“If you’ll follow me,” the woman finally said, snapping me out of my musings and back onto the job. “I’m glad you could attend, Officer Lane. Mrs. Keating and Mrs. Bane always enjoy it when you do.”
Enjoyed it=settled the hell down and cut their shit out.
As we got closer to the television room, we could hear their voices arguing.
“I just don’t get why you keep screwing it up,” Mrs. Bane yelled at Mrs. Keating, both women sitting in armchairs facing each other. “And as my grandson says, I’ve got receipts.”
Catching Alex’s eye, I mouthed, “Jesus.”
“I doubt you have receipts, Gynnie, because I haven’t bought anything,” Mrs. Keating sniffed, straightening the sleeve of her cardigan.
Mrs. Bane’s eye twitched as she leaned farther forward. “It means proof, you imbecile.” Then, reaching into the pocket of her cardigan, she pulled out her cell phone. “I asked you last week if you wanted to play Mahjong, and when you replied, you said you—”
Looking completely unaffected by the argument, Mrs. Keating interrupted, “There’s no crime with someone being sick. Isn’t that so, Officers?”
I hadn’t realized she’d noticed us, especially with how thick her eyeglasses were.
Getting an elbow to the ribs from Alex, I grunted and took a step forward to avoid it if he did it again. Unfortunately, that move got their attention on me and made me the one who’d have to answer the question.
“No, that’s not a crime, ma’am.”
“Oh, I know that’s not a crime. But what is a crime is what you sent me,” Mrs. Bane shrieked, holding her phone up in the air. “Let me read it out for you. ‘I’m sorry I can’t make it. I’ve been throwing up since I ate that sandwich you got me, and I’m feeling a little horse.’”
We all looked at each other, waiting to see if anyone could tell what was wrong with that.
When none of us said anything and just stared back at her blankly, Mrs. Bane straightened and narrowed her eyes on us all. “She spelled hoarse, h-o-r-s-e. For the love of God, she was touching up a little horse.”
I choked on the laughter that almost burst out of me, turning my head before she could see it, in case it made the situation worse.
“That was the autocorrect’s fault,” Mrs. Keating shrugged. “And it wouldn’t have been an issue if you hadn’t poisoned me.”
Mrs. Bane looked close to having a heart attack or stroke as her eyes bugged out. “Poisoned you? What, in God’s name, would I have poisoned you with?”
“Arsenal.”
This latest incorrect word was the last straw as Mrs. Bane picked up her cane and swung it toward Mrs. Keating. Not wanting it to hit the poor woman and for this to escalate even more, I jumped between the two of them, groaning but grateful when it hit my thigh and not my crotch like it would have if I hadn’t twisted at the last second.
“Oh, now see what you did,” Mrs. Keating screeched, getting up and leaning over to look at where I’d been hit. Seeing as how it was close to my dick, I took a step back before her hand could touch me.
I swear Alex was having a seizure behind me with the noises coming from him as both ladies kept getting closer to my crotch. Even when I slid to the side so there was a chair between us, they just separated and moved around either side of it.
Nowhere in my life plans did it have ‘get felt up by women over the age of seventy-five,’ but both of them were set on making it happen.
“You assaulted a police officer,” Mrs. Keating snapped at Mrs. Bane as the other woman’s hand landed on my leg, mid-thigh. “That’s a prison sentence for you.”
To give the poor woman credit, Mrs. Bane did look like she felt bad about it, but it also looked like she was enjoying feeling my leg, as she ran her hand up and down it. There was no amount of therapy in the world that’d erase this moment for me, I was sure of it. Millions of dollars could be thrown at a multitude of psychiatrists, and I’d still never recover.
“Uh, ladies,” Alex called, finally speaking—the asshole. “I don’t think you want to add molesting an officer to the list of problems today, do you?”
She didn’t remove her hand, but Mrs. Bane did stop sliding it up and down. “Molesting? We’re not doing that, are we, Officer Lane?”
“Well, uh—”
“Hands off his leg, then we’ll sit down and sort out what’s going on,” Alex interrupted, pointing at the chairs the women had just vacated like they were naughty kids. “Now.”
Straightening, both women jutted their chins up and out and made their way back to the seats.
Crossing his arms over his chest, Alex stared down at them. “Okay, so today’s issue was Mrs. Keating missing Mahjong. Am I right?”