by Brian Toal
"Why is there something wrong with the truck?"
"No, just Inspection officers in California are a bit more difficult to please than other states, although Tennessee is almost as bad."
"If all they’re going to do is weigh us, we shouldn't have any trouble, should we?" Chris watched the exit ramp to the scales approach as his father shifted down two more gears.
"If they just weigh us, we won't have any problems. But California is big on logbooks and mine isn't quite up to date."
"Why would they want to look at your logbook?" Chris asked, as his father dropped out of high range and into the lower gears, the big truck shuddering as the engine slowed the vehicle.
"I’m only allowed to drive ten hours a day and I have to mark down every place that I stop as well as my mileage at the beginning and end of each day. The problem with this part of the country is that it’s pretty open. Most guys barrel through Northern California like there is no tomorrow. The police get kind of tired pulling trucks out of the fields, just because the driver has been driving for twenty hours and fell asleep. That's why the Inspection guys in California are big on logbooks."
"Do you think they’ll pull us over?"
"It’s hard to tell, we’ll just have to wait and see." Bob pulled the big B+T tractor and white trailer behind to a halt behind a refrigerated tractor-trailer waiting its turn to cross the scales in front of the small inspection station. A few moments later, the truck ahead pulled away and Bob put the tractor in gear and followed it towards the scales.
Inside the air-conditioned inspection station the California Department of Transportation Officer sat watching as the reefer stopped on the eighty-foot scales. In front of him was a control board that indicated the total weight of the vehicle, with each axle independently weighed. To his side was a microphone that allowed him to communicate with the driver of the tractor-trailer on the scales. Also, to his side, attached to the wall above him, was a notice board indicating companies that had been known to try and run illegal cargoes, improperly licensed drivers or unsafe equipment. Pinned to the board was also a listing of drivers the California State Police had an interest in questioning. The DOT officer leaned over and flicked a switch turning on a green light ahead of the reefer, indicating the driver was free to leave the scale and continue on with his journey. He leaned back in his swivel chair and stretched as the next truck pulled up in front of him. The glowing number indicators jumped on the panel in front of him as the tractor-trailer pulled onto the scales and stopped. Even before the glowing digits had stopped, he knew the trailer was well under legal weight - weight would not be a problem with this driver. He raised his eyes to scan the permits plastered to the side of the tractor. A current California sticker was visible, attached to the passenger door. Quickly his eyes scanned the trailer looking for flat tires or hanging air lines. As he bent to look into the convex mirror attached to a pole at the rear of the scales - so that he could check the taillights - he noticed two other rigs had pulled off the highway and stopped behind the truck currently in front of him. He raised his hand and flicked the switch on the green 'go' light, hearing a grunt from the tractor's gear box as the driver engaged a gear and began to pull away. Only then, as he leaned back into the swivel chair, did he notice the red and white logo - B+T Trucking - Detroit.
"Damn!" He exclaimed, quickly reaching forward to knock the 'go' light off and illuminate the red 'stop' light by the scales. But instead of the hiss of air brakes, he heard the driver shift up another gear, the white trailer rumbling by his window. Belatedly he realized the cab had already passed the stop light now glowing redly to the side of the scales. He reached for the phone by his control board.
"I think I’ll stop at the '76' Truck stop about ten minutes up the road," Bob said as he shifted up to highway speed and engaged the cruise control. "I want to call my dispatcher and let them know where we are."
"Good." Sharon answered, sitting with her legs over the edge of the bed behind him. "I wouldn't mind using a regular rest room, anyway. I’m getting tired of the little box affair under the bunk."
Bob laughed, "It’s a little crowded back there isn't it?"
"You men will never know what it’s like. Squatting in the woods, when we go camping, or sitting on a cold toilet seat in the middle of the night. Women will finally conquer men when somebody invents a gadget which allows us to stand up when we pee."
"It’ll probably be a man who invents it." Bob said laughing, then moving his upper body aside as Sharon took a playful swing at his shoulder. "In fact, when I retire, I wouldn't mind going into that sort of research myself."
"You wish!” Sharon turned to Chris, sitting in the high-backed passenger seat, "Chris do you mind going into the back and letting your mother sit up front?"
Chris looked around. "Sure." He said simply, as he undid his seatbelt and then moved around his mother as she slid into the passenger seat.
"Where do you figure on stopping tonight?" Sharon asked as she did up her own belt.
"Some place near Eugene, Oregon. There is a truck stop near there that I’ve stopped at before. Let's get dinner at the '76' and then try and get a few more hours in tonight. I’m falling a little behind on my schedule."
Bob pulled the truck into the brightly lit parking lot. It was still early evening and plenty of parking spaces were available close by the restaurant and he parked between two other rigs, both of their motors running to provide air-conditioning for the drivers watching TV in the bunks. Bob nodded to one of them as he climbed down from the cab, Sharon and Chris exiting from the passenger side. "Well, Chris my man," Bob said as he walked around the front of the truck, "this is the last meal stop of the day, so fill up. It’s got to last till tomorrow."
"And you might want to use the toilet." Sharon added as the three of them moved towards the brightly lit restaurant.
Chris nodded, watching a new Peterbuilt truck cross in front of them. "I want to get a California pin to wear on my jacket." His hand fingering the seven state pins he had already collected. "I want to get a pin for every state we go through."
Bob laughed. "You suit yourself, Chris. But if you ever get to travel through all the states, your jacket is going to be so heavy, you won't be able to hold your head up straight."
They entered the doors of the truck stop, just as a California State Trooper pulled into the parking lot.
The dinner rush had ended about an hour ago and the booths were only partially filled as most of the truckers were sitting at the curved counter at the front. Bob and Sharon slid into a booth next to the window as Chris left to use the rest room. Bob glanced out the large window, but the angle was wrong and he couldn't see his truck from where he sat. He watched the State Trooper, slowly cruise by the first trucks in the line as the waitress arrived with coffees and a menu. "That Trooper is looking for somebody." Bob commented as he opened the menu.
EIGHT - FIVE
"Alright, Chris my man, you all set for a few hours of truck'in." Bob asked as he held open the door of the restaurant for Sharon and Chris to proceed him through.
"Yeah, that was great." Chris exclaimed, his right hand turning the California pin upright on his collar, so he could gaze down at its sparkle.
Bob laughed at his son's interest in his new addition to his collection. "How about you?" He asked giving Sharon a squeeze as he caught up with her. "Are you going to have to use the little potty in the back?"
"Not if I can help it, I won't." Sharon replied leaning against her husband and looking up at the evening sky.
"Well that's good, now we can do some straight truck'in now." Bob laughed, as he fumbled in his pocket for the keys. "I like travelling with you both, but you sure know how to slow me down."
The three of them continued across the parking lot towards the truck, oblivious to the California State Patrol car moving slowly in front of the parked rigs, towards them.
"Do you want to sleep in the back for a while, honey?" Sharon asked Chris, as Bob unloc
ked the driver's door and reached across to open their own.
"I'll sit back there if you want, but I don't feel like sleeping right now." Chris answered, reaching up to pull himself aboard the truck.
"Well, you should try to get some sleep..."Sharon began as she pulled herself up into the cab, aware of the sound of the engine pre-start buzzers as Bob began to start up the rig. "That top bunk isn't too comfortable and you’re best to take advantage of the big bed when you get a chance."
The big truck twisted and shook as the diesel engine roared and caught, settling down to gentle rumble as Bob bent down to retrieve his briefcase from under the seat, in order to log their meal break. His casual motion stopped midway as the interior of the cab was illuminated by the flashing red lights of a cruiser parked directly below the front grille of the tractor.
"What the hell?" He exclaimed, lifting himself up in the seat in order to peer over the long hood. "What the hell does he want?" He asked, as the officer stepped out of the cruiser.
"I don't know..." Sharon said, watching the policeman move towards her husband's door.
"What's going on?" Chris asked, pushing his way up between the two front seats, the red lights flashing darkly off his face and hair. "What did Dad do wrong?"
"I don't think your father did anything wrong." Sharon answered quietly as Bob lowered his window.
"Yes, officer?" Bob asked.
"Are you Robert McCarter?" The officer asked from below.
"Yes, I am."
"Would you mind stepping out of the truck, for a moment?"
"Sure." Bob answered, turning to shrug his shoulders at Sharon. "I don't know what this is about."
Bob pulled on the door handle and stepped down to the ground as the officer backed off a few feet.
"Yes officer. Ahhh...what’s this all about?"
"The woman in the cab, is that your wife, Sharon McCarter?" He asked, ignoring Bob's question.
"She sure is. Been my wife now for fifteen years." Bob added, trying to inject a little humour.
"I see." The officer answered, his face impassive. "Would you ask her to step down as well?"
"Ahhh...sure...what’s this about officer?" Bob was now totally confused. He could think of a couple reasons, none of them very probable, for the California Law to have an interest in him. But him and Sharon? He was totally befuddled. "Sharon..." Bob raised his voice, “do you want to join us here, for a minute?"
"What’s going on Mom?" Chris' high-pitched voice carried to the two of them standing on the ground by the open driver's door.
"Is that your son, Christopher McCarter?"
"Yes he is, officer. Now, what’s going on?" Bob figured enough questions had been asked and it was time to get some answers.
The officer looked back at him with a blank stare as he waited for Sharon to climb down from the driver's door and join them.
"Stay in the cab honey." Sharon called back over her shoulder as she joined them, moving to stand close to her husband's side. "What’s wrong Bob?" She asked her husband, concern reflected in her voice. "Is it about Beth?"
Bob shrugged and turned to look at the officer.
"Would you two please join me in the back of the cruiser for a moment, I have a few questions to ask you?" The officer motioned towards the car.
He opened the rear passenger door and ushered Bob and Sharon inside, firmly closing the door behind them. Then returning to the driver's seat, he activated a switch and there was a clunk from both the rear doors.
"Hey!" Bob exclaimed, as he reached over to pull on the door handle.
The State Trooper held up his police identification badge and spoke to them through the plastic divider. "As you can see, this identifies me a member of the California State Police." He paused while Sharon and Bob silently read the identification card. 'Constable Stinson of the California State Patrol.'
He continued. "Sharon McCarter and Robert McCarter..." his flat, emotionless voice announcing to both Sharon and Bob that some inconceivable terror was about to enfold. "...I arrest you both on the charges of kidnapping, abduction, illegal custody of a minor and breaking the writ of a court order..."
"What?" Bob interrupted incredulously. "What are you talking about?"
Stinson stopped, his cold eyes directed at Bob, then began again. "I arrest you both for kidnapping, abduction, illegal custody of a minor..."
"Minor?" Bob interrupted again. "What minor? What kidnapping?"
Sharon spoke. "Officer, there has to be some mistake. We haven't done anything wrong. Kidnapping?" She shook her head incredulously, lost for words.
Stinson sat in the front seat, silent until they had finished. "You are being arrested for the illegal abduction and kidnapping of your son Christopher Robert McCarter from his legally- appointed court-ordered guardians and..."
"What!" Bob shouted, cutting off any further conversation. "Court-ordered guardians! We’re Chris' parents, there are no court-ordered guardians! What the fuck is this shit?"
Stinson stared through the plastic, his eyes cold.
Sharon leaned forward towards the plastic divider. "Officer, I don't understand. Chris is our son, always has been. There isn't any court order."
"Damn right!" Bob said, as loud as before. "Christ Almighty! There is some fucking screw-up here. I can't believe this shit!"
Stinson nodded, acknowledging he had heard them both. "I'm sorry. I suspect you had your reasons for taking your son. However, I have an arrest warrant here from Detroit..."
"I don't give a shit about an arrest warrant." Bob began, "You have got the wrong fucking people. We’ve never even been to court and certainly not about our own goddamn son."
Stinson nodded again. "Well, you can talk to a judge about that."
"A fucking judge! What the hell is going on here? You’re going to arrest us, even though we haven't done anything?"
Sharon leaned forward, her hands pressed against the plastic. "Officer... Officer, listen! We haven’t done anything wrong. There’s got to have been some mistake. We’ve never had any trouble with Chris. We’ve never been to court. We've never... We've never done anything that... There has got to have been a mistake." She finished weakly.
Stinson shrugged. "Well, when we get back to the station we can confirm the warrant. But there won't be any mistake. This came from the FBI and they don't screw around with arrest warrants. Kidnapping is a serious offence."
"This is crazy." Bob, growled. "Someone set this up."
Sharon jerked, "Bob do you think, that the hospital..."
"Damn fucking right!." Bob exploded from his seat, launching himself at the plastic. "Officer, you got to listen. My son, Chris, he has had some sort of mental trouble. He breaks things..." Bob paused, trying to get his thoughts in order, "...a week ago he was in a hospital in Detroit and he and his mother had to leave. Real quick like... and well, I wasn't there, but they came to join me..."
"Chris has a problem." Sharon interrupted. "It's not anything too big, but he had to be hospitalized and, ahhh...they were going to call in some people I didn't really care for and..."
Stinson held up his hand. "This warrant does not concern your son's health. And... Well, it’s a good story and all - and it may be true." He stated forcefully to cut off any forthcoming outburst. "But this warrant is regarding the abduction of a Christopher Robert McCarter from the home of his lawfully appointed guardians. It is a custody matter only. Nothing else."
"For Christ sake, there is no custody order!" Bob roared, pounding on the plastic divider with one fist.
"Mom. Dad. Are you all right?" Chris tapped his fingers against the glass by Sharon’s head.
She turned, her face only inches always from Chris' concerned eyes, separated by the shatterproof glass of the locked door.
"Chris, honey..." Her voice caught as she reached for the door handle, yet instinctively she knew that it would not open. "Your Dad and I will be right there." She lied, her eyes lingering on her son's face, noticing the smooth musc
les of his jaw quiver as he held back his tears. "Bob!" She grabbed her husband's hand. "What are we going to do?"
Stinson got out of the car then walked around the front of the cruiser. "Son." He called, "you climb back into the truck. Your Mom and Dad are just going for a short ride with me, but before we leave someone will be here to look after you."
"Why are you going to take away my Mom and Dad?" Chris cried, tugging on the outside door handle. "I don't want them to go away. Mom, Dad..." Chris pressed his face against the window, still pulling on the door handle. "Don't leave. I need you. I love you. Don't leave meeee." The last syllable torn from his body in anguish.
Sharon turned towards her husband, her motherly instincts shouldering aside all respect for the law. "Bob, do something! Get us out of here. They’re going to take Chris away from us!"
Bob grunted, beyond words or caring, and levered his feet up against the thick sheet of plastic dividing the front and rear seats. Using all of the power in both his back and legs, he stomped his boots against the divider. His thigh muscles bulged against his jeans, tightening the fabric. His calf muscles, exposed above his short boots, were square bars of muscle slamming themselves into the protective barrier.
"Hey!" Stinson yelled and ran back around the front of the car, drawing his billy club as he ran.
Chris' face was pressed against the glass of the rear window, his Mother only inches away, but he couldn't open the door. He still didn't know what was really happening, but what he did know was - the Police Officer was going to take away his Mom and Dad. He heard his Mom scream something at his father and he watched his Dad - his Dad who held him tight when he was afraid and wrestled with him on Sundays and who he loved more than any other man in the world - begin to kick on the partition, bellowing in rage and frustration.
And he didn't know what to do!
His Mother was frantically pulling at the inside door handle, tears streaming down her face, her eyes only millimetres from Chris'. The car was rocking on its springs as his father stomped his feet against the divider. In the distance he could hear the officer yelling as another Police Car pulled up on the opposite side of the first.