Badge of Betrayal

"Sure, Bud. Grab me a tumbler from the cupboard next to the microwave along with some ice. Then, look in the bottom of the pantry all the way in the back behind the cleaning supplies. You should see two large bottles of vinegar near the back. Slide those apart and grab the bottle of whiskey behind there."

"Uh, okay," Bud said sheepishly as he heeded my complex request.

I gave Clarissa a completely fabricated smile and she returned one equally as fake. We both stood there in silence as Bud continued to fumble around looking for the bottle of whiskey. I was pretty sure I would know when he found it.

"Holy shit, Patrick!" Yep. He found it. "Is this what I think it is?"

"Yes it is indeed, Bud."

"Johnny Walker Blue! I've looked for this in every liquor store in Red River Falls and can never find it."

"Ah, yes. It was a gift from an old friend." The truth is it was a gift from Caroline and Martin. They had sent it to me and it arrived at the farm shortly after I had met them in Minneapolis. I didn't want to keep it at my shitty motel and decided to hide it in the pantry.

"Why keep it with the cleaning supplies?" Bud asked.

"Simple, Bud. That way I knew Clarissa would never find it!" I couldn't help but chuckle. Even Bud cracked a brief smile but it disappeared quickly as he saw Clarissa did not appreciate my humor. But then again, the bitch never has. "Oh, come on, Clarissa. Even you have to admit that you're not much for house cleaning. Why else do you think we pay Merry Maids $500 to come out here and clean once a month?"

"Uh, if you don't mind, Patrick, I wouldn't mind a taste of that JWB myself," Bud said, fishing for an invitation.

"Oh, mercy no, Bud! You can have my wife but you can't have my Johnny Walker Blue!" I said, genuinely laughing. For some reason it felt good to be able to actually laugh in Clarissa and Bud's presence, even though both of them thought it was because I was accepting my place as the loser in all of this. But the truth was the joke was on them. Soon another guest of this party would be here and the punch line would really be delivered.

I had brought a briefcase with me that I set on the coffee table. I sat down in my old favorite chair and proceeded to pour myself a generous tumbler of the Johnny Walker Blue as Bud watched with envy. I took a long pull from my glass and savored the aged, smooth smoky flavor.

"God DAMN that is some good scotch!" I popped open the briefcase and removed two large three-ring binders full of information.

"What is all of this?" Bud asked.

"We'll get to that in a little bit," I said as I glanced towards the window. My guest should be arriving any moment.

"Well," Bud started, as he and Clarissa sat down on the sofa, "you were the one who wanted to meet with us. What did you want to talk about?"

I set my tumbler of scotch on the coffee table. "Well, Bud and Clarissa, I guess it is obvious that the two of you intend to be together so I thought it was only fitting to have a get together to symbolize that. But first, Bud, I want to ask you one question."

"Okay, Patrick, what is it?"

"Do you love Clarissa?"

Bud looked at Clarissa and then back at me. "Of course I do, Patrick. That's what this is all about."

"Well, then, let me ask you another question. What do you love about her?"

"What is the point of this, Patrick?"

"Simple, Bud. You have been cheating on your wife with my wife. You say that you love her. I want to know what you love about her and why."

Bud stared at me dumbfounded. I already knew the answer. Bud, although he says he loves Clarissa, simply wanted her for a trophy wife. He wanted to trade Margolene for a younger model, perhaps one more daring and uninhibited. And he also wanted to prove his manhood by taking the woman he wanted from another man.

"I love her because she's beautiful and she makes me happy, Patrick."

"Okay, okay," I said, nodding. "That's a start. Physical attraction is definitely important. But I'm talking about a few layers deeper, the person inside. What do you love about her?"

Bud chuckled. "I think I see where you're going with this. You came all the way out here not to be reasonable but to try and prove to Clarissa that you love her more than I do and hoping that hearing your undying love will make her run back to you, is that it?"

"Aw, hell no. Clarissa and I are done for. If we establish nothing else today, we will definitely establish that. I guess the point is, how well do you really know her?"

"Jesus, Pat, I think I know her pretty fucking well! We've all known each other for over twelve years now, ever since you started at the police department!"

"What's her favorite color?"

"What?!!!"

"I didn't stutter, Bud. I asked you a simple question. What is Clarissa's favorite color?" Bud just stared at me like a mime. "It's yellow, Bud. Clarissa's favorite color is yellow because she still associates it with the color of the sun and because her bedroom growing up was highlighted with yellow trim, bed sheets, curtains and a yellow floor rug. Yellow makes her happy, Bud."

Bud stood up and walked behind the sofa, shaking his head.

"Do you know what Clarissa's favorite song is?" Bud stood there, looked at Clarissa and then back at me. "It is 'Bittersweet Symphony' by The Verve. It was a song she listened to over and over again after her parents got divorced when she was in high school." I decided to keep pressing ahead with my questions. "Do you know what toy Clarissa always wanted for Christmas but never got until I gave her one a few years ago as a sort of gag gift? It was an Easy Bake Oven. Do you wanna know what her recurring nightmare was as a little girl growing up? Getting eaten alive by a Venus Fly trap after her second grade teacher brought one to school and fed it bugs and raw hamburger. Do you know what Clarissa's most favorite musical group of all time is? Simple. It's the Dave Matthews Band."

I walked over to Bud so I could face him eye-to-eye. "I guess what I'm saying is, Bud, how well do you REALLY know my wife? Because I could go on and on and on with this all day and show you how well I know her, the real Clarissa, the Clarissa that nobody ever gets to see in public. I know for a fact that, for some strange reason, when she was little she wanted to be a bulldozer operator when she grew up because that is what her dad did for a living. I know the real Clarissa, Bud. I loved the real Clarissa for the twelve years we were married and the nearly fifteen years we have been together."

I looked over at Clarissa. She sat on the couch looking away from both Bud and me. There were tears in her eyes and the first several had already streaked down her cheek.

"Are you happy now, Patrick? Does it make you feel like a man to make Clarissa cry?"

"No, Bud. Having the love of my wife is what made me feel like a man. This whole scenario gives me no pride or pleasure, Bud."

"You wanted this meeting, dammit! What did you really come here for today, Patrick?"

"To prove a point."

"And that is?"

"To prove that you really don't love Clarissa. To get Clarissa to see what she has thrown away for the illusion of some power, wanting to be the wife of a big fish in a little pond. I wanted her to see that you don't know the first damned thing about her, that you only wanted her because she already belonged to someone else and that you are only in this because it makes YOU feel like a man to take what belonged to someone else. And finally, I wanted this meeting to put a stop to it all."

"You jackass," Bud retorted. "I thought you just said a little while ago that you were done with Clarissa. You're so fucked up you're talking circles around yourself."

"You're right. I did say exactly that. And I meant every word of it. But I told you and Clarissa several months ago that I was going to put a stop to your affair, somehow, some way. And that happens today. As a matter of fact," I said, as my mystery guest's vehicle pulled into the driveway, "that affair ends right....about.....now!"

I walked over to the front door as my mystery guest hastily jogged up the front steps and I flung the door open wide to greet him with enthusiasm.

"Look, everybody!" I crowed. "If it isn't our old friend the Mason County Attorney, Mr. Marion Lawson!"

"What the hell is he doing here?" Bud demanded.

"I was about to ask you the same thing," Lawson responded. "You never said anything about Bud Roberts being here."

"Please, please. Everyone sit down. All will be revealed, I assure you. Say, Marion, Bud volunteered to play bartender for us this afternoon. Maybe you'd like a little something to take the edge off?"

"Quit fucking around, Pat. You wanted me here for some goddamn reason. Hurry up and get on with it. I've got better things to do with my time than drive out to the sticks and listen to your bullshit."

"Wow. You're not a very gracious guest, Marion. Uh, is it alright if I call you Marion?" Lawson just rolled his eyes. "Anyway, unlike Bud, I was actually going to offer you a sniff of my Johnny Walker Blue, seeing as how you and I are probably going to be working together so closely in the future."

"What the fuck are you babbling about? Bud? Do you have any fucking idea what this is all about?"

"Alright, alright," I conceded. "Social hour is over with. We'll get down to business. Have a seat." I grabbed the binders and handed one binder each to both Bud and Marion. "Gentlemen, what you hold in your hands are nothing less than dynamite and each of you has played a role in lighting the fuse. The binders you see are filled with copies of thousands of emails, text messages and other correspondence between my soon-to-be-ex wife and Sheriff William Roberts. These text messages and emails detail very well the torrid affair that has been taking place between my wife, Clarissa, and the good Sheriff over the last two years."

Bud's face turned beat red and he looked like he was about to have a stroke. Marion was incredulous.

"So? What's the big fucking deal, Quinn?" Lawson asked. "Why should I give a shit about any of this?"

"The big fucking deal, Marion, is that these text messages and emails detail numerous plots and allegations against me that were perpetrated by Sheriff Bud Roberts in an effort to destroy my career, incarcerate me for years to come and cost me my marriage and my relationship with my two sons. These text messages and emails detail plans to have me investigated and charged with financial crimes, false arrests and imprisonments, embezzlement, falsifying records and over eighty counts of tampering with witnesses and evidence. If Bud Roberts had gotten his way, he would have sent me to prison for the rest of my life."

"This is bullshit, Patrick," Bud shouted as he stood. "You are a stupid fucking idiot! You overplayed your hand! I have no idea how you got all of these emails and text messages but they are all bullshit! They'll never stand up in court! Clarissa and I will charge you with invasion of privacy and computer hacking and whatever other charges I can drum up! All of this will go away, ALL OF IT! Judge Prohaski will bury this evidence with a shovel and then bury the shovel! You stole personal information and property from Clarissa and I!"

Marion Lawson was nodding along with everything Bud was saying. "He's right. You'll have to prove how you got that information and I guarantee it will get suppressed immediately if it was obtained without a warrant. Any good lawyer could have that case dismissed before the ink on the subpoena was even dry." But they didn't know the full story yet.

"The only stupid fucking idiot," I calmly replied, "is you two, Bud and Marion. Have a seat. Take a closer look at those emails and text messages."

Bud eyeballed me as he slowly returned to his seat. He picked up the binder again and leafed through the emails and texts. He surely recognized them but there was one big piece of information he hadn't discovered yet.

"Bud, do you know what an IP address is?"

"Of course, dumbass. I know exactly what an IP address is."

"Good. Very good. Then you should know that your Internet Protocol address is assigned to every piece of equipment assigned to any network, no matter whether it is public or private. Basically any computer, smart phone, laptop, tablet or any other device capable of connecting to the internet has an IP address."

"Get to the point, Patrick. You're way beyond pissing me off now!"

"Here, Bud. Take a look at this." I handed him a piece of paper. "This is an interoffice email memo that you shared with all of us at the Sheriff's department as well as other city and county offices. Do you remember sending that out?"

"Yes, Patrick. I remember quite well. What the fuck is your point?"

"Take a look at the bottom of that email. You will agree with me that you sent that email from your county provided computer in your own office at the Sheriff's department, correct?" Bud nodded his agreement, hatred still burning in his eyes. "Excellent. Now, compare the IP address at the bottom of that email with the IP address located at the bottom of the emails you sent back and forth to Clarissa over the last two years."

Bud begrudgingly did as I asked. As he compared one of the emails to Clarissa with the interoffice memo, his eyes widened and his face paled. Frantically, he began flipping through the rest of the binder. Each of the emails in the binder contained the same IP address as the interoffice memo.

"Patrick! Goddamn you! What the fuck did you do?! How the fuck did you do this?! Answer me, God dammit! HOW THE FUCK DID YOU DO THIS???"

"How did he do what? How did he do what?" Marion Lawson begged.

"He fucked me, Marion! He fucked me, that's what! He made it look like all of these emails were sent from my office computer! I never sent one goddamned thing to Clarissa from my office!" Bud was now actively hyperventilating. It was a beautiful sight. Marion Lawson's mouth just opened in shock and awe.

"Oh, but there's more. There's so much more," I said, giddily. "Take a look at the transcripts of all your text messages. Check out the number that they were all sent from."

Bud looked closer and recognized the number as being from his work provided Galaxy smart phone. He just hung his head and was speechless. "There's no way this can be real. There's no fucking way."

"Oh, but it is, Bud. Take a look at the mail feature on your smart phone. Take a look at your text registry. You will find every single email that I printed and placed in this binder in your email's sent file also. You will find every single text message to Clarissa is also in your work phone's text app as well. Go ahead. Check it out."

Sheepishly, Bud took out his phone and looked. He let out an incredulous grunt of bemused irony as he verified that everything I said was true.

"Jesus," Marion Lawson breathed. "I thought you had this whole situation under control, Bud. You assured me that this whole thing was under control, you jackass."

"It was under control, dammit!"

"Apparently not, Bud! Look at you! Quinn's got you by the short and curlies and there's not a goddamned thing you can do about it! Jesus Christ!"

"He's not the only one, Marion," I said sternly. "Go ahead. Check out some of the text messages towards the back of your binder." Marion started to look but then stopped as I continued. "There are over 200 text messages back and forth between you, Bud Roberts and Clarissa detailing your plans and highlights of your sexual escapades."

"You little bastard," Lawson breathed.

"There may not be any material in there, Marion, for me to make a criminal case against you like I can Bud Roberts. But there is enough fodder in there to keep the gossip and rumor mills in the Upper Midwest and Plains going for years to come. You will also likely face a lot of embarrassment and possible punishment from the county supervisors for using your work phone and computer to carry on a sexual relationship with Sheriff Bud Roberts and the wife of his Chief Deputy all behind my back. And your name will be forever linked with the infamous felon named Bud Roberts for the rest of your life. Your career as you know it will be over. You will surely be disbarred. You will never practice law in this state or any other state ever again. You will be a social and professional pariah wherever you go." Lawson turned his head and looked away.

"But you're not as bad off as Bud over here. I have enough material to send him and my soon-to-be-ex-wife to prison for a very, very long time. Hell, Clarissa will be a grandmother by the time she gets out of prison." Clarissa gasped when I said that.

Finally, Bud conceded. "Alright, Patrick. What is it that you want?"

I stood and addressed both Bud and Clarissa. "The first thing that I want is what I already told you I wanted. Actually, it isn't even a want. It is what is most definitely going to happen. You and Clarissa are done. Your affair is over with. There will absolutely be no more contact between the two of you. If I even catch a whiff of any bullshit going on between you two, I will bring the fucking hammer down on you with the fury of God's own thunder! You will both go to jail. You will both do some serious and hard time. Do you understand me?"

"And what if I refuse? How are you going to stop me? What do you think you have to keep me from retaliating? I may not be ready to accept defeat just yet, Patrick."

"I can't tell you how much it gives me pleasure to be able to repeat the same phrase you said to me a few months ago, Bud. But let's just agree that whatever I decide to do is -- INEVITABLE." The look on Bud's face as I regurgitated his own words was priceless. "And you are defeated, Bud. I'm not the only one who has these binders. I'm not the only one who has access to all of this information. We both know I'm no genius. I could never have done all this on my own. There are a number of people who have all this information, too. Good people. People I can trust."

"I'm sure you're not going to tell me, but I'll take a chance anyway," Bud half-heartedly chuckled. "Who?"

"I won't tell you exactly. But I'll give you a hint. Think about someone you may know who is connected rather intimately with someone locally in the computer business."

I could see the wheels turning inside Bud's head. After a few moments, the light bulb turned on. "Chris Hayes," he seethed. "Oh, my God, Patrick. Chris Hayes' dumb cunt of a girlfriend? You're really going to tie your horse to that druggie bitch's wagon? Jesus!"

"She is anything but a dumb bitch, Bud. She dropped out of the Massachusetts Institute of Technology because she was bored. She's so brilliant they couldn't teach her anything anymore. I can see a bright future for her on the side as a consultant with the Sheriff's department."

"What Sheriff in his right fucking mind would hire that fucking pothead as a consultant?"

I paused for dramatic effect. "I would."

"Are you out of your fucking mind?"

"Nope. I'm not, Bud. That brings me to the second condition of my terms. We already discussed the first term that you and Clarissa are to end your affair. The second term is this: You are going to announce Monday at the Jaycees meeting that you have decided not to run for re-election as Mason County Sheriff. Additionally, at a time of my choosing, you are going to announce that you have spoken with me and have talked me into running for Sheriff and that I have your full support and endorsement."

Clarissa, who had been softly crying on her end of the sofa, suddenly perked up when she heard that I intended to become Sheriff. What an opportunistic bitch!

"And along with your endorsement," I continued, "I will also be expecting the full and enthusiastic endorsement of our good County Attorney." Lawson just shook his head and rolled his eyes, not because he didn't think I'd make a good Sheriff, but because he knew that there was no way out of this. I held Bud's literal fate in my hands. But I also held the reputation of Marion Lawson in my hands, which was manifest with his professional fate, as well. I also had another major piece of information on Marion that I wasn't ready to reveal just yet. I'll play that card when the time comes.