The police cruiser pulled into Chablis’ driveway the morning after she had missed two days of work; two officers, both in uniform and both not unknown to Chablis, who had tended bar off and on at the local cop hangout for quite a few years. These guys were not a mis-matched pair, but a temporary one – an older mentoring officer and a rookie, though not so much a rookie that he hadn’t traded quips with Chablis over coffee and doughnuts on his before shift snack and beers when he had come off a patrol, stake-out, domestic abuse call or your basic police whatever. They probably give miscellaneous stuff a number, but I’m not in the know. I’m lucky to be fairly certain of my 10-20.
But there they were, on the front stoop, waiting for someone to open the door. Someone did, only it was not Chablis, who had been known to take unauthorized vacations from work from time to time. The truck driver came to the door and spoke through the crack.
“Yeah?’
“Sir, we’re here to inquire about your wife, she’s . . . ” Although Officer Hughes had started out comfidently, his voice faded as Chablis’ husband opened the door fully, revealing he was stark naked.
Brian Holman took a pull on his Mountain Dew, “She’s not here, hasn’t been for the past two days. Can’t you see her car’s gone. I figured she was out on a job.”
Trying to look in Brian’s eyes, and only in his eyes, Officer Hughes managed, “A job?” before his partner, grinning at the rookie’s red face, asked, “What the hell are you talking about?”
“You’re not going away, are you?” Brian stated more than asked and motioned them inside while he reached for a pair of pants hanging over a chair. Louise, who had been watching from across the street, could clearly see that he was putting the pants on without underwear. That’s all she saw because right then Officer Hughes (Hughie to his friends) closed the door.
Louise did not know what had been said because, unlike the officers, she had not been staring at the truck driver’s eyes or lips. Then the door opened and the officers left. They were still dressed and so she concentrated on reading their lips, as skill learned from watching countless Drive-In movies from the roof of her parents trailer out on Butter Bluff.
“Now, what would a nice looking fellow like this guy be marrying Chablis the Dog?” Hughie asked.
“Hell, I don’t know,” Tom White, Hughie’s partner muttered,” Old Chablis ain’t so bad when you’ve have about six beers and you keep remembering how sweet she was when you puked all over the counter . . .”
“You hurled on Chablis?!!” Hughie was incredulous. Tom had a reputation of being able to hold his liquor far better than his gun.
“It was a long time ago,” Tom started, “back right after we’d found Harold out on the railroad tracks.”