Chapter 10

Kit placed their bags in the trunk of the Audi. Nichelle and her mom stood by the curb. “You have everything?” Felicia said to her daughter.

“Yes, Mom.”

“And you remember what I told you.”

“Of course, Mom.”

“Have a good trip.” Felicia embraced her daughter and then Kit. Nichelle sat in the driver’s seat and Kit sat beside her. She started the engine and headed toward main streets leading to interstate highways.

Kit reviewed routes on his phone. “We can take the Penn Turnpike and save twenty minutes but it’s a toll route.”

She pointed to a square plastic object stuck to the inside of the windscreen. “Mom has E-Z-Pass so that’s no problem. I think I can navigate to the turnpike. You’ll need to tell me where to go from there.”

“No problem — I could drive it blindfolded.”

“Tell me about your folks, Kit.”

“My dad’s name is Jonathan and I think I told you he’s an electrician. He’s also a union steward — which doesn’t help much on the one-man jobs he’s been taking lately. Ever since the economic downturn there hasn’t been much new construction.”

“I see construction picking up in Philadelphia,” she remarked.

“Maybe, but not in our town. My dad’s no-nonsense. He’s very direct and you’ll know right away where you stand with him.”

“What about your mom?”

“Her name is Janet. She used to work in the office of a plastic laminating firm until the owner decided to retire and couldn’t find a buyer. So, he liquidated the business. Now she works as a cashier at the Big M. That’s our local grocery store. Money’s been tight the past few years, and Dad does some of his work for barter.”

“Really?”

“Really. My sister Annie is ... special, if you know what I mean. She’s learning disabled and intellectually behind. She’s a very happy girl, very pleasant and easy to get along with. Annie lives at home because she’s incapable of handling the basic skills that you’d need to be on your own. For example, she can’t handle simple arithmetic, like making change. She works as a bagger at the same Big M as Mom, where she’s very popular. When she needs to buy something she simply dumps all her money on the counter and lets the clerk figure it out.”

“I’m sorry to hear about her, Kit.”

“Oh, don’t be. Like I said, Annie is very happy and very lovable. I’d say she operates on the level of a not-too-bright nine- or ten-year-old. She can read simple books and understands TV programs.”

“At some point, your mom and dad won’t be able to care for her. What then?”

Kit sighed. “I don’t know.”

“Maybe it’ll fall on you and me.”

“Maybe ... That’s an awfully long way down the road.”

“You say she’s happy, but in a way, it’s sad,” Nichelle remarked. “I can’t imagine someone like her starting a family.”

“Her mind doesn’t operate that way. When you were nine, did you think about starting a family?”

“You’re right — my mind was occupied elsewhere. Someone could take advantage of her.”

“That’s true. That’s another reason to keep her living at home.”

“What about your extended family?” she asked.

“I have an uncle, my dad’s brother named Jim. He’s also in the construction trade. I don’t like the guy much. He’s a Gunnite operator.”

“Gunnite? What’s that?”

“Sprayed-on concrete. It’s a highly skilled trade, like being a crane operator. He works for a company that’s headquarted in Scranton, so we don’t see him much. He’s a heavy drinker and not much fun when drunk. My mom’s family is from Camden, New Jersey, so they’re actually closer to you than to us.”

Kit and Nichelle had been on the road for about an hour and a half. They had left the I-476 branch of the Penn Pike and now found themselves on I-80 headed West. “This drive has been going by quickly,” she remarked.

“This is a very nice car, Nichelle — it rides very comfortably. I’ve never sat in an Audi before — much less rode in one. You’re lucky your mom has a career that enables her to provide such a nice home and car.”

“Oh, I know I am. Mom works really hard — it’s why she never married. She’s had a few boyfriends but none that have stuck. I think now that I’m out of the house she’s getting back into the dating scene.”

“Your mom’s an attractive woman. I’ll bet when she was your age, she was as pretty as you.”

“When she was my age, she was raising a two-year-old.”

“She must’ve been as much big sister as mom to you.”

“A bit ... More mom than big sister.”

“Okay — the exit is here. Take the ramp and turn left.”

“Aye-aye, captain,” she replied.

She made the turn on to a local highway. They drove through a small village along the way. “Wow — look at the houses with picket fences ... This looks like territory that time forgot — like we ran through a time warp and are in the nineteen fifties.”

“Yeah — this part of the county is just like Leave it to Beaver ... except without the affluence. Up ahead where the road splits, go left. We’re getting really close, now ... maybe another ten miles or so. Do you want me to drive her in? I know the way.”

“I can handle the driving, thank you. Just tell me where to turn.”

A county sheriff’s squad car approached from the other direction and passed them by.

“Kit,” Nichelle said, “I think we’re going to get pulled over.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Did you see that squad that passed us going eastbound?”

“Yeah...”

“Well, he turned around and now he’s following us.”

Kit turned around and looked out the rear window. He saw the squad, its lights off, following and overtaking them.

Nichelle glanced in the rear-view mirror. “He’s really tailing us, now.”

“Watch your speed.”

“Oh, I am ... Kit — if we’re stopped, there are critical things we must do. We must be polite and courteous ... keep our hands in plain view at all times ... not make any sudden or unexpected movements ... tell him what we’re doing — for example if he asks for ID, you say, ‘it’s in my wallet, officer. Let me get it out of my pocket.’” She glanced up into the mirror again. “Also, answer any questions directly and truthfully, but do not volunteer any information. And, do whatever he says, even if you think your rights are being violated — that can be worked out later, if need be. These are explicit instructions from my mom, who’s a lawyer.”

“I’ve been stopped before and never had any problems.”

“You’re not black, Kit. Me being in this car ups the stakes considerably. I’m thinking he saw a young black woman driving a late-model high-end car and he wants to take a good look at us. He’s looking for some infraction he can use as a pretext for pulling us over — it’s called a pretext stop. If we play our cards right, we can get away with a warning or a citation.”

“A citation that you’d have to pay.”

“Which I would do, gladly. Kit — you must realize we’ll be dealing with someone who is not our friend, who is armed, and whose position gives him what’s practically a license to kill. On top of that, his testimony will be given greater credence in a court of law than either yours or mine.”

Nichelle’s eyes kept flicking from the road to her mirror. Kit spotted an object in the roadway near the shoulder. “Nichelle — watch out!”

“Oh my God,” she exclaimed and swerved to avoid the obstacle. “What was it?”

“Looked like a cardboard carton to me.”

“Here it comes,” she said, slowed and pulled onto the shoulder. Then she put the car in park and activated her four-way flashers. Kit turned around and saw the squad parked behind them with its lights flashing.

He saw Nichelle take a few calming breaths. Kit watched through the rear window. The deputy was using his radio.

There came a rap on the driver’s window and Nichelle rolled it down. “Ma’am,” the officer said, “the reason I stopped you is that you made an illegal lane change back there ... and, you failed to signal.”

“Sir, I was swerving to avoid a road hazard.”

“Nonetheless, your wheels crossed a double line and that constitutes a lane change. May I see your license, registration and insurance?”

“My license is in my bag,” she replied. “Let me get it. The registration should be in the glove compartment. Nichelle reached behind her seat for her bag. She placed it on her lap, then opened it wide, reached in and retrieved a billfold. From it she produced her driver’s license and handed it to the officer.

Meanwhile, Kit opened the glove compartment and rummaged through it until he found an envelope with a Motor Vehicles department return address. This he handed to Nichelle who passed it on to the officer.

“Nichelle Cooper,” the deputy read from her license. “This vehicle is not registered in your name.”

“It’s my mother’s car,” she replied. “Her name is Felicia Cooper, and she let me borrow it. If you look, you’ll see the address on my license matches the address on the registration.”

“Ma’am — please don’t tell me how to do my job. Is that your phone?”

“Yes, sir.”

“May I see it?” She handed her cell phone to him and he poked the screen. “You haven’t been texting or calling while driving, have you?”

“No, sir.”

“Would you mind if I looked through your bag?”

“No, sir.” She handed him her bag.

The deputy carried her bag, containing her billfold and phone, her license and the registration material back to his squad.

“I know that guy,” Kit said. “His name is Jay Masters and he went to my school — a couple of years ahead of me. He was about the biggest asshole and bully in the entire place. I was never happier than the day he graduated and wouldn’t bother me again. Not only that, he’s a racist bigot as well. He got suspended for three days early in Obama’s first term for posting a racist cartoon about the President on a school bulletin board.”

Nichelle put her hand to her lips. “Oh, my God! If I had known that, I would’ve pushed back on handing him my bag. He could be back there right now, planting phony evidence in it!”

“That sort of thing, I’m afraid, he is perfectly capable of doing.” Kit reached into his pocket for his phone. “I’ll call my folks...”

“No — don’t. He’s coming back.”

“Ma’am, would you please come with me?”

Nichelle opened the door. She flashed a panicked look at Kit and stepped onto the shoulder. Kit watched as the deputy placed her in the rear seat of the squad and closed the door. Then he used the squad’s radio.

Kit pulled his wallet out of his pocket and set it on his lap. He heard a rap on the passenger window and he rolled it down. “Sir,” the deputy said, “may I see your ID?”

Kit opened his wallet and removed his driver’s license and his student ID. He handed these over. “Christopher Wainwright...” The deputy poked his face into the open window and stared into Kit’s “Kit? Kit Wainwright?”

“Hi, Jay — long time, no see.”

“Kit — what in hell are you doing here?”

“Nichelle’s my girlfriend,” Kit replied. “We met in college.”

“Yeah — I heard you went off to college. She’s your girlfriend?”

“That’s right. We flew from school to Philly to spend winter break with her mom. Her mom let her borrow the car to drive up and visit my folks so they can meet her. They’re expecting us.”

“I see...” The deputy returned Kit’s IDs and headed back to his squad. Kit heard him mutter, “Shit!” Shortly, Nichelle opened the door and sat behind the wheel. “I don’t know what happened,” she said. “I was sure I was screwed. I heard him calling for backup — asking for a female officer. Then he spoke to you, came back, cancelled the backup call and let me go.”