If you ask any law enforcement officer of any branch in any country, he’ll have at least one funny story to tell. That’s because when you work in law enforcement, you usually see people when they’re not really like they’d like you to see them. Sometimes that can be scary, but sometimes, it’s enough to make you grin a little. Sometimes what people do is so funny it’s difficult for us to keep a straight face while we’re writing the citation. Sometimes, it’s so funny we let them go with just a warning and then laugh our ass off when we drive on down the road.
I began my career in law enforcement as the only cop in a very small town in Illinois. I can’t tell you the name of the town because the population was only about a thousand residents and it’s one of those little towns where everybody knows everybody else’s business, or at least think they do.
I was the only cop because nothing ever happened in that little town during the day. Nothing ever happened at night when I patrolled either, but it made the business owners feel better if somebody drove down the alleys every night and made sure there were no back doors open. That was most of my job, just driving around and watching for anything that seemed unusual. Once in a while I’d nail some kid for a loud muffler or squealing his tires, but mostly, I spent the hours between ten at night and six in the morning just driving around.
One night, I drove past the alley behind the bank and saw a car parked behind the hardware store at the other end of the block. I knew the guy who ran the hardware store drove a pickup, so it wasn’t him working late, and he only had one employee, a woman I’ll call Gladys, and she didn’t have a car. Gladys wouldn’t have been working that late anyway. She was almost sixty and would be home in bed. That left the possibility that someone was robbing the hardware store.
You’re probably thinking I should have called for backup before I investigated, but you don’t understand about small town law enforcement. When you’re the only cop in a small town, your backup is the county sheriff’s department. The county isn’t blessed with infinite funding, so if they sent a deputy out to assist me, the county would also send the town a bill for hours spent and use of the county vehicles. My instructions were to call for backup only when I was sure I needed it.
I had another reason for not using my radio right then to call county dispatch. Most of the deputies considered us small town cops to be amateurs, and if a deputy had to come out and he didn’t find at least a robbery, I’d never live it down.
I hadn’t turned on my light bar, and I decided not to. If there was something going on, the light bar would just tell whoever was doing it that I was there and they’d probably run. My patrol car was just an ordinary car with magnetic stickers and the light bar to show that it was a police cruiser. It didn’t have the heavy-duty suspension or high speed tires an actual police car would have, and probably wouldn’t fare too well in a high-speed chase.
I drove around the block to the hardware store and then turned into the alley. As soon my headlights lit up the front of the parked sedan, I saw two people in the front seats. It looked like the driver was female because of the long, blonde hair. I couldn’t see the passenger very well, because the two were kissing and the blonde’s head and back covered the passenger.
They stopped kissing just as I got out of my car and started walking toward them. I was about ten feet away when I recognized the blonde. She was Janice Mason, the art teacher at the local high school. I didn’t get a good look at the other person because once they stopped kissing, that person slid down in the seat.
Janice looked scared when I walked up to her side of the car. She rolled down her window when I asked, and then started trying to explain. I wasn’t really listening to her because I’d just seen the other person in the car. That other person was Marilyn James, the mayor’s wife. Marilyn was trying to button her blouse at the time, and she was having trouble because her big breasts refused to be stuffed back inside the blouse. When I flashed the beam of my flashlight from her breasts down, I saw why. There was a white, strapless bra on the floor, and judging by the size of the cups, it had to be Marilyn’s.
I’d like to say I was professional and didn’t grin, but I couldn’t help it. I knew from seeing her around town that Marilyn was generously endowed, but I didn’t know her nipples were as thick and long as the tip of my little finger. It was tough to move my flashlight beam back to Janice, but I did, and then asked her what was going on.
Janice just looked at me for a few seconds and then smiled.
“Phil, we’re just sitting here talking, that’s all.”
I’m sure I was still grinning.
“I’m a little confused here. If you’re just talking, why are you parked behind the hardware store and why is Mrs. James…well, why is she like she is?”
Marilyn had managed to get most of her buttons buttoned by then, and she leaned over toward the window. Her voice was a little shaky and she sounded a lot like she was begging.
“Phil, please, please just let Janice take me home. I can’t have anybody know we were here. If this gets out, Harold will have to resign and Janice will lose her job.”
Well, I figured it was none of my business what they wanted to do together, though I did wonder if Harold knew about it. I figured he did, because it was almost midnight, and if I’d been married to Marilyn, I’d have wanted those big breasts in bed with me.
Then I remembered that Harold seemed to spend a lot of his spare time fishing with Bruce Anderson, the high school music teacher. Bruce wasn’t exactly a man’s man, if you know what I mean, and neither was Harold. I’d always believed Marilyn was the real boss in the James family. I figured both Harold and Marilyn had just figured out how to stay married and still have what they really wanted.
I told Janice and Marilyn they needed to find a different place to talk, and then let them go. Marilyn baked me a cake every week after that until I got a job as a cop in Springfield, and Janice always grinned and waved when she saw me.
Springfield was a whole different place to be a cop. There were actual crimes committed in Springfield, so I had my hands full a lot of nights. It wasn’t unusual for me to get involved in a robbery or a car accident a couple times a week. Drugs weren’t the problem they are today, but we still caught a few guys selling grass or heroin. Then there was the night I was sure the woman standing on the street corner was a hooker.
I was sure she was a hooker because she had on a tight leather miniskirt that wasn’t doing a very good job of covering her ass cheeks, and her top was a tank top so short I could see the curve of her bare breasts sticking out under the bottom. She had on fishnet stockings and was trying to walk on black spike heels that had to be over four inches tall.
The only problem with her being a hooker was she was in the wrong place. All the hookers were concentrated along three blocks of an older part of Springfield. There wasn’t much there except for empty storefronts, a bar on one corner and a hotel I wondered why the city hadn’t condemned. This woman was standing on a corner of a street that had a couple name clothing stores and a popular bar where a lot of the young singles hung out.
I drove up to that corner and thumbed the switch on the light bar to turn the rear of the bar to flashing yellow. She started to walk away when I got out of my car, but stopped when I asked her to stop and come back to my car. That was unusual too. Most hookers either do one of two things when you stop them. They’ll either run or they’ll grin.
The new ones run. The girls who’ve been around the block a couple of times know they’ll get caught and arrested anyway, so they just stand there and wait for the van. They also know as soon as they’re booked and get bail set, their pimp will be down to bail them out. It saves time and energy if they just give up. I can’t say I’ve ever had a hooker run on me and then stop when I told her to.
This woman did though, and when she walked back to my patrol car, she was smiling about something. She wasn’t carrying a purse, but when I asked her if she had any identification, she beamed a big smile at me, pulled a driver’s license out from under the lace top of her right stocking, and handed it to me. I opened the back door of my cruiser and asked her to get inside. She balked at that.
“I can’t officer. I can’t get inside your car.”
I asked her why, and she grinned sheepishly.
“Because I’m not wearing any underwear, and you’ll see me.”
Well, that pretty much convinced me she wasn’t just an ordinary hooker. A lot of hookers don’t wear panties either. That saves time and it’s also part of their sales pitch. They’ll flip their skirt up for a potential john so show him what he’d be getting if he forks over what they ask for. I’d never arrested one who was in the least bit modest.
I told her I couldn’t just leave her standing there, so she had to get into my car, and if she didn’t do that willingly, I’d have to put her in cuffs and then put her there. She just grinned.
“That might be fun, especially the handcuffs, but I’m waiting on somebody. Promise not to look, OK?”
I looked over the top of my car while she slid her ass into the back seat, and when she said, “OK, I’m in”, I shut the door.
I ran her license then and didn’t find anything except one ticket for running a stop sign five years before. Chrissy Akers was forty-three, married, and her address was in one of the better suburbs around the city. I got out and walked back around to the rear door and opened it.
“Mrs. Akers, it still is Mrs. Akers, isn’t it?”
“Want to tell me what you’re doing out here dressed like you are? You do know what it looks like you’re doing, don’t you?”
“Yeah, I know, but I’m just playing our game, that’s all. I think I fooled you, so I must be pretty good at it. Jerry says I am. Jerry’s my husband. Things got kind of stale after our kids left, if you know what I mean. One afternoon, I was so horny I couldn’t stand it, so I dressed up like this. When Jerry came home, he was really surprised. He was so surprised he screwed me right there on the couch.
“Well, afterward, he told me he’d always had this fantasy about screwing a prostitute, and that’s what I looked like when I dressed like I did. Because of his fantasy, we sort of invented this game. I dress up like this and he takes me into the city. He goes to Wilson Park then for half an hour and I go stand on one of six different street corners and I don’t tell Jerry where I’m going to be.
“He drives around until he finds me and then I proposition him just like a prostitute would. I always tell him it will cost fifty dollars for him to screw me. He’ll say I’m not worth fifty, so I’ll pull up my top and show him my boobs. He always agrees then, so I get in the car and we go home. On the way there, I pull up my skirt so he can…well, that’s why I don’t have on my panties.
“Last Saturday, he couldn’t even wait until we got in the house. He pulled into the drive and told me to get in the back seat. You ever done that? It’s pretty cramped, but it’s sure wild.”
I understood now. It was a little weird, but I could understand. Chrissy hadn’t propositioned me or anything like that so I really couldn’t arrest her. I did think I needed to give her some advice though.
“Mrs. Akers, you need to know that one of these days, some other guy might think you should get in his car and he might find a way to make you.”
“It was fun when we did that at the hotel in Miami last winter, but we knew the guy pretty well and Jerry was in the room when the guy screwed me. I’d never try that here. That’s why all our street corners are in places with a lot of people. I like it when the guys look at me, but I would never go with somebody I don’t know. I’d just run into someplace and get lost in the crowd.”
I said I wasn’t going to arrest her and stepped back so she could get out of my back seat. She looked at me for a second, and then grinned.
“I think I like you, so you don’t have to not look this time. We haven’t done it in the back seat for a while, but I’ll bet we will tonight after I tell him you saw my pussy. He gets so excited when I tell him another man has been looking at me. If I tell him you said you’d let me go if I gave you a blowjob, he’ll screw me at least twice, once in the back seat and then again when I bend over the couch.”
With that, she turned in the seat, spread her legs wide and scooted out until her feet were on the ground. When she did that, her mini-skirt rode up far enough I was looking at a nice little bush and some really slender shaved lips. I figured Jerry was going to have a great time that night. I wasn’t sure I could have waited to get her in the house either.
There’s nothing funny about an accident caused by a drunk driver, and I don’t have any sympathy for them at all, but one night, I pulled over a drunk driver that made it almost impossible to keep a straight face.
The woman was weaving all over the street that night at about one in the morning. When I flipped on my lights and blipped the siren, she turned into the empty parking lot of an Italian restaurant and stopped. She was getting out of her car when I walked up, and cops don’t like that at all. We never know what’s going to happen if you get out before we ask and can watch you while you do.
I asked her to get back into her car, and she did, well, sort of. When most people get in a car, they sit down in the seat and swing their legs in. This woman tried to climb in head first, and ended up with her hands on the center console, her knees on the driver’s seat, and her ass stuck up in the air. If her skirt hadn’t been so short and she’d been wearing panties, I’d have tried to help her get back out, turned around, and sitting in the seat. She wasn’t, though, and I wasn’t really sure helping her would be the right thing to do.
I keyed the mike on my lapel and asked dispatch to send a female officer out to assist me.
While I was doing that, the woman backed out and then tried to get in the same way again. This time, her left knee slipped off the seat and she ended up with that knee on the floorboard, her other on the seat, and her shaved pussy lips gaped open. She tried several times to get her left knee back up on the seat, but it kept hitting the steering wheel. Every time she tried, she just fell back down, and those puffy pussy lips sort of winked at me.
Thankfully, Trixie Baines showed up a minute or so later. Trixie’s was about forty-five and she’d been in the department for a little over fifteen years at the time. She got out of her patrol car and walked up beside me.
“Whatcha got, Phil?”
Trixie giggled then.
“Oh, never mind. I see. You got yourself what Joanie calls a ‘blinking beaver’. Let’s get her back on her feet so we can confirm she’s drunk as a skunk.”
Trixie walked up to the woman and grabbed her hips.
“Honey, you need to get back out ‘cause you’re showing your butt and everything else you got. Come on, just back up and put your feet on the ground.”
Between Trixie pulling on the woman’s hips and the woman pushing herself back with her arms, she finally got her feet on the ground. Trixie was helping her stand up when the woman’s knees buckled. Trixie didn’t grab her fast enough, and instead, her hands slipped up the woman’s sides and pulled her tight knit top up over her naked breasts.
Trixie didn’t skip a beat. She just lifted the woman up by the armpits and once she was standing, leaned her against the door and calmly pulled the top back down.
“OK, Honey, now you just stand there while I talk to you. You got a license and insurance?”
The woman smiled and turned back toward the driver’s seat.
“Oh, yeah. They’re right in there in my purse. I’ll just go get them for you.”
Trixie stopped her because she was trying to climb in the same way again.
“No, Honey, don’t try that again. Why don’t you just tell me your name.”
The woman grinned.
“I’m Rita. Pleased to meet you. You’re kinda sexy, did you know that?”
Trixie looked over at me and rolled her eyes, then turned back to the girl.
“That’s good Rita. Do you have a last name?”
“Anderson…no wait, that was this morning. Now it’s uh…Walsh…yeah, that’s it, Walsh. That was my mother’s name too, not the Rita part, the Walsh part. My name’s Walsh now because I just got divorced. That’s gonna be my last name as soon as I change it. Did I tell you that was my mother’s name? Her name isn’t Rita though. Her name is Barbara, Barbara Walsh. That’s gonna be my name as soon as I get it changed, not Barbara though. I’ll be Rita Walsh. That’s my mother’s name, not the Rita part, the Barbara part. Barbara is my mother’s name.”
Trixie asked if I’d run a check on both names while she kept the woman on her feet. I didn’t find anything on Rita Walsh, but I did on Rita Anderson. She was twenty-eight and hadn’t even had a parking ticket.
I walked back to Trixie.
“No record of a Rita Walsh, but I did find Rita Anderson. She’s squeaky clean.”
Trixie was about to say something, when Rita reached up and squeezed Trixie’s left breast.
“Mmmm”, she said. “You have nice boobs, not little boobs like mine. Frank always said mine were too little. He’d like you. Do you know Frank?”
Trixie gently pulled Rita’s hand off her breast and then put her arm around Rita’s waist.
“Rita, let’s take you somewhere so you can get a little sleep. Wouldn’t you like that?”
“Can you come sleep with me? I don’t like men anymore, but I like you. I wanna feel your boobs some more. I’ll let you feel my little boobs if you want.”
Trixie took Rita down to holding and got her booked. After calling for a tow truck to take Rita’s car to the impound lot and waiting until it showed up, I continued driving my route. I caught up with Trixie as she was getting ready to leave the station.
“Hey, Trixie. I see you decided not to sleep with Rita.”
“You just have to tell the whole world everything you know, don’t you?”
“Well, for a while there, I thought you liked her. She sure liked you.”
“You shoulda been here when I got her to booking. I thought she’d probably go to sleep on the way, but no, she was awake and wanted to play with my boobs and butt. I don’t know how many times I pulled her hands off me before I got her to sit down at the booking desk. Filling out any paperwork besides her name was hopeless. The only thing I could get out of her was she got divorced this morning and had gone out to celebrate…oh, and that she thinks she likes girls now instead of men. She kept telling me that, over and over.
“I tried to get her to take a breath test, but she kept sucking on the mouthpiece. I told her she had to blow, not suck, and she said that’s what she was doing, blowing it. I finally gave up and had them do a blood draw, and she was almost point two. We put her in a holding cell by herself. They’ll process her once she sobers up enough to know where she is.”
I grinned because I knew something Rita didn’t. Trixie had a girlfriend. I only know that because Trixie told me after I asked her for a date. She just grinned, and said she liked me but I really didn’t have the right equipment. Then she showed me the picture of Wanda she keeps in her wallet.
“Wanda has everything I need”, she said.
I was joking when I said Wanda had about what any man needed too, but it was true. Wand had heavy breasts, a small waist, and a tight ass, and in the bikini, her slender legs went on forever. Wanda was also a redhead with a gorgeous face, and I have a special place for redheads. Trixie grinned.
“That’s about what I’d expect from a guy like you. Well, you can look but not touch. Wanda’s a one woman, woman.”
I worked Springfield for a couple of years before I heard about an opening with the Sheriff’s office in Dickson County in Tennessee. I had visited Land Between the Lakes on several occasions and loved the area. I called about the opening, and then sent my resume. When I was accepted, I gave my old department two weeks notice and started packing.
Dickson county was everything I’d hoped. There aren’t a lot of people who live in the county, but Dickson itself is big enough to have most of anything you’d want immediately, and Nashville is only about an hour away for anything you can’t find locally. Land Between the Lakes is also close, and I planned on doing a lot of fishing on my days off.
I drew the shift from three to midnight because of my low seniority, but I knew that going in. Nights suited me fine. I wasn’t married so I could do what I wanted, when I wanted to do it, and I’m sort of a night person anyway.
Dickson county still had crime, just not nearly as much as Springfield, and it wasn’t the same kind of crime. Springfield had its share of murders in addition to everything else, but murders were rare in Dickson county at the time. Most of what I investigated in my new job were robberies or domestic disputes. The robberies were about the same – some young kid would bust in the door of a house, grab the TV and stereo, and a camera or jewelry if they were out in the open, and then head to a pawnshop in Nashville to sell them or put them on Craig’s list.
They were easy to catch. The pawnshops cooperated with the Nashville PD and asked some questions of anybody wanting to hock items it didn’t look like they should have. Not many seventeen year old kids have big screen TVs or expensive cameras, and boys don’t usually wear diamond necklaces. The pawnshops also had closed circuit TV at every counter, so any kid trying to hock anything like that would have his face on video. We’d give a description of the stolen items to the Nashville PD, and then wait a couple days until they called us and said they had him.
I looked at Craig’s List every day after a robbery, and caught several young kids who didn’t think the deputies were smart enough to catch them. When I saw what looked like the stolen items, I’d call the number and arrange to meet. I’d wear civilian clothes and then flash my badge once I was sure the items were stolen. Most figured out they were caught and gave up. My backup unit around the corner would chase down any that ran.
The domestic disputes were about the same as in Springfield. Usually the call came from the areas in the county that were suburb wannabe’s. A developer would buy five or so acres out in the country, put up a sign that said something like “Whispering Wind Estates”, and start building houses. There were several of these in the county and they were pretty nice. You had the quiet of the country but were close enough to Dickson that shopping wasn’t an all-day affair.
Usually the call was about a husband and wife or boyfriend and girlfriend fighting loud enough their neighbors complained. I’d go out, separate them, and then try to get them calmed down enough they could actually have a conversation. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it ended with one of them in my Blazer on the way to jail.
There was one that was different. It didn’t seem different at first, but it ended up that way.
Dispatch had sent me out to talk with Wilma Forbes, a woman who lived in one of those developments about ten miles from town. Dispatch said she’d called 911 and said her neighbors were creating a ruckus and she wanted it stopped.
When I got to Wilma’s house about five that afternoon, I was expecting to either see her neighbors outside and screaming at each other, or at least hear a lot of yelling coming from the house next door to hers, but the whole area was a quiet as a church. I knocked on Wilma’s door to find out what she’d complained about.
Wilma was about seventy, or that’s what I guessed anyway, and she looked like the grandmothers you see in magazines – a little plump with short, snow-white hair and wire rimmed glasses she wore down on her nose. I asked her to tell me about the problem she’d been having with her neighbors.
“They’re outside in their back yard all the time and they’re…well, it’s just awful, that’s what it is, and that woman, she screams her head off.”
I asked if they fought like that a lot, and Wilma shook her head.
“They aren’t fighting. She comes over to his house every afternoon and they never fight. What they do is what they’re doing right now. They’re fornicating, right there in the back yard. They’re out there right now, nekkid as the day they were born.”
Now, I’d never heard “fornicating” used much. I’d heard “fucking”, “screwing” and “porking”, but never “fornicating”. I had heard “nekkid” before. In the South, “nekkid” is like “naked” only different. “Naked” is when you don’t have any clothes on, like when you take a bath. “Nekkid” is how people in the South say it when you’re naked because you’re either gonna have some fun with somebody else who’s naked or you’re naked and trying to get somebody else to get naked with you.
If Wilma hadn’t looked so serious, I’d probably have grinned and asked her why that was a problem. Instead, I asked her to show me. She led the way out her back door to the patio, pointed in the direction of the house next door, and said, “They’re right over there under that big oak tree in their back yard”.
I could see the oak tree, but the six foot fence around her neighbor’s back yard pretty much blocked everything except the top of the tree.
“Ms. Forbes, uh…all I see is a fence.”
She frowned again.
“Yes, but if you walk over beside that rose bush, there’s a knothole you can see through.”
Well, she was right about the knothole, and she was right about her neighbors fornicating in their back yard. Well, they weren’t fornicating yet, as least what I thought of as fornicating, but the redheaded woman was laying on her back on a chaise lounge with her legs spread and her feet on the ground. The guy had his face buried in her pussy and his head was bobbing up and down.
The woman seemed to be enjoying what he was doing. She was rolling both her nipples and her face looked really flushed.
I heard a whispered, “Are they doing it?”, from Wilma.
I knew it wasn’t right, but I turned to her and whispered back, “no, not yet. I better keep watching them to see if they’re going to. Why don’t you go back inside, and when I get done, I’ll come in and tell you what I’m going to do”.
Wilma frowned, but she did go back into her house. I went back to watching through the knothole.
The guy had changed what he was doing a little. Before, he’d been holding the redhead’s legs open and licking away. Now, he had one hand stroking in and out under his chin while he licked. His other hand was pinching her nipple and pulling on it. The redhead had rolled her face to the side facing me, and her mouth formed a little “O” shape.
It wasn’t long before she started humping the guy’s face, but he didn’t miss a beat. He just kept lapping away, though he was a little higher up her slit now. I figured he’d found her clit, because she started arching up off the chaise lounge once in a while. A little while later, he stopped licking and I saw his cheeks moving in and out.
The redhead arched up high, and then screeched really loud as her ass started rocking up and down. She stayed up in the air like that for half a minute or so and then pushed the guys head away and gasped, “Oh fuck, Billy, stop and let me catch my breath for a minute”.
She layed there for a couple of minutes and then looked at the guy and grinned.
“Change places with me, Honey. I’m gonna fuck you now.”
The redhead hopped up and he laid down. She grinned at him again, grabbed his stiff cock, and opened her mouth wide. She had to work to get it all in because the guy was pretty thick, but once she got her lips around his cock head, she started bobbing her head up and down. I figured she’d just blow him and the show would be over, but after a couple minutes, she pulled her mouth off him with a little smacking sound, straddled him, and then moved his cock around until she got things lined up. She shivered a little when she moved her ass down, and then moaned while she eased down until she was sitting on his legs. She sighed, then grinned.
“I’m gonna fuck you so good. Play with my tits.”
She started riding his cock and he started yanking on her nipples. I didn’t need to watch any longer because I knew how it was going to end. I walked around until my cock got reasonably soft again, and then went in to tell Wilma I really couldn’t do anything about her neighbors.
“Wilma, I saw what you’ve been seeing. They are doing exactly what you said they do. The problem is, they’re not doing anything illegal. If they were outside in the open and doing it, I could arrest them for indecent exposure, but since they’re behind their fence, well…they can pretty much do whatever they want back there. It might be better if you didn’t watch them. At least that way you wouldn’t know what they’re doing.”
Wilma stood there with her mouth open for a second, then frowned again.
“But she screams sometimes and I can hear her even in the house.”
“Well, I can’t really do anything about that either. I’m sorry, but there’s no law about yelling in your own backyard.”
Wilma frowned again and I got the feeling that’s how her face was most of the time.
“Well, I’m going to tell Pastor Jacobs about this. People fornicating right next door to me is something I just can’t tolerate.”
I knew Rob Jacobs. He’d be sympathetic, but I didn’t think he’d do anything either. Rob is married to Joyce, and Joyce is one of those women who has breasts so huge she probably needs help to sit up. The rest of Joyce is about normal size, but I don’t know where she finds bras big enough to hold her breasts up like they always look. Nashville, I suppose. They have four kids, so it’s pretty obvious Rob and Joyce like a little joyride from time to time.
It was about six months after that I was sitting on a county road at an intersection out in the country between a county road and a county highway. There’d been several collisions there lately because it was a blind intersection at the top of a hill, and the traffic on the county highway didn’t have to stop. That traffic did have to slow down to forty-five though. That was to give them a chance to check the county road for traffic and to give anybody on the county road a chance to see any oncoming cars.
Usually the collision happened when a car pulled onto the highway from the county road after underestimating the speed of the oncoming traffic. Several of our investigations pretty much proved the car on the county highway had been running at least ten over and sometimes it was as much as thirty. I was there to issue a few tickets to let the locals know they really needed to slow down.
When the little PT Cruiser passed me doing about eighty, I flipped on the light bar and pulled in behind it. I figured I’d have to follow it for a while, because there wasn’t anywhere to pull over other than the entrance to a field or what had once been a farmstead.
I was surprised when the Cruiser pulled into the next cornfield entrance and stopped. I thumbed the switch on the light bar from the flashing red and blue lights we used when pulling cars over to what the light bar company calls “take-down” and “alley” lights. These lights are bright white and shine to the front and away from the sides of the vehicle. In the city, they’re used when driving down an alley because most alley’s don’t have many lights. I used them during a stop so I could see what I was doing because there aren’t any lights out in the country either. The lights on the rear of the light bar started flashing yellow so anybody coming up behind me would know I was stopped.
I pulled the flashlight from where it sat in the recharging holder under the laptop computer and got out, then shined the flashlight beam through the back window of the Cruiser.
I couldn’t see anybody in the driver’s seat, so I figured the driver must be really short. I was half-way to the driver’s window when the driver’s door flew open and a woman slid out of the seat and stood up.
It was training that made me snap the strap off the Sig P226 on my belt and pull it from the holster when the door flew open. That usually means the driver is either going to run or is looking to argue with me. Sometimes, instead of doing either, they pop out with a pistol and start shooting, and that’s why I leveled the Sig at the door.
As soon as the woman stood up, I yelled, “Put your hands up and turn around, then walk backwards toward my voice”.
Now, most people who see a deputy pointing a pistol at them will do what that deputy says. This woman didn’t turn around and she didn’t put her hands on her head. Instead she crossed her legs and then squatted down a little and said, “I can’t”.
Well, that was a first for me. I walked up, still pointing my Sig at her, and when I got close enough to see her face, I could tell something was really wrong with her. She was either high as a kite on something or not really mentally stable.
“Ma’am, I clocked you at about eighty. It’s not safe to drive that fast on this two-lane highway with all the curves it has. Why were you doing it?”
The woman looked up at me and her face was kind of twisted up.
“’Cause I have to pee.”
I put my Sig back in the holster and forced back the smile.
“Ma’am, that’s not any reason to endanger yourself and everybody else on the road.”
She squatted a little lower and then said, “You don’t understand. I really, really, really, really have to pee and you’re not helping that any at all.”
Well, they never taught me anything about this kind of situation at the academy, so I wasn’t sure what to do. I couldn’t just let her stand there like that though.
“Ma’am, go around on the other side of your car and do what you need to do. When you get done, come back and we’ll talk some more.”
The woman walked around the back of the Cruiser as fast as she could while crouched over like that and a little later, I heard a little “sssssssssss” sound coming from the passenger side of her car.
It took her almost a minute to come back around the Cruiser, and she was pulling her mini-skirt down when she did. She had a grin on her face when she walked up and faced me.
“Oh God, that feels better. Thanks. If you’d made me stand there much longer, well, it would have been really embarrassing if I’d wet my pants while you were watching.”
I had to stop myself from smiling again and then asked her for her driver’s license and insurance papers. She got them and handed them to me. I asked her to walk back and stand at the back of her Cruiser while I ran her license.
Her name was Valerie Wiggins. She was twenty-six, single and had a couple of speeding tickets but they were when she was seventeen. I walked back and handed her her driver’s license.
“Miss Wiggins, you know the limit’s fifty-five on this highway and forty-five at that intersection back there, don’t you?”
“Yes, I know, but I was trying to make it somewhere before I…well, before I did what I told you before.”
“How much have you had to drink tonight.”
She shook her head.
“Nothing unless you count a lot of sweet tea. Sweet tea always does that to me, just runs right through me. I know I should have gone before I started home, but it didn’t feel that bad when I left.”
I still wasn’t sure she wasn’t on something, so I kept talking to her. The way people answer questions will usually give them away. They’ll forget where they were or what they were doing before I stopped them or change their story when I ask the same question a different way.
“Where was this that you drank all the sweet tea?”
“At the Wild Country Dance Hall in Burns. I go there every Thursday for dance lessons and then on Saturday, like tonight, to dance. The only alcohol they serve is beer and I don’t like beer. The sodas they have just make me thirstier but sweet tea doesn’t do that to me, so that’s what I always drink.”
Well, that seemed a logical explanation to me except for one thing.
“Ma’am, I can understand that, but if it was that bad, why didn’t you just stop and do what you had to do, like you just did?”
I saw her blush.
“Oh, I couldn’t do that, not since I was by myself. It was OK with you here, but what if I’d been alone and somebody came along?”
By then, I’d satisfied myself that she wasn’t drunk, wasn’t on some kind of drug, and wasn’t mentally ill, so I decided I’d let her go with a warning.
“Ma’am, next time, you uh…you make sure to use the facilities before you start home, OK, and don’t speed again. You’re lucky you didn’t hit another car or miss a curve tonight, but you might not be as lucky next time. I’d hate to watch the EMT guys put you in their truck so they could take you to the hospital.”
She smiled at me, then got in the Cruiser and drove off. I went back to the same intersection and parked again.
I couldn’t stop grinning. I remembered my dad always kidding Mom about having to stop every hour when they were on a trip. Mom would start squirming in her seat and tell him she needed to stop. Dad would grumble, but he would. If it was a gas station, I’d usually be able to talk Dad into buying me a candy bar while we waited on Mom.
I looked over at Valerie sitting in the right seat of our minivan and grinned.
“Valerie, I was just thinking about the night we met. Remember that?”
Yes, the more I thought about Valerie that night, the more I decided I sorta liked her. I mean, she was pretty and all that, but she wasn’t really shy about telling me what was wrong and I liked that a lot. The next Saturday night, I went to Wild Country for a beer, but mostly to see if Valerie was there. She was and I spent an hour watching her line dance before I walked over and said hello.
Well, that Saturday night led to every Saturday night I wasn’t working. We’d have dinner there, and then I’d watch Valerie dance. About every hour, the band would play something slow, and I’d ask her to dance. After the first couple weeks, I decided it was pretty nice having Valerie drape her arms around my neck and press of much of her against me as she could. After six months, I decided Saturday nights with her weren’t nearly enough. After eight, I took her shopping for rings after she said she’d marry me.
“Yes, I remember. I thought you were going to make me stand there until I couldn’t hold it any more.”
“Well, it was just the first time any woman had ever used having to pee as an excuse for speeding. I wasn’t sure what to do.”
“It wasn’t an excuse. I was about to burst…just like I am now. We need to stop.”
“I thought you went before we started.”
“I did, but you try being pregnant and see how long you can hold it. How far are we from someplace with a restroom?”
I looked on the GPS on the dash.
“Uh…probably half an hour. Can you wait that long?”
Valerie shook her head.
“I don’t think so.”
Well, about a mile further on, I found a lane that went back through the trees on the side of the road. I pulled inside the trees and stopped. Valerie got out and walked around so the minivan was between her and the highway. She was squirming so much it took her a while to get her pants and panties down to her ankles so she could squat. If she’d had a zipper to unzip, I don’t think she’d have made it in time, but her maternity jeans just had an elastic waistband.
When she finished, she got everything back in place and then grinned.
“OK, I’m good for another hour or so as long as I don’t drink anything.”
I’d planned to stop at a burger place for lunch and I know she’s going to get the biggest glass of sweet tea they have because Valerie does like her sweet tea. I’ll have to make sure she goes before we start out again or I’ll be pulling off onto the shoulder somewhere about fifteen minutes down the road.
I guess she’s really not too bad that way. It’s only been since she got pregnant she has to stop every hour. Before that, it was every hour and a half. What we did to get Valerie pregnant was worth a lot more than losing a half hour of driving time. Still is.