being dragged away from the crime scene to Points Unknown.
Little Life Lesson 18: If you are ever in a Bad situation, you can always count on the support and understanding of your loved ones.
I’m not sure if there’s a How to Behave When Your Friend or Relative Gets Arrested for Dummies book, but if there is I don’t think Alyson read it closely. Unless it advises running alongside the person in question as she is dragged away, hissing, “This is uncalled for-slash-ridiculous-slash-lame, even for you, Jas. Wait until your father finds out.”
I should have been cheered by her words. I mean, if it came down to Los Angeles, where I had never once been arrested (that he knew about), or Venice, where it appeared Iwas going to be held for murder, surely even Lo Zilla would see Los Angeles as a safer locale. Except I had a suspicion that being arrested wouldn’t simply get me transferred back to LA, it would get me chained forever to a post in a locked room atop a special turret my father would have constructed for this sole purpose. No, from my perspective, things were looking a little bleak.
Because I am blessed, the Evil Hench One wasn’t done showing her Support & Understanding. “If you think we’re going to hang around waiting for you, you’re wrong,” she said.
“Did you know that your eyes glow red in this light?” I asked her.
“It’s not that we don’t care, it’s just that we’re already late to meet Reggie,” Veronique explained over her shoulder as she followed Alyson.
I said, “Have a great time! If you hear from the dead, call me!” and if Officer Allegrini hadn’t chosen that moment to drag-slash-lead me away I would unquestionably have added that they were heading in the complete wrong direction.
Depending on your definition of “un.”
The San Marco precinct headquarters, which is where Officer Allegrini took me, looked a lot like police stations in America (hypothetically), except that instead of a Mr. Coffee they had an Espressione! machine on which you could push a button and get an espresso or caffè latte for a euro. Where by “you” I mean, “all those people who werenot handcuffed to Officer Allegrini’s desk.”
I guess that’s what I got for confessing to murder, but it was kind of frustrating because everyone in the place was running around chicken-minus-head style, and I couldn’t do anything. Or understand what they were saying, because they talked too fast. Except for Officer Allegrini, who seemed to be telling anyone who would listen that I had, in his words, “a brain like a squash,” which I think was his polite way of saying I was mentally disabled.
Sitting in a police station when no one is talking to you turns out to be much more boring than you would think. On TV, there are brawls and stuff, but in reality, at least in Italy, it just involved me at a desk watching people—and hours—go by. I was left alone with my thoughts, which were pretty much:
Whether Alyson and Veronique ever found Centrale
Whether I actually cared
What I would say if they asked me the name of my parent or guardian to contact
Why they hadn’t yet
How I’d only been joking when I asked Dr. Lansdowne if going to jail was good for extracurriculars
How you should never joke about things like that
Melts in your mouth, not in your hands
How long it would take me to learn how to perform“The Rose” in sign language
How Mr. T managed to spend so much time in leather pants
Oh yeah, and WHAT HAD HAPPENED TO ARABELLA?!?
As entertaining as these thoughts—now with bonus reel images of Jack and Candy eating chocolate crème puffs together in a candlelit bathtub—were, they only occupied me for about thirty-eight seconds. I tried to think of other things to do, but practicing my moonwalking didn’t seem very appealing (HELLO LEATHER PANTS) or possible (AND HELLO TO YOU AS WELL HANDCUFFS) so I turned to studying my surroundings.
Which roughly equaled Officer Allegrini’s
Little Life Lesson 18: If you are ever in a Bad situation, you can always count on the support and understanding of your loved ones.
I’m not sure if there’s a How to Behave When Your Friend or Relative Gets Arrested for Dummies book, but if there is I don’t think Alyson read it closely. Unless it advises running alongside the person in question as she is dragged away, hissing, “This is uncalled for-slash-ridiculous-slash-lame, even for you, Jas. Wait until your father finds out.”
I should have been cheered by her words. I mean, if it came down to Los Angeles, where I had never once been arrested (that he knew about), or Venice, where it appeared Iwas going to be held for murder, surely even Lo Zilla would see Los Angeles as a safer locale. Except I had a suspicion that being arrested wouldn’t simply get me transferred back to LA, it would get me chained forever to a post in a locked room atop a special turret my father would have constructed for this sole purpose. No, from my perspective, things were looking a little bleak.
Because I am blessed, the Evil Hench One wasn’t done showing her Support & Understanding. “If you think we’re going to hang around waiting for you, you’re wrong,” she said.
“Did you know that your eyes glow red in this light?” I asked her.
“It’s not that we don’t care, it’s just that we’re already late to meet Reggie,” Veronique explained over her shoulder as she followed Alyson.
I said, “Have a great time! If you hear from the dead, call me!” and if Officer Allegrini hadn’t chosen that moment to drag-slash-lead me away I would unquestionably have added that they were heading in the complete wrong direction.
Depending on your definition of “un.”
The San Marco precinct headquarters, which is where Officer Allegrini took me, looked a lot like police stations in America (hypothetically), except that instead of a Mr. Coffee they had an Espressione! machine on which you could push a button and get an espresso or caffè latte for a euro. Where by “you” I mean, “all those people who werenot handcuffed to Officer Allegrini’s desk.”
I guess that’s what I got for confessing to murder, but it was kind of frustrating because everyone in the place was running around chicken-minus-head style, and I couldn’t do anything. Or understand what they were saying, because they talked too fast. Except for Officer Allegrini, who seemed to be telling anyone who would listen that I had, in his words, “a brain like a squash,” which I think was his polite way of saying I was mentally disabled.
Sitting in a police station when no one is talking to you turns out to be much more boring than you would think. On TV, there are brawls and stuff, but in reality, at least in Italy, it just involved me at a desk watching people—and hours—go by. I was left alone with my thoughts, which were pretty much:
Whether Alyson and Veronique ever found Centrale
Whether I actually cared
What I would say if they asked me the name of my parent or guardian to contact
Why they hadn’t yet
How I’d only been joking when I asked Dr. Lansdowne if going to jail was good for extracurriculars
How you should never joke about things like that
Melts in your mouth, not in your hands
How long it would take me to learn how to perform“The Rose” in sign language
How Mr. T managed to spend so much time in leather pants
Oh yeah, and WHAT HAD HAPPENED TO ARABELLA?!?
As entertaining as these thoughts—now with bonus reel images of Jack and Candy eating chocolate crème puffs together in a candlelit bathtub—were, they only occupied me for about thirty-eight seconds. I tried to think of other things to do, but practicing my moonwalking didn’t seem very appealing (HELLO LEATHER PANTS) or possible (AND HELLO TO YOU AS WELL HANDCUFFS) so I turned to studying my surroundings.
Which roughly equaled Officer Allegrini’s
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