A promise was a promise. 

Moments like these made me wish I’d had the gumption to ignore father and establish better friendships, so someone could talk me out of my cockamamie schemes.  Mom always encouraged me, however harebrained I may have sounded.  Conversely, Father shot everything down, but that usually served to double my resolve.  There was some kind of irony about fulfilling Father’s wishes this time, but I wasted no mental effort to solve that puzzle.

The rain had caused Ebbett’s creek to overflow its banks and run across the pavement ahead of me.  I could see the current running sideways, but it was only fifteen feet or so to cross the water.  Even in a lightweight hybrid like mine, I figured the worst I could do was hydroplane before regaining control.  I goosed the accelerator and sprayed on both sides of my vehicle, like Moses crossing the Red Sea.  Except, as best as I could remember, Pharaoh’s chariot didn’t have flashing blue lights.

I pulled over and cursed, first at myself, then at the unmarked police car as it angled to pin me in, lest I make a getaway.  Father would have been furious.  But I saw little need to tell him about this incident, and the same likeliness of me reporting to court to fight the ticket.  By the time the court date rolled around, I’d be in a distant state with a different identity and a real car with some pickup.

Detective Carter opened his door and donned his waterproof hat.  It dawned on me that I’d never seen a uniformed cop holding an umbrella.  He circled behind his vehicle and tapped on my window, which I barely cracked.  “It’s pouring!” was a lame excuse, but he didn’t further question my reluctance to lower the window.  Instead, he rounded my car and knocked on the passenger door. 

I unlocked it and he climbed in, removed his hat, and set it between his legs.  “You like to surf?”

“Excuse me?”

“You made some waves back there, didn’t you?”

He laughed while I remained stoic.  Policemen weren’t my first choice for friends.  For one thing, they tended towards nosiness.  Worse, they had connections to extensive databases.  He asked, “Where are you going?”

“Nowhere.”  It was the best stall tactic I had, and I intended to use it liberally.

“You keep driving like that, you’ll end up revisiting the cemetery sooner than you want.”

“I don’t mean to be rude, Detective, but are you going to write me a ticket or what?”

“I’d rather go for a drive.”

Our underlying motives surely differed, but I was no readier to flinch than he was, so we stared at each other until he broke the silence.  “Do me a favor and hold off on the stunts.  Let’s go.”  Punctuated by his seatbelt fastening.

“Where to?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” he smiled.  “Nowhere.”

I shifted into drive and kept the Prius at a speed corresponding to how fast I would have gone had I known he was behind me.  I inferred that he wanted to wait me out until I opened up, but after years of wordless dinners with Father, that wasn’t going to happen.  Besides, I wasn’t eager for conversation. 

We approached the old highway and I finally had something to say.  “East or west?”

He answered with a shrug, so I opted to go east.  The next exit was closer, in case I wanted to turn around and return to his car.  I so wanted to enjoy the company, but tension prohibited that. 

Carter spoke.  “What do you do?”

“I’m between jobs right now.”

After sufficient time passed, he measured me and sighed.  “Jamie?  I’ve been doing this for more years than you’ve been alive.  I’m really good at it.”

“You don’t have any children, do you?”

“What makes you say that?”

A semi passed on my left and I steered halfway into the shoulder to avoid the spray from its tires.  “If you’re going to treat me like a kid, then you should know how to speak to kids.  And you don’t.”

Due to liability issues, insurance agencies always played by the book.  Detective Carter was not involved with an insurance agency.  I had more important things to do than deal with another small-town private dick. 

Still, he seemed as unimpressed with my candor as I was with his badge. 

We passed a splattered version of what used to be an animal – a fox, maybe – and I entertained the notion of reviving it.  Was there enough body left to hold life?  I wondered the same thing about Father.  Had his liver deteriorated enough to make each incarnation shorter?  I was good for the spark of life, but maintenance was beyond my control.

My thoughts were cut short by the buzz of a Japanese crotchrocket flying past us at what I gauged was triple digits.  The rider heedlessly weaved between other speeding vehicles as if he was carrying stolen diamonds.  Father used to say, “There’s no difference dying at fifty miles per hour or one-fifty” as some justification for living recklessly.  It inspired ire then and now, but the anger subsided as I took the exit ramp to circle back. 

Carter pointed at the gas station and requested a stop.  The hybrid never needed gas, but I figured I could pick up a bag of something to munch and chew up some talk time.

I parked and rushed inside to keep dry.  Carter bee-lined his way to the restroom.  I considered ditching him here, but I still had a couple of weeks left for this town before the settlement came.  Instead, I perused video rentals and mud flaps.  When the detective returned, I grabbed up two bags of corn nuts – apparently an impulse item in this part of the country – and dropped them by the register. 

“You want anything, Detective?”

He shook his head but removed his wallet from his back pocket.  “I got this one, Lucas.”