesta.

Eric stared at the pictures. What lie could he tell that could get him out of this mess? Think! Think! Think! You're smarter than this idiot small town cop. Think, Eric, think!

Eric frowned pretending to think. "Now that I think about it, I picked up a hitchhiker. That could be the guy. I didn't pay much attention to what he looked like." He was a genius. He opened his mouth and the most brilliant words came out.

"Just around Charming or a longer ride?"

Eric thought fast. The only pictures were from Charming traffic cameras. The idiot was trying to trick him.

"Charming."

"You in the habit of giving hitchhikers rides?"

"Just an impulse."

"Kind of dangerous," Hale said. He pulled out one of the sheets of paper that included Carlos' picture and pointed at Carlos' picture. "This guy was found dead in a ditch the day after these pictures were taken."

Eric arranged his features into an appropriate expression of surprise like he used to do back in his porn days. That was the key to getting out of this just act. There was only one problem with that; he'd been terrible at improvising. He was so much better when someone wrote the words he needed to say.

"I won't pick up a hitchhiker again."

"Good for you," Hale said approvingly. "Could you look at this sheet one more time and just double check that you don't know any of these men?" Hale pulled out the sheet that included Carl Namid.

Eric wanted to run from the room. He was too worried now to even feel the itching from his stitches. What the hell was going on with Carl's picture. Could the idiot cop have gotten Carl and Carlos confused? They sort of looked alike since they both had short dark hair and eyes.

"No, I don't think so."

Hale returned the page to the first folder and pulled out some pictures from a third folder and fanned them out. They were pictures showing him going to Carl Namid's house. He'd been under surveillance for several days by the looks of it. Fucking hell, this was not good. He was going to need the mother of all lies to get himself out of this.

"Why are you going to this man's house when you don't know him?"

If a lie gets you into trouble, a better lie will get you out of it, Eric reasoned. He just needed to come up with the right lie.

"I was answering the question in the context of someone who would steal my car. Carl's a friend. I visit him sometimes. He's a well respected doctor at St. Thomas. He isn't going to steal a car."

"Makes perfect sense to me. I've got a little formality that I need to do," Hale explained apologetically. He pulled out a card and read Eric his rights. "Do you understand your rights as I've read them to you?"

"Yeah, but why are you reading me my rights? I'm the victim. My car got stolen." Eric decided there must be something up with the insurance claim, but it had been processed and he had the money. What could have happened to cause a problem and why were they watching Dr. Namid or him?

"Just a couple more questions," Hale said reassuringly. Hale pulled out a picture of Carlos lying on a morgue slab and stabbed the picture with his forefinger. "This man was found with a bullet in him and we were able to match ballistics to a shooting that happened when Dr. Tara Knowles was hit by a vehicle and the man traveling with her shot at the car. You know a Dr. Knowles?"

"I dated her briefly," Eric said wondering where the hell this was all going. "We split up amicably around the time she killed that guy that attacked her."

"Here's the really strange part," Hale said reaching into a fourth file, "Here are some pictures of you with Carlos in a van that was used in the attack on Dr. Knowles."

That was the moment when Eric realized that itching ass stitches were the least of his problems.