by C.P. Kemabia
Cautiously, the patrol officer approached the car on the driver’s side.
He looked heavy, barrel-bodied, and bull-necked. A bushy yet trimmed mustache was hiding his upper lip. He had a big nose too; a hawk nose. He came around, casting a sharp eye over the car.
He said, all formal, “Good afternoon, sir.”
The driver’s side window was slightly opened. Mr. Bagley rolled it all the way down.
“Good afternoon, officer…”
A few moment of silence elapsed. The officer peered through the window of the backseat.
The old man said, “What seems to be the problem, officer?”
“Can I see your license and registration?”
The old man opened the glove box…
Slogging through cloudy and murky layers of her perceptual consciousness, Zoe somehow gathered that a lawman was around, doing a routine stop. Her prayers had been answered. However, overwhelmed by her head injuries, her mind was starting to slip away. Zoe fought to not fall asleep.
Mr. Bagley handed his license and registration cards through the open window. Checking the old man against the picture on his license, the patrol officer said, “Do you know why I pulled you over, sir?”
“I don’t know… Is something the matter?”
“You were going over the speed limit.”
“Really?” Mr. Bagley sounded surprised. He looked around, probably searching for a speed limit sign. “Oh –– I didn’t realize I was speeding,” he finally said.
The police officer returned the cards. Mr. Bagley noticed how his right hand always hung level with his holstered duty weapon. No doubt that kind of discipline came with training until it evolved to being second nature.
The patrolman asked, “Where are you coming from?”
Mr. Bagley thought wise to be talkative.
“Just paid a visit to a friend –– An old friend of mine. She’s a widow. Her husband died a couple years ago. So now and then I like to humor her with a visit and pass the time, because when you grow old, there’re only so many dependable friends you have left, you know?”
The seriousness of the officer’s features melted away, and he said conversationally, “Know what you mean, sir. Got an elderly aunt I go to see too once in awhile, otherwise she gets lonely and thinks we don’t care.”
“Then your aunt is lucky to have you…”
The officer slightly nodded, in a relaxed manner. He leaned forward, his left arm elbowing the car window frame, and his right hand dangling a little below his handgun.
“And where are you headed now?”
He’s a murderer… a murderer… probably skipping town… and he’s taking me with him…
Zoe wanted to scream her terror, but the words wouldn’t come out. She could hear them though, harried and disturbed, echoing in her head. But she had just forgotten how to work her mouth.
“Well, I’m heading home, officer. Got one errand to run first, but then it’s straight on home.”
Zoe’s mind was sinking… In the dark, she limply lifted one arm and knocked it against something hard. The sound wave didn’t travel past the trunk compartment. She reassembled all her strength into that arm…
“Alright ––” the police officer said, straightening back up. “I’ll let you off this time with a fair warning. Just watch out for speed limits, alright?”
“Alright officer –– thank you!”
The patrol officer treaded back. The old man watched his reflection move back through the cabin mirror. The police cruiser was parked a few feet behind, but the officer kept looking back at the old man’s car as if something was bothering him…
Goddamned police hunch. Mr. Bagley tried to remain unperturbed.
Once more, Zoe threw her arm as strongly as she could. Again she clouted a hard surface, only slightly different from the one she’d hit the first time because the sound produced was muffled –– though quite loud.
“Hold on a sec, will ya?” The patrol officer suddenly called to Mr. Bagley.
The old man cursed through his teeth, his fingers clutching the wheel. He was debating with himself whether to bolt for it. The officer took a couple of steps forward, his right hand dangerously teasing the butt of his polymer-framed handgun.
Mr. Bagley mentally decided if he was asked to step out of the car –– or open the trunk, he’d floor the gas pedal. That was his best bet, since he had reckoned that if he were to physically engage the policeman, he’d probably lose.
But the officer broke step by the backseat door window, driver’s side. He stooped down, his fingers groping for something on the gritty blacktop. The old man observed him through the rearview, speechless. When the policeman came back up, something was between his fingers. A 6 inch-long wire nail, twisted into an imperfect coil spring.
“Just saved you the trouble of a flat tire,” he said, showing his find.
Mr. Bagley smiled easily. He was glad he hadn’t reacted unnecessarily out of fear. The police officer tapped the rooftop of the car, “You’re good to go, now.”
At that point, Zoe was already fading back to unconsciousness. She attempted to raise her hand again. But it was too late; her body shut down, and the world she knew (though already filled with darkness) suddenly felt unknown.
Mr. Bagley hit tires back on the road. And through the cabin mirror, he watched the police officer slowly recede into the distance.
Chapter XXII
ENTER THE PENTHOUSE
OR JUSTIN’S MOVE INTO MANHOOD