From my vantage point behind the low line of brush I watched the approaching vehicle. It was moving along pretty good and I flipped the switch on the remote in my lap, activating the radar gun mounted on my dash. It was a high tech unit, one of the latest on the market, and it automatically recorded the highest speed of the oncoming car. Good thing too, as the driver obviously was in possession of a "fuzz buster" since the nose of the car came down as the driver hit the brakes hard.
I smiled, watching the red digital numbers beside the locked speed of 95 drop downward rapidly to 50, five miles per hour slower than the posted speed limit. I could see the drivers head swivel as she looked for me, reading the "Son of a Bitch" she uttered as she finally saw me as she went by.
I knew she was watching her rear view mirror, expecting to see me pull out and turn on my red and blue lights. Not wanting to disappoint her, I did just that. Sure enough she was watching, as she immediately hit the brakes and pulled to the side of the road.
I could see her primping in the rearview mirror; I always found it amazing how many women thought they could get out of a ticket just by looking pretty. Now, you can call me a heartless bastard if you want, but that never influenced my decision one way or another. Usually, I'd made up my mind about writing a ticket before I ever got out of my car.
I don't figure the taxpayers want me wasting my pay just to pull someone over and then let them go. Now sometimes I do stop someone just to give them a warning, say when they got a light out at night, or if they was just pushing the limit a little bit, but this lady, well, she was going to get a ticket at the very least.
She was nice enough to pull off the road far enough so as my ass wouldn't be hanging out in traffic, which scored one brownie point for her. I parked my Crown Vic at an angle; nose stuck out on the white line so as to give me a little protection from stupid drivers and called in the stop.
After checking the rear view mirror and side mirrors to make sure no other traffic was sneaking up on me I exited my car, my right hand releasing the thumb break on my holstered Glock while my left flipped on the portable radio on my belt. I stayed close to her car, my right hand slipping out to check and make sure the trunk was latched before moving up the vehicle, casting a glance into the back seat.
Hey, I know it was just a routine traffic stop, but do you know how many cops are killed on "routine" stops? Stopping just behind the door latch I leaned forward, noticing the female driver had placed her hands on the wheel in plain sight, which earned her another brownie point. Knowing where her hands were let me know she wasn't doing something stupid, like trying to shoot me. Most drivers are digging for insurance cards or drivers license when I first approach them, and not knowing what's hidden in their dash or console can make you a little nervous.
"Good afternoon," I said as she glanced nervously over her shoulder at me. I know it's awkward for the person sitting in the car to talk to someone who's standing behind them, but it's much safer for me. "I'm Deputy Harlan of the Greene County Sheriff's Department and I stopped you because you were running 95 mile per hour in a 55 mile per hour zone."
I could see her getting ready to make an excuse and my next words deflated her pretty quickly. "Do you have any legal justification for exceeding the speed limit by 40 miles per hour?" I asked gently.
"No Officer, I don't," she said after a moment, casting me a look that carried both guilt and apprehension. I think she was getting the idea she'd screwed up royally about then.
"I need to see your driver's license and proof of insurance," I informed her, watching closely as she retrieved the first from her purse, and the second from the center console. I also noticed she was wearing a skin tight v-neck t-shirt, no bra, and a skirt so short I could see the lacy panel of cloth covering the junction of her thighs.
If the thing had been a little longer I would have suspected her of pulling it up a little to give me a peek, but I don't see how it could have covered her ass cheeks standing, and sitting, well it didn't have a snowballs chance in hell of covering anything important.
I also noticed she was a little flushed around the chest, what I could see of it, which was a lot. Her knee was bouncing up and down, doing nice things to the muscles on her inner thigh, but also telling me she was a little more nervous than a possible speeding ticket warranted.
"So what's your hurry?" I asked her as I glanced at her insurance card, verifying it was valid.
"I'm just ... well ... I can't really say!" she said, her tone exasperated.
"You mean you just felt like running nearly a hundred down the road here?" I asked.
"NO!!! It's an emergency..." She trailed off, and I could see the gears grinding in her head. "Look, I CAN'T tell you why, but believe me I have to get to Hardin as soon as possible," she said, glancing at her watch. She glanced down at her cell phone too, and while I looked at her appraisingly tears began to form in the corner of her eyes.
Now crying to get out of a ticket is another female trick I've run across, and I don't know about other officers, but it doesn't help one damn bit with me. I figure most of those types have gotten out of one or two tickets that way already, so they've had their breaks.
"Please officer, look, can you just follow me to the bar and then you'll understand, PLEASE?!!" Well the water fountain was really getting wound up now and she wiped angrily at the tears streaming down her cheeks. Her phone rang then, and I saw her reach for it before jerking to a stop.
"Go ahead," I said, "I assume it's to do with this emergency?"
She didn't answer but lunged for the phone, flipping it opened hurriedly.
"Janice, oh God sis, look, a cop stopped me and ... Yeah, here!" The last was directed at me and she stuck the phone into my face. I took it carefully, not sure what was going on at this point.
"Listen Officer," a female voice said softly on the other end, "I'm at the bar here in Hardin and I think there's going to be one of those Confederacy pickup things in a few minutes. I called my sister and told her to get here as fast as possible..." I didn't listen to the rest, just snapped the phone closed as I yanked the door open on the woman's car.
She was half fighting me, half trying to keep up, as I drug her to my squad and stuffed her in the front seat. Running around the other side I slid in, grabbing my seatbelt as I threw the car into drive. I punched the pedal to the floor, nearly hitting her still open door as rocks pelted her shiny red sports car.
"Buckle up!" I said to the brunette as I flipped the siren on. I didn't look to see if she listened, just concentrated on my driving. The big V8 in that car did well by me, and the Police Interceptor soon had us rolling along at nearly 150. The car felt like it was floating for a second or two every time we hit a bump and I knew I was pushing it as hard as it could go and still stay on the road.
"Look, I'll try to get you there in time," I said, not even looking her way. "What's your CAP?" I asked over the squeal of the tires as we rounded a curve. "S-S-Six point twoooo!" she cried as gravel from the shoulder flew from under the rear tires. I was taking the corners wide and fast, using the entire road. I think my driving scared her a little but I wasn't slowing down any.
I heard a phone ringing and realized I'd brought hers with me. I thought she was going to wreck us as she dug around in my crotch for the phone I'd dropped in my lap. She finally answered it and immediately asked me "HOW LONG?!!"
"Five minutes," I said between gritted teeth as I threw the car into another curve, thinking "or never" as the car slipped sideways toward the ditch for a heart beat before the Firestone Firehawks got enough traction to overcome inertia.
It was more like four and a half, and the car had a large scratch down the passenger side where a pickup hadn't got out of the way in time. I figured we either make it or I'd be looking for a new job, at the least. Visions of me in cuffs for official misconduct, reckless driving and anything else the boss could think of ran through my head as we bailed out of the car before it was completely stopped.
My passenger was trying to run in high heels, one of them broken and I lowered my shoulder as she came around the car, scooping her up into a fireman's carry. I ran for the door, thankful that grey wall I'd seen one time down in St. Louis wasn't anywhere in sight, and stumbled into the dimly lit interior.
We was just in time too, cause my burden, who's ass I had the presence of mind to be clutching with one hand, (hey, I had to hold on to her somehow), gave a gasp as that wall I was talking about sprang into existence scant inches from her nose.
"Glad you could join us," a big man said as I reluctantly let my burden slip to the ground. She felt good enough in my arms I held her there while she tried to catch the breath I'd driven out of her with my tackle.
"You know you caused four accidents getting here?" he asked mildly.
"Five," I said with a grin. "I'm pretty sure that guy crossing the street about a block back pissed himself when I went by." The big guy chuckled and turned to the half full barroom. It was one of those joints that serves food, well, anything fried or grilled, and at this time of day the lunch crowd was all in attendance.
.... There is more of this story ...