The Muse (9 page)

            “I still might,” Gibson said.  “This loser deserves to see the inside of a cell.  Maybe he could get a taste of his own medicine.”

            “I'm afraid that might not be the best idea at this point,” Calvin cautioned.  In the distance came the warble of police sirens.  “They're already on their way.  And with that said, I guess I should be on mine.”

            Like a man without a care in the world, Calvin stood up, brushed the seat of his pants off, and started down the sidewalk, leaving Gibson and Faith standing there, confused.  The sirens, meanwhile, grew louder.

            “They're coming for you,” Calvin said over his shoulder.  “I gave them your name.  Take a look at the bright side.  I'm updating your accommodations for the evening.  Jail is a step up from this dump.”

            Gibson seethed, balling his fists at his sides.  “If I'm going to jail tonight, there's going to be a reason for it.”

            Before Faith could call out to him and caution him against doing anything rash, Gibson had lunged at Calvin and pinned him to the ground.  Gibson had at least thirty pounds on the guy and used it to his advantage, pressing Calvin into the concrete.  “Let's see how this feels on the receiving end,” Gibson said, pummeling the smaller man with his fists.  Calvin howled and bucked, kicked and screamed.  It was obvious he hadn’t considered this outcome when orchestrating this fiasco.  Faith made no move to pull him off.  Instead, she sat there bemused while Calvin got what was coming to him.  Gibson felt his hands bruising and starting to swell which would impede his art considerably, but for the moment, he didn't care. 

            All he wanted to do was make Calvin pay for what he had done to Faith.

            In the distance, the sirens grew louder and louder as they grew closer.  Realizing that he needed to wrap things up before they arrived, Gibson threw one more punch that caught Calvin on the jaw.  Then, he stood up and let the little weasel scurry back, sniffling as best he could through his broken nose, seeing everything in double and triple as the tears caused his vision to blur and blur again. 

            “I don't imagine you will want your police friends to see what happened to you,” Gibson noted.

            “You attacked me.  That's what happened,” Calvin said.  “Faith saw it all.”

            “I didn't see anything,” she said, pulling her cell phone out of her pocket.  She raised the phone and quickly snapped a picture of Calvin.  “But I'll bet your picture will look great online.  I’m sure all of my father’s connections would be amused.”

            “You wouldn't,” Calvin said, going white at the thought. 

            “Run away now and you might not have to find out,” Faith said.

            “I'll be a laughing stock,” he said.

            “You already are,” Faith told him.  “But this will seal the deal.”

            “I'm leaving.  I'm leaving,” he said.  

            “Better hurry before the cops get here,” Faith said.

            “You’re going to pay for this,” he said, pointing his finger at Gibson. 

            “You can’t get blood from a turnip,” Gibson said.  “Now, get out of my sight!”  

            Calvin nodded and scampered off into the night like the rodent he was.  Less than a minute later, the police pulled up.  The officer that got out of his cruiser kept his hand on the butt of his service revolver.  He had obviously been briefed on the situation…or what he thought was the situation. 

            “Hi folks,” the officer said cautiously.  “Is everything ok here?”

            “Everything’s fine, officer,” Gibson said.

“We got a little call from a concerned neighbor about you two.  They said there was a heated argument of some sort.  Miss, did this man hit you?”

            “No,” Faith exclaimed.  “Not at all.  He wasn't the one who did it.”

            “Are you Gibson Moore?” the officer asked, stepping on to the curb. 

            “I am,” Gibson replied.  “But I haven't done anything wrong.”

            “We have an eye witness who claims to have seen you strike this woman.  She has the bruise to prove it.  It's obviously fresh.  And to judge by the look of your hands, you've been punching something.”

            “He didn't touch me,” Faith said.  “We had a little argument, and he punched the wall a couple of times in frustration.  Nothing happened that requires your attention.  Honestly.”

            The officer sighed.  He had seen this song and dance routine one too many times.  A couple gets into an argument.  The man hits the woman.  The woman doesn't want to see him go to jail so she covers for him.  The man survives to abuse her another day, and the vicious cycle continues.  The officer knew better than to leave.   

            “If I have reason to believe something happened here, I have to take someone to jail for the night.  I think something happened.  Someone saw it.  There's also sufficient evidence to prove it.  Miss, you have a nasty bruise on your face.  Mr. Moore, you have two badly bruised hands. The math adds up here.  It doesn't take a genius to figure this one out.”

            “But it wasn't me,” Gibson protested.  “It was that douche bag, Calvin.  He hit her.  Not me.”

            “So what did you hit?”

            Gibson sighed.  “She told you I punched the wall.”

            “I'm sorry, sir,” the officer said.  “But you're going to have to come with me.”

            “No!” Faith exclaimed, bursting into tears. 
            “I'm sure he won't have any trouble bonding out,” the officer replied.  “Then, you two can kiss and make up, go to counseling, or whatever it is that you need to do.  Now, let's do this the easy way and not make a scene.”

            “I'm so sorry,” Faith said, touching Gibson's rough cheek with her soft hand.  “I'll get you out.  I don't care how many connections Calvin has.  I have more!”

            “It's ok,” Gibson said.  “Don't worry about it.  I'll be fine.”

            The officer motioned for him to hold out his hands.  He snapped the handcuffs on with an expertise that suggested lots and lots of practice.  “Into the back, please,” he said, pushing Gibson toward the squad car.  “Nice and easy.”

            Gibson nodded and ducked his head as he was pushed in.  He held up both hands and waved to Faith as he was driven away. 

            How had things gone so crazy all of a sudden?

            True to form, as they were about to pull away, Gibson used his finger to draw a frowning face on the glass beside his head.  If asked about what it might represent, he would have confessed that it was an attempt at a self-portrait.

            Gibson didn’t know whether to be furious or worried or both.  His initial reaction was to go and pound Calvin’s face in all over again as soon as he got out of this mess.  Yet, he also was worried about Faith.  Calvin had obviously set this whole thing up to get him out of the way.  The only reason he would have done such a thing is so he could get access to Faith without any complications.  Gibson’s stomach knotted up at the thought.  Calvin had already hurt Faith once.  Would he do it again?  It stood to reason that he would, especially after what Gibson had done to him in return.  

            The ride down to the station was uneventful.  The arresting officer didn’t say anything to him the entire trip.  Gibson didn’t expect him to.  The cop probably thought he was a degenerate coward who took out his frustrations on helpless women.  Gibson’s opinion of wife-beaters was the same, and he couldn’t really blame the man for despising him.  He would have probably reacted similarly if placed in the officer’s shoes. 

            The entire booking process was painless too.  More than anything else, it was humiliating.  Gibson had never been arrested.  This was all foreign to him.  How had he gotten himself into this mess?

            After all the preliminaries were taken care of, Gibson was placed in a cell.  It was dank, illuminated by harsh light, smelled of urine and body odor, and filled with vagrants, drunks, and other assorted hoodlums.  Gibson felt out of place here. 

            A dirty looking man with a long unkempt beard and a ponytail approached him cautiously.  The man was wearing overalls and work boots.  Underneath the overalls, he wore a Chicago Bears T-shirt.  “What did you do?” he asked.  “How are we so lucky to be graced with your presence?”

            “I didn't do anything,” Gibson replied.

            “Eh, we all say that when the cops ask,” the man said.  “But we're all in here for a reason.  I’m sure you’re no different.  Nothing to be ashamed of actually.  We’ve all done something.  Otherwise, we wouldn’t be here.”

            “I really didn't do anything.  I was setup.”

            The man who looked like a reject from ZZ Top laughed.  The laugh soon turned into a series of ragged coughs.  “My mistake.  Let me rephrase my question then.  What are they charging you with?”

            “Domestic violence,” Gibson said, hanging his head in shame.  “They think I hit a woman, but I would never do that.”

            The man's eyes narrowed.  “That's not cool, man.  Not cool at all.”

            “I agree,” Gibson said.  “Like I told you, I didn't hit her.  It was a guy she went on a date with.  I found her after it happened.  I took care of her.  The guy who hit her is the one who called the cops on me.  I took care of him too, if you know what I mean.”

            The man studied him carefully.  “That's dirty business, man.  If you're telling the truth, that's real dirty business.”

            “I'm telling the truth,” Gibson maintained.  “Although getting you to believe me won't get me out of here any quicker.  And I have got to get out of here.  Believe me.  I’m afraid of what might happen to Faith if I’m not there to protect her.”

            “Name's Willie,” the man said, offering his hand.  “And for what it’s worth, I believe you.”

            “I’m Gibson.  Thanks for the vote of confidence.  Since we're on the subject, what did you do to wind up in here?”

            “I tried to impersonate the president,” Willie said.  “Apparently I don’t look as much like Obama as I think I do.”

            “Seriously?”

            “Naw,” he said laughing gruffly.  “Obviously, they don't take kindly to men like me sneaking into the courthouse after hours and bedding down for the night.  It's not like I was hurting anything.  Just trying to get a little peace and quiet without having to worry about someone spitting on me or attacking me.”

            Gibson nodded.  “So basically, we're both in here for crimes we didn't commit.”

            “Oh, I snuck in and tried to sleep,” Willie admitted.  “I would have gotten away with it too if the night watchman had done like usual and slept his shift away.  For once, he got motivated and decided to walk around.  He caught me right in the middle of a dream involving the PowerBall, a winning ticket, and a life of leisure.  I was caught red-handed.”

            Gibson laughed.  At this point, that was about all he could do.  The situation was unlike anything he had ever experienced before, and he was sorely out of his depth. 

            “So this girl you were fighting over,” Willie said.  “Tell me about her.”

            Gibson paused, not sure how much he wanted to say.  This man was a complete stranger, and yet, more than anything else, Gibson wanted to tell someone about her.