Bad Professor (An Alpha Male Bad Boy Romance) (129 page)

My father pinched
the bridge of his nose. "Please, for the love of God, don't tell me this,
not now. From what I see, all you love is hanging out in the basement playing
video games. How are you going to turn that into any sort of respectable
career?"

I turned the car,
taking a shortcut through a neighborhood towards the pizza place. The drive
could not be over quickly enough for either of us. "It's an entire
international, multi-billion-dollar industry. People have very successful and
very respectable careers in it."

"People? You
mean like that Owen Redd? Please, Quinn, you cannot be drawing inspiration from
a guy like him."

"Owen is
creating his own career, his dream job. How can I not be inspired by
that?" I asked. I realized too late we were on the street where Owen
lived. His apartment, the top-floor loft of a three-story six-plex was two
blocks ahead. I had driven Sienna there dozens of times.

"Turn right
up here," my father said. "Looks like the police are causing some
kind of detour.”

I bit my lip and
turned. Two squad cars were parked outside of Owen's apartment building. One of
the uniformed officers at the curb was pointing to the top-floor apartment.
"I hope there wasn't an accident." My heart flopped and my ears
buzzed; the memory of the last time I saw flashing emergency lights squeezed my
heart.

My father ignored
me. "You need to understand something about people like Owen. He's taking
the easy way out. Just because he has a talent does not mean he'll make a
living at it. If he's telling you that then it’s a lie."

"How can you
say that? You don't know anything about Owen," I said.

"I've seen
enough guys like Owen. I've had to defend them in court. If he's telling
everyone he's made a successful career out of sitting around on his couch,
ten-to-one there is something illegal going on. Sure, it might look good on the
surface, but he's cheating the system somehow," my father said. "Your
sister understood the only way you get ahead is through hard work. Following
your dreams means you're either dirt poor or you are running a scam."

I drove the rest
of the way to the pizza parlor without saying a word. I was worried about Owen,
but my father's words filtered into my brain like acid. What did I really know
about what Owen did?

PART 2

CHAPTER
FOUR

Owen

I
looked out the window and noticed the streetlights had come on. Most people
thought I played in a windowless basement. They would never believe I sat in a
third-story loft apartment with a great view of the Nevada sunset. The sky had
gone from dark pinks and oranges into a purplish blue and now it was dark.

As I turned back
to
Dark Flag
, another display of
lights lit up my window. The rolling reds and blues of a police car grew
brighter. I watched as two squad cars converged and left the lights on. The officers
got out and met at the curb. One of them pointed up to my floor.

I logged out of
the game just as the sharp knock hit my door.

"Police. Open
up."

I pulled open the
door wide. "Can I help you, officers?"

"You can step
aside, sir. We have a search warrant for this residence. Are you Owen
Redd?" the bald and tight-mouthed officer asked.

"Yes, sir.
What is this about?" I stepped back and let them in.

Three uniformed
officers entered behind the one that spoke. He brandished a folded piece of
paper. "We're going to take a look around."

I almost laughed.
The loft apartment was a wide open room. A kitchen island separated one end
from a wall of appliances. The other end was divided by a short hallway with
two bedrooms off either side and a bathroom at the end. An L-shaped sofa
delineated our living room. There was no dining room table, just a wide area
rug where a few bits of my roommate's exercise equipment were scattered. Every
inch of the apartment besides the bedrooms was on display.

The officers
drifted to opposite corners of the apartment and started poking around. One
eyeballed the built-in bookshelves that stood against the wall to my bedroom.
Another strolled through the kitchen and opened kitchen cabinets at random. He
left them hanging open. The third officer walked along the picture windows and
I half expected him to wave to his partner on the curb watching the squad cars.

It had to be a
joke.

The bald policeman
handed me the folded paper before he turned and opened our entryway closet.
Suddenly, all of the officers were going through things with both hands. Books
were taken off shelves, drawers dug through, and clothes pushed aside to reveal
the back edges of the closet. I opened the paper and discovered a very real
search warrant.

"You're
looking for drugs?" I asked.

The policeman near
the windows was running his hands along the top of my television. "Pretty
nice set-up you have here. Play video games?"

"Online,
multi-player," I said.

"What exactly
do you do for a living, Mr. Redd?" the bald officer reappeared from the
back of our coat closet.

"I'm a
sponsored player for the game
Dark Flag
,"
I said.

"You're
telling me you sit around all day playing video games and someone pays you for
it?"

"Yes, sir. I
have the pay stubs to prove it. Though from the looks of this search warrant, I
don't have to show them to you," I said.

"You might
want to ask your lawyer about that," he said with a mean smile.

"Why exactly
do you think there are drugs here?" I asked.

All four police
officers scoffed and continued their digging without another word. Another
stereotype of the gaming world: I sat around high while I played or somehow
funded my sitting around by selling drugs on the side.

I sat on one of
the stools at the kitchen island as they delved deeper into their search. All
of the books came off the shelves and the officer sneezed as he flipped through
the dusty pages.

"Yeah, those
are more for display than anything. I mean, I don't know what else to put on
that many shelves," I said.

The policeman in
the kitchen had light duty as there were only two pots and a cast iron skillet
in the lower cupboards. The upper cabinets had a random collection of pint
glasses, a few mismatched plates, and coffee mugs with ridiculous sayings
printed on them.

"Looks like
he's a gourmet," he said. The pantry was bare except for a bag of brown
rice, a few loose power bars, and a box of popcorn. The refrigerator had a
stack of lunchmeat packages, a loaf of bread, and two drawers of fresh
vegetables. "What, no cheese puffs and rocket fuel soda?" he asked.

I shrugged.
"I'm more of a stir fry guy. Better protein stops snacking."

He eyeballed my
trim waistline and scowled. "Sure, buddy. There's an awful lot of take-out
containers in the trash."

"My
roommate," I said.

As if that was a
cue, the officers divided up and headed by pairs into the two bedrooms. I
waited for twenty minutes until they reappeared.

The bald one was
on his cell phone calling in a K-9 unit. "Gotta be thorough. Don't want to
waste tax-payer money," he said.

The officers then
ignored me and talked about football until the K-9 unit arrived. A German
Shepherd with intelligent brown eyes and an eager pace pulled its partner into
my apartment. After the third zig-zagging trip around, it looked up at its partner
with a lopsided expression of boredom.

He turned the dog
towards the bedrooms and it dragged him down the short hallway. It was in and
out of my roommate's room in five minutes. Four minutes into my room, there was
a low woof. The officer reappeared with the prancing dog; a sport coat in his
hand.

I recognized the
sport coat as the one my roommate had lent me. It had been in contention for
wearing to the memorial service until I decided to wear my suit. If something
was found in the pockets of his coat, he'd catch hell at work and most likely
get fired.

"Nothing in
it, but Gertrude likes it for something. Marijuana most likely," the
officer said.

"My roommate
wore it to a club a few days ago," I said.

Even the dog gave
me a disbelieving look. I sat back down on my stool – it was going to be a long
evening.

#

"
Convenient
that your roommate lent you this coat we
found in your room," the bald officer said.

I was glad when my
phone rang. I looked down and saw Quinn's name. My stomach jumped more from her
than from the suspicious looks the police gave me.

"One of your
clients?" the second officer asked.

"The fading
scent of pot on a sports coat that was worn to a dance club doesn't really
prove intent to sell, does it?" I asked. "And since I'm not the average
under-informed, sub-intelligent criminal I'm sure you're used to making you
feel smart, this whole search is over." I opened the door to let them out.

The K-9 officer
was pulled through the open door by his eager partner. Two of the others
shrugged and went to follow him, but the bald policeman blocked the door.

"Funny thing
about stereotypes," he said. "They always come from some sort of
truth. Like the fact that most criminals get all cocky like you are now before
the weight of the law chokes it out of them."

I found a beer on
the bottom shelf of the refrigerator and cracked it open before sitting back
down on my kitchen stool. The police officers looked thirsty. "Go ahead
and keep searching. You've got your warrant, and I'm not stopping you."

He scrubbed his
bald head. There was no reason for them to remain at my place, but he could not
let me have the last word. "Tell us about this alleged roommate of
yours."

"Alleged? His
name is on the mailbox and all that mail over there. I would have thought you
would know all about him from your search of his bedroom."

"Are you
going to cooperate or what, Mr. Redd?" He crossed his arms over a beefy
chest.

"Fine, yes.
My roommate's name is Jasper Collins. He does freelance web design, mainly for
commercial businesses and corporations. He's always telling me he's after the
'big fish.' I think he even sent a proposal to your precinct after he got fed
up trying to pay a parking ticket through your website."

"Freelance?
So you two just sit around all day staring at your screens?" the officer
asked.

"No, Jasper
is more of the go-getter type. He gets most of his clients through face-to-face
meetings. Encourages the techno-afraid to let him help," I said.

"And who was
his last client?"

"A bakery
over on Tenth," I said. "He said they have good donuts, maybe you
know the place?"

The cops all
sneered, but the tallest one stopped and tilted his head as he thought.
"They did. The place closed down two months back."

I mentally ran
through the list of clients Jasper had talked about. As I thought about it, I
realized three of the clients he mentioned recently were local businesses I had
seen closed or for rent. I never paid much attention because Jasper always paid
his share of the rent on time and in full. There were holes all through his
work stories, and I had just tripped into one in front of the police.

"A lot of
businesses try shutting their brick and mortar stores and going online," I
said.

One of the
officers ducked into Jasper's room and came back out with a business card and
folio. "Looks pretty polished to me. Your roommate's got a solid business
plan. What? I went to business school before academy."

The bald policeman
shook his head at his partner. "So, your roommate is a go-getter with a
business plan and real clients. And you play an imaginary game for money."

Quinn called
again. I took another swig of my beer and enjoyed knowing her quick-wit was
only a button away.
What would she say to
the room full of police?
The thought made me smile.

"Another
client?"

"No. Same person,"
I said and showed him my phone.

"Oh? You get
a lot of ladies by playing video games?" the bald officer asked.

"You'd be
surprised how many attractive women play
Dark
Flag
, officer. She's actually very good at it. A novice, but I think if I
trained her up a bit she'd be amazing," I said.

He took the phone
and considered the photo of Quinn that accompanied her ring. It was one of my
favorite pictures.

Sienna and I had
gone together to visit Quinn the day she arrived on campus. She had just pulled
on her UCLA sweatshirt. Her hair was a riot and she was brushing it back and
smiling a wide grin when I snapped the picture. Sienna dismissed it for not
being posed or polished. That was what I loved most about it. Quinn looked
natural and happy with a bright shine to her eyes.