Cancellation Notice
A Southern Fraud Short Story
J. W. Becton
A WHITELEY PRESS, LLC, BOOK
Copyright © 2011 by J. W. Becton
https://www.jwbecton.com
The characters and events in this book are fictitious or used fictitiously. Any similarity to real people, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Other Works by J. W. Becton
The Southern Fraud Thriller Series
Absolute Liability
Death Benefits
At Fault
Moral Hazard
Shock Loss
Sunset Clause—Coming Soon!
“Cancellation Notice”: A Southern Fraud Short Story
The Personages of Pride & Prejudice Collection
Writing as Jennifer Becton
Charlotte Collins
“Maria Lucas”: A Short Story
Caroline Bingley
Mary Bennet
The Personages of Pride & Prejudice Collection
Seven Years Ago
The sun struggled toward the horizon, sending its first warming rays to tickle the dew that clung to the grass. The haze of night was lifting to reveal a brand new day.
It was a beautiful morning to commit a third-degree felony.
I just got off third shift—the 9 pm to 7 am stint that every cop in the Mercer Police Department dreads—when my cell phone chirped. I yanked the thing off my overloaded belt and checked the ID: Tripp Carver.
A detective in the Violent Crimes Unit of the MPD, Tripp was my first love. We’d dated throughout my high school years, and he’d helped me through some tough times. We grew apart when he went away to college, but I think we both secretly wondered if we would get back together one day.
It hadn’t happened yet. I liked to believe it was because we were both busy with our careers and not because we just weren’t meant to be.
Tripp started on the force two years before me and had already moved up the ranks to plainclothes detective, while I was still donning the blue polyester every day. But he always had my back no matter what kind of material it was clad in.
Tripp was good like that.
I put him on speaker and set the phone in my lap so no one would see a uniformed cop chatting away on a cell phone while driving a cruiser.
It didn’t present a good image.
“Jules, you got a minute?” Tripp’s voice sounded edgy, which was so unusual that I figured it must be the product of the tinny speaker on my phone or my sleep-deprived brain playing tricks on me, but I pulled into the nearest parking lot just in case something was wrong.
What did a few more minutes without sleep mean in the grand scheme of things?
I put the cruiser in park, but left the engine and the air conditioner running. “What’s up?”
“You know the promotion list is due out any day now.”
“Yeah,” I said, feeling hope rise in my chest. I’d passed the detective’s exam the previous month, so in theory, I was a lock to be promoted. But in reality, one never knew.
Tripp made some hesitation noises, and my hope began to fade away.
“Whatever it is, just say it.”
“Okay, okay.” He sucked in a deep breath. “You’re not on that list.”
Disappointment settled like a leaden weight in my gut. I leaned my head back on the rest and closed my eyes.
I’d been counting on that promotion. I couldn’t keep up this crazy shift work, and I wanted to wear something other than an itchy uniform.
“Well, there’s always next year.” I said with a sigh.
“That’s not all, Jules.”
My eyes flew open.
“What else could there be?” I squeaked.
Tripp hesitated some more and finally said, “You’ve heard the rumor about the city-wide budget cuts, right?”
Every cop had heard the rumor that the MPD’s budget was on the verge of being slashed, resulting in all sorts of trouble for the department. In fact, it was the longest running bit of gossip in the MPD, and it was discussed with almost as much frequency as the story about Officer Jones and Tammy the receptionist getting it on in the supply closet one night.
“Yeah,” I said, drawing out the word.
“The cuts happened.”
“You’re kidding. The city council actually cut our budget? The captain will crap Frisbees.”
“He’s done more than that.”
“What? Cut overtime?”
“Jules…” His voice had gone very serious. “There’s another list.”
“Another list?” Sleep deprivation was clearly catching up with me because I couldn’t fathom what kind of list Tripp might be referring to. Hit list? Grocery list? Suspect list? Shit list?
“Lay-off list.”
So, yeah, a shit list.
Realization struck me. “A lay-off list…. I’m on it.”
I pressed my fingertips to my forehead in order to prevent the headache I felt coming on.
“Yeah, you are. Sorry.” Tripp paused for a moment before rushing on. “But they’re not making anything official until Monday morning. I found out early. Don’t ask how.”
Great, so I was employed for exactly three more days. Just dandy.
“I just wanted to give you a heads-up.” Here, Tripp’s voice became quieter still, and I could imagine him turning his back to the rest of the police station so he could speak as privately as possible. “I know how hard this is going to be for you.”
It’s not as if I’m some kind of law enforcement prodigy who was destined to become a super cop from the cradle.
I became a police officer for only one reason: to bring my sister Tricia’s rapist to justice.
Her case was fourteen years old, and I was familiar enough with the justice system to know that if I didn’t keep an eye on things within the Mercer PD, then her file would just sit there collecting dust. Or worse, disappear.
If I allowed that to happen, Tricia’s rapist would never be caught, and he would effectively keep our family on the path of destruction he’d cast us upon.
Since I had joined the MPD, I’d been running the unknown subject’s fingerprints every few months, hoping the bastard had committed a crime that would put him in the system. Over the years, I’d come upon several possible matches, spent hours of my personal time comparing prints by hand, and concluded each time that there was no match.
So either the rapist had been clean since he assaulted my sister, or he was really good at avoiding arrest. Or he could be dead, the worst option of all. I couldn’t find him if he were dead, and the crime would remain unsolved forever.
One day, though, one day, her attacker would screw up. He would commit a crime, leave behind a fingerprint, get a speeding ticket, something. And then, I would catch him. I would catch him if I had to work constantly to do it.
I would never quit.
But I hadn’t planned on being fired.
“You okay?”
Tripp’s voice jarred me. I opened my eyes and looked around.
I shook my head even though I knew he couldn’t see me. “Not really,” I managed to whisper.
“I understand.” Tripp’s voice remained quiet. “I know exactly what you’ve given up for this.”
It was funny that he should say that because I didn’t even know what I’d given up, what I might have been if it hadn’t been for Tricia. What our family might have been. What Tripp and I might have been.
But what might have been did not matter to me now, only what was.
My fatigue
fell away, and the energizing power of adrenaline zinged through me.
I might be out of the MPD, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t keep investigating on my own.
I would do whatever it took to bring Tricia’s attacker to justice.
Whatever it took.
“Trust me,” Tripp said. “I will not let your sister’s case fall through the cracks. I promise you.”
“I believe you,” I said, and truly, I wanted to believe him. I wanted to trust him and put my confidence in the notion that justice would be done simply because right always prevails. But I knew from experience that wasn’t true.
Sometimes, the guilty go free.
And I could not let that happen.
“Listen, I’ve got to go. Don’t say anything to anybody, okay?” Tripp paused. “And don’t worry. You’ll find another job, maybe on another force. It’ll all work out.”
“Yeah, it’ll all work out. I know.”
In fact, I had already made a few decisions about my immediate future. I may not know where I would work next week, but I knew exactly what I would do in the next few hours.
We hung up, and I peeled out of the parking lot and back into town. There were a few matters I needed to attend to while I was still official.
After a quick stop for supplies, I parked the cruiser outside the MPD evidence storage facility. When most normal people were just starting their busy workdays, here I was sleep-deprived, soon-to-be unemployed, and plotting to steal evidence.
Security at the