Page 1 of Dead Drunk (Cold Case Psychic #36)

Tennyson

June 2004, Union Chapel, Kansas…

Sixteen-year-old Tennyson Grimm felt like he was flying, but like Icarus, needed to make sure he didn’t soar too close to the sun. Not only would he crash back to earth with a bone jarring thud, but he’d be burned, possibly beyond all spiritual repair.

Ten had never been to a wedding before. With both of his parents being only children, there hadn’t been aunts, uncles, or cousins tying the knot. One of the men David worked with was, in his words, finally making his son legitimate. David felt it was his sworn duty to make sure no child remained a bastard on his watch. The Grimms had been invited to the wedding and had dressed up in their Sunday best.

Thankfully, the people in attendance at Neveah and Bodhi’s wedding weren’t church people. The service had been performed by the bride’s great aunt, who dressed like a hippy flower child. Most of the bride’s guests looked like they’d stepped out of the way-back machine from 1969, which Ten found himself enamored by. There was no way he would be allowed to abandon his neatly pressed pants, ironed button down shirts, and dress shoes in favor of ripped jeans, and tie-dyed t-shirts, with a pack of Marlboro Lights rolled into the sleeve, but it had been fun to dream.

There were dozens of teenagers at the wedding, who, after giving Ten some good natured shit about looking like a Poindexter, accepted him as one of their own. He’d learned more about life in a single afternoon with these kids than all of his years combined. Some of the teens were from broken homes, others had spent time in juvie, and all of them drank.

Ten’s only taste of the forbidden fruit that was alcohol came in the form of a sip of wine in a tiny medicine cup on Christmas Day. The members of the Union Chapel Baptist Church went all out with the body and blood of Christ, going so far as allowing children to partake. The wine had tasted bitter on his tongue, which made perfect sense to Tennyson. Why should the wine be sweet when the tenants of his church preached hate toward those who were different?

Everyone at the wedding walked around with red Solo cups filled with punch. It was purplish-black, the color reminding Ten of storm clouds; the kind that quickly turned day to night and sent people scrambling for their storm cellars. The cups were being ladled by twin brothers Cannon and Haystack McGraw, thankfully not their real names. The burly brothers were state champion wrestlers bound for glory at the University of Kansas. Unfortunately, neither brother would make it to the WWE. On the plus side, Cannon would have a long and prosperous career in the adult film industry, thanks in part to being hung like a horse, but it was his money shot tagline, “Cannonballz!”

that made him immortal.

Ten pondered letting the brothers know what they were in for, but decided against it. He was having way too much fun to ruin it by telling his new friends about his gift. If there had been something more serious than syphilis in the twins’ futures Ten would have spilled the beans.

“What the hell is this shit?”

Ten asked, slightly slurring his very first curse words. They felt liberating on his tongue, just like the alcohol.

“Hillbilly hooch!”

a boy named Dustin said.

“Grape Kool-Aid and Captain Morgan.”

Ten didn’t have a clue who this Captain Morgan was, but he made one hell of a drink. Over the course of the afternoon, Ten lost count of how many drinks he had. When it was time to leave, he couldn’t help noticing the way the earth seemed about ready to tilt off its axis. If Ten wasn’t careful, he’d tumble out into space along with it.

“What did you think of your first wedding?”

Kaye asked, when they’d settled into the car for the hour drive home.

“Time of my life,”

Ten said, meaning every word.

“I made some cool new friends.”

Living in such a small town, he’d gone to school with the same kids since Kindergarten. In eleven years, there had only been four new kids who’d moved to town, which Ten hoped would offer him the chance to make new friends, but it hadn’t taken long for word to spread about how weird Ten was. When that happened, none of them wanted to be friends with the strange kid who constantly talked to himself.

“’Bout damn time,”

David said.

“Seemed like good kids.”

Obviously Ten wasn’t the only one who’d had more than his share of hillbilly hooch. The kids he hung out with smoked, drank, and had sex. Something was seriously wrong—or seriously right, thanks to the booze— for David not to have noticed their faults.

“Are you sure, David? Two of those boys had hair down to their shoulders. I saw them drinking that awful punch.”

Kaye wore a worried look. Ten would bet the house his mother had only drunk water at the wedding, probably holy water.

It was on the tip of Ten’s tongue to remind Kaye of how Jesus once turned water into wine at a wedding —apparently even Jesus Christ knew how to have a good time— when his attention was caught by the distant wail of a siren and blue and white flashing lights.

“Uh, oh! Someone’s about to get nailed!”

Ten giggled at the thought of some poor asshole getting pulled over by the po-po, another new term his friends had taught him.

“Tennyson Grimm?”

Kaye asked, her eyes narrowed on him.

“Did those hooligans force you to drink alcohol?”

“Nope!”

Ten offered his mother a wide smile.

“I drank it all on my own. You need to lighten up, Mamacita!”

David snorted and started to laugh.

“Yeah, Mamacita, chill!”

“You’re the one who needs to chill, David, the cops are pulling you over!”

“Oh, shit!”

Ten said, slapping a hand over his mouth. Thankfully his mother’s attention was on David and not on him. Ten might be happy as a pig in shit, but he knew a reckoning was coming, first for his father and then for himself.

“Afternoon, officer,”

David said when the cop approached the car.

The cop, whose nametag read “Baxter”

was a chiseled Greek God come to life. Ten’s dreamboat stood over six feet tall, had a broad chest, heavily muscled thighs, and wore aviator sunglasses. His dark hair was close cut and looked soft as silk. What Ten would give to run his fingers through the officer’s hair.

“Do you know why I pulled you over, sir?”

Baxter’s voice was deep, going straight to Tennyson’s dick.

The absolute last thing Ten needed was for his mother to notice he was sporting wood. Haystack and Cannon had everyone in stitches as they’d rattled off dozens of names for an erection. One-eyed trouser trout, schlong, and beaver basher,—although he was a little unsure what that meant— were among his favorites.

“I’m not sure, officer,”

David said, handing the cop his driver’s license.

“You were weaving. How much have you had to drink today, Mr. Grimm?”

Baxter removed his glasses, revealing the bluest eyes Ten had ever seen.

“I had a little champagne at the wedding of one of my congregants.”

Ten eyes widened. David was lying! He’d seen Haystack refill his father’s cup at least three times that afternoon. Not to mention the fact that David wasn’t a pastor, which meant the happy couple weren’t members of his congregation. Aside from tales of Santa and the Easter Bunny, this was the first time he’d ever heard his father lie. Maybe his father wasn’t the man Ten thought he was.

“Out of the car please, sir.”

Baxter took a step back, as David climbed from the driver’s seat. He wobbled briefly, but Ten figured it was more from fear than the hillbilly hooch. The officer ordered David to put his hands on the hood of the car before Baxter frisked him.

Shit just got real, as Cannon liked to say. Ten couldn’t help but think it might be worth getting arrested by the muscled hunk, just to have the man frisk him. One look into his father’s frightened eyes cured him of that fantasy quickly.

Ten watched as Baxter led David through a series of sobriety tests, while Kaye prayed. What the hell was going to happen if David was arrested? Would he have to go to jail? What would happen to Kaye? To Ten? Was he going to be arrested for underage drinking? His mind spun with the terrifying possibilities.

When the tests were finished, Baxter returned David’s license. The two men spoke briefly and David, looking as if his life was over, walked toward the passenger side of the car.

Church wasn’t Ten’s favorite place to be. All the Union Chapel Calvary Baptist Church had ever done for him was make him feel like he didn’t belong. Made him hate himself. Ten might not like the assholes in the pews, but he did like Jesus, who’d, unlike people wrongly believed, never said one derogatory word about gay men. Folding his hands together, Ten prayed like he’d never prayed before.

As David approached Kaye, she rolled down the window. Ten did the same.

“I’m gonna need you to drive home.”

Nodding, Kaye quickly got out of the car and moved around to the driver’s side door.

“I’m letting you off with a warning, Mr. Grimm. Next time, do better. Be an example worthy of your son’s admiration.”

With a curt nod to Tennyson, Baxter walked back to his cruiser.

Wordlessly, David got into the car and buckled his seatbelt. No one said a word.

No one needed to. Hard lessons had been learned. Ones which Tennyson never planned on repeating. He silently thanked his maker for keeping David, and by extension, himself, out of trouble.

One thing was for certain, he was never going to take another drink as long as he lived.