The story so far:
It wasn’t for another few minutes, until after we were already on the highway, that I came to the nervous realization that the slicktop wasn’t local. The town’s cruiser fleet had been under service & mod contract with my dealership for years- since long before I was hired, anyway. This one wasn’t ours.
I had seen badges, right? In the office, I saw badges. I…well…...right. Didn’t I see their badges? Um, I did. Badges and pistols; handcuffs. Moustaches. Yes, definitely real cops. Real cops taking me back to real headquarters, located somewhere out of town; somewhere far, apparently; maybe even out of the country. Foreign exchange cops! And to think: me without my passport.
After half an hour on the road, my clever idea of reasoning with these guys popped up yet again. “Ah, sirs?”
“Save it. Almost there.” He clenched twelve o’clock as he spoke, not bothering to meet my eye in the rearview.
Shotgun twisted around and barked, over his shoulder and through clenched teeth, an irritated mouthful of swollen syllables at me. I was looking right at him and all I could make out was, “Morgana clarker chock it shearsome, DICK.” He punctuated the rant with a tight air-jab of his index, sort of poking at my air-chest.
My bagged phone beeped again. **** and more ****.
* * *
In addition to all personal effects, the cops (different cops,) took my shirt, undershirt, shoes, and socks before depositing me in the drunk tank. The thought of attempting an escape and then hiding out in a nearby restaurant or convenience store hadn’t even occurred to me, but by God they were going to see to it that I couldn’t, just in case it did.
I didn’t have my watch, but my time spent in there felt like four hours. Four hours of not being able to phone the wife or the dealership. Four hours of no public defender. Four hours with the drunks, with the gabbiest of them declaring to me repeatedly that he was ‘a cat from the tracks.’
Four hours of incarcerated anxiety. I didn’t even get ‘suspicion of.’ I’m a full-blown Conspirator. How much do I get for that? Have I known any conspirators? Okay, think. Jimmy Parker got detention in the fifth grade. Uh, Brutus was banished to Crete. Mm, Guy Fawkes- they made a movie about him? Charles Mans- Oh God, where’s my public defender, already?!