A Conflict of Interest

"Wow, Brad, that was indescribably delicious! You'll have to come again sometime," she said after rolling off me. "Pun INTENDED." Then she did something that told me right away I was in trouble. She reached inside her night table and pulled out a marijuana joint. "I crave weed after sex," she said. "Don't you?"

"Not really," I said, suddenly feeling anxious and sick. "You've got to be aware that you're violating probation by doing that." Personally, I thought marijuana should be made legal in our state. Even so, I kept it to myself.

She shot me a sarcastic look. "Come on, Brad, I doubt what you just did is among your job's standard operating procedures, now is it?"

Nervously I watched as she lit up and took a hit. "I thought you had no ulterior motive for bringing me here."

"I didn't and I don't. You just gave me the best sex I've ever had. I enjoy our talks. I like you, sincerely like you. And maybe I shouldn't tell you this, but I might even be falling in love with you." She took another hit, then rubbed her hands through my hair, followed by a kiss. "I'm looking forward to seeing you again. And not just in your office. I hope you feel the same."

We made tentative plans for another "date" before I left, all too aware that she had me by the balls, literally and figuratively. Report her to the court and then testify as a witness to her drug use? Beyond laughable. Ignore it and compromise my professional integrity? Right, as if I hadn't done that already. I felt squeezed even more when her second urine came back positive and my pedantic, by-the-book supervisor advised me to take action. "She's using, violate her," he ordered.

So I did, citing in my report the positive urine as evidence, leaving out the eyewitness part. She brought her summons to my office in an uproar. "What the hell is this?!" she yelled, shaking it in front of my face. "One positive urine and you violate me? Where's YOUR summons for conducting a community contact above and beyond the call of duty?" She sat at my desk, school backpack on her lap, wearing the same sexy shorts she wore during my first home visit. Blackmail or no blackmail, I still felt smitten. She went on: "Violating me could mean jail time, Brad." Then she began to cry. I assured her she wouldn't be going to jail. One, other than the marijuana possession, she had a clean record. And two, nobody went to jail for one dirty urine. "But facing that judge again could be stressful enough," she pleaded. "Early June, I've got finals coming up. I don't need any more stress." Getting up to leave, she said, "Listen, Brad, it could be your ass as well. Just remember that."

I almost broke down and confessed my situation to Mr. Lewis. That would have meant a flurry of memos from him to HIS supervisor and on up the chain of command. At the very least, I'd be suspended without pay; at worst, fired. I'd take my chances in court.

Typically, defendants plead guilty to violation of probation charges. Then they or their attorney cite mitigating circumstances and argue for another chance. When Lindy chose to take the stand, I held my breath. I figured I was screwed, figured her lawyer knew all about our little tryst, figured the judge would call a mistrial. Then he'd contact Mr. Lewis and demand that I be fired. So imagine my surprise when Lindy admitted her drug use and agreed to seek treatment. "Your Honor, agent Renshaw has been more than tolerant with me," she testified. "I'm prepared to comply with any treatment Your Honor or he recommends." The judge continued probation on the condition that she attend NA (Narcotics Anonymous) meetings. Case dismissed.

"You could have screwed me to the wall in there," I told her once we got outside. "Why didn't you?"

"I'd rather screw you in bed, you idiot. Maybe now you'll believe me about having no ulterior motive. No motive at all other than wanting to be with you." Close to tears, I hugged and kissed her passionately in front of the courthouse. Bystanders gawked, but I didn't care and neither did Lindy. Feeling wildly jubilant, I picked her up and carried her down twenty steps to the sidewalk.

Our romance blossomed after that but not until I told Mr. Lewis that it was best I transfer Lindy's case to another agent. When he asked why, I gave him this cock-and-bull story about her being friends with my sister.

"You're right, Brad," he said. "That sounds like a conflict of interest to me also."

"A huge conflict of interest," I said. "One bigger than you can imagine." I left him at his desk, scratching his head.