The Crossing - Expiation

Chapter 1

Josh, spoke the contact name into his phone as he watched Melanie’s father place his hand on between her legs as he closed the front door.

“Hello!” came a cheerful voice from the other end of the phone.

“Michael, it’s done.” Josh said, soberly, “She is not going to give anyone any problems in the future. Trust me!” he said confidently.

“Super!” Michael responded, elatedly. “Another one down, and a couple more to go dude!”

“Oh! I take it all has gone according to plan?” Josh asked cautiously.

“Pretty much! I’m still waiting to hear about the last two, but I don’t think that’s an issue. If it is, the other girls will take care of the holdouts. They don’t want to go down with them, you know!?” Michael said, relying on the logic of his assumption.

“Yeah, you’re probably right. Hey, listen, I’m going by Toby’s and get a beer. You wanna meet me there?” Josh asked, hopefully.

“Naw, can’t dude, I’ve got to wait on these calls and I’m playing with the group in World of Warcraft tonight. They’d kill me if I don’t show up online.” he said apologetically. “Josh, you better be careful, man. The cops are on to Toby’s and they’re being really careful about selling us beer.

“Yeah, I know… no biggie; I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” Josh said hanging up and slipping the phone in his pocket.

Toby’s was a 7 x 24 convenience store that was located on the west side of town. It was a family owned business that had been then since before anyone could remember. You could usually buy beer there since they weren’t noted for asking you for ID; unless of course the cops were sniffing around again. Occasionally, the police chief would decide he was going to crack down on underage drinking and since this was an election year, it was making it tough to get beer.

Driving across town, Josh had some time to think about what a group of male and female students had accomplished by banding together in order to put an end to the group of girls that had controlled the school for years, from students to faculty members; mostly through innuendo, disinformation, and outright blackmail. Some of those girls had slept with teachers, both men and women to set them up, and used their hold to garner favors, grades, whatever they needed or wanted. The reign of terror, as it was referred to by our group, was over, and all due to a sizable number of kids and some teachers, determined to make the bitches pay. And they were, and would probably continue to pay for the rest of the year. I had heard some members discussing the idea of sex slaves, which was a little too over the top for me. Melanie was a great lay, but somehow I think the credit had to go to her old man on that one. God, I think back to that video and it was so obvious that she really loved her Dad pounding that pussy. It seemed to me there would never be anybody else that would ever really satisfy Daddy’s little girl, except her father. “Whatever floats your boat!” I thought, turning into the parking lot of Toby’s.

“Damn! A patrol car!” I said silently, “Well, I’m not getting any beer tonight, so I might as well get a soda.” I thought, stepping out of the car.

“Hey kid!” I heard someone say, turning to see who was calling me.
To my surprise, a cop sitting on the driver’s side of the patrol car was motioning me over. “Oh crap! What does he want?” I asked myself, strolling casually over the office.

“Yes sir?” I respectfully asked.

“Is that your car?” he asked, his lips thinning as he glared at me with a blank expression.

“Yes officer it is. Is there a problem?” I ask cautiously.

Opening his door, the sandy haired patrolman stepped out of the car, and faced me, placing his forearms on the roof in front of the light bar. He looked me over for a few seconds before asking, “Is that a 70 Challenger you’re driving?” Suspiciously eyeing me and the car as he began to walk around his cruiser, hand on the butt of his Glock.

“Ahh, yes it is officer.” I replied nervously, “It’s actually a Challenger R/T with the original bright red paint scheme.” I said, getting a good look at the patrolman for the first time.

As the police office walked slowly around the front of his car, into the light of the convenience store windows, his features became more discernable to me. Instead of the older officer I had expected to find before me, there stood a younger man, I would guess to be in his mid to early twenties, six foot three, maybe 225 lbs, very muscular, with short cropped blonde hair. He was a considerably taller than my five foot six, 155 lbs. frame, in fact, her towered over me. By the look of his uniform shirt, I guessed he spent a good bit of time in the gym, as his duty top clung to the chiseled outline of his well developed body. “I definitely wouldn’t want to get in an altercation with this cop.” I thought, as the officer stood in front of me, hands on his hips.

“Is this your car or your Dad’s?” he asked me, expressionless.

“It’s mine officer. I bought it a few years ago and restored it myself. Well, except for the seat upholstery; I had that done by a shop, but it’s all original.” I replied, proudly.

“Hmm, mind if I take a look?” he asked, casually.

“No, not at all!” I responded cheerfully, opening the driver’s side door for him. “Get in if you want.” I added, stepping back.

“Thanks!” he said, moving around to sit in the driver’s seat.

He removed his flashlight and shined it around the front interior of my car and then turned and looked at the passenger side of the back seat. Turning back to the dash, he examined the gages, steering wheel, and console closely, before getting out the car. As he stood up he looked at me and asked, “Do mind if I look at the engine?”

“Be my guest! Here, I’ll pop the hood release.” I said, reaching under the dash and sharply pulling the release.

With an audible “clink” of the release mechanism, and the dull “wump” of the hydraulic lifters straining against the safety catch, the hood popped open and caught. I walked around to the front of the car and pushing the safety catch to the side, lifted the substantial hood, as the hydraulic lifters pushed it up to their full extension.

The hood rose to reveal a pristine engine compartment; sitting in the middle was a spotlessly detailed engine, complete with an oval chrome air filter cover, head covers, and radiator fan. The police officer looked intently at the sparking power plant before him, and smiled for the first time.

“Hey, is this original?” he quickly asked, never taking his eyes from under the hood.

“Yep! Every bit of it! A friend helped me rebuild it. The only exception to the stock equipment is the chrome you see, instead of the orange painted parts on the original. The engine is a stock 440 cubic inch, 375 horse power V8, 4 barrel Magnum; one of the three types that were factory options in the original 70 Challenger.” I expounded. The 426 cubic inch produced 425 horsepower, but at the expense of 2x4 barrel carbs, and that’s a real gas guzzler.

“You know your Challengers my friend.” the cop remarked, raising up from under the hood to stroll around the passenger side of the car.

Stopping at the passenger window he shined his flashlight into the back seat and slowly looked around the interior and back deck.

“Go ahead and open the door so you can get a better look.” I prodded, walking around him to the back quarter panel.

“Thanks!” he said smiling, “I think I’ll take you up on that.” the cop said appreciatively, opening the door and pushing the seatback forward.

“You did a great job on this interior.” he commented, running his hand over the backseat and carpet.

“Yeah, well, I did the headliner and carpet work, but the seats had to be recovered by a shop. I had hard enough time redoing the carpeting and the dash. That headliner was also a bear, but by the time I got around to that, I had more experience with interior work.” I said casually.

“Yeah, I can imagine! How long did it take you to restore it?” he asked, quizzically.

“Ah, let’s see; about two years, give or take.” I said thoughtfully.

“Whew! You really are dedicated!” the officer said, admiringly, “I don’t know if I could have done that.” he remarked, reflectively.

“Yea, you could have, it’s just about loving what you’re doing. And, you seem to really like older cars.” I commented.

“Well, I love old Camaros and Challengers; they are my favorite cars! This baby has character, don’t you think!? he said, enthusiastically.

“Yeah, it does! You don’t see’em like this anymore.” I said, admiring my car.

Squawk, “117 come in.” the radio blared. “Sorry, that’s me!” the office said, reaching up to key his shoulder microphone.

“117 go ahead.” he responded.

“117… 10-87 105, Intersection Branch and Trumane, DWI, office needs assistance. Code 2, Over.” the female voice said over the radio.

“117 10-4” he acknowledged. “I’ve got to go man, sorry!” he said apologetically. “Here,” he began, handing me a card, “my cell numbers’ on there.” pointing at the card, “The next time you’ve got some time I’d like to take a look at her in the daylight, if you don’t mind.” he said, hopefully.

“Sure thing, I’d love to! Hey, you can drive it if you want!” I added, smiling.

He grinned broadly, “Sure! That would be great!” he responded, putting his hand out for me to shake. “My name’s Bill Prescott, everybody calls me Billy.” he said, hurriedly.

Shaking his hand I said, “Josh Dugas, everybody calls me Josh” I said grinning.

He laughed, turned and headed around his car, turned on the blue and white strobe lights and gunned it out of the parking lot. I went inside, bought a Coke, and drove home thinking I’d made a new friend, and he was a cop. “Not a bad guy to be friends with, well maybe a friend.” I thought.