“Shit. Shit shit shit.” Davidson repeated the curse over and over again, as if the fecal mantra would somehow undo his mistake. He’d never had a problem with zip-tie cuffs before. Of course, he’d never zip-tied a guy the size of the fucking hulk, either. “What the fuck was I thinking?”
“Hahaha you are so fucked Davidson,” Mason chimed in, nearly doubling over from his perceived hilarity of the situation. His chubby cheeks bounced slightly with each ha, giving the illusion of rolling waves on his fat face. Davidson hated that fat fuck.
“Oh? You were cover, you stupid shit. If I’m running a suspect’s ID, that means you’re watching them and making sure they don’t run off! What the fuck were you doing?”
Mason’s laughter cut off coldly and his eyes widened, Davidson presumed from fear. “I was…I had pressing business.”
“What, on your phone?”
“My personal business is just that, Davidson – my business.”
“God damn it, you asshole, I don’t give a shit about your dalliances. What I care about is that the guy you let get away had a warrant through our agency.”
“And I already told CIU we have him in custody.”
“Shit. Shit shit shit.”
“Right. And now we have to explain why we don’t have him.”
“Fuuuuuuuuck that. You have to explain it. Good luck, jerk.” With that, Mason hopped in his unit. His tires squealed as he peeled off from the scene of the stop.
Davidson sighed. “Thin blue line my ass.”