Speed Trap (2) “Doesn’t matter does it?” Parker answered. “I don’t have no children of my own, but congratulations anyway!” And just as quick as he had entered, Parker was out of the Honda’s window already straightening the razor-edge brim of his trooper’s hat. Charlie didn’t know how to respond. He was too shocked for words, beyond the capability of making any sense of what had just happened. He looked over at Laurel --maybe to get an answer—- but instead saw she was pointing in the direction of his window, her copper eyes high and bright with quaking fear. “Mr. Weaver, you listening to me?” Parker was asking. Charlie nodded. His neck felt rubbery, his bowels suddenly hot and weak. “Yes, sir,” he answered slowly. “I didn’t hear you. I’m sorry.” “I told you Mr. Weaver --as I was telling you before-- that you have a choice in this matter. A choice I don’t just give out to anybody. But seeing that your wife is sick and pregnant, I decided it was the right thing to do.” “What choice is that, officer?” Charlie asked. “We just want to go home and—-“ Parker’s hand shot up like a rocket, palm out, shushing Charlie: “If you want to see Georgetown again, Mr. Weaver, you’ll do well not to interrupt me again, understood pardner?” Charlie motioned he did with a thumbs-up signal and closed his mouth. “Good deal, Mr. Weaver,” Parker said, “I’m glad we understand one another now. We’re going to get along just fine, me and you, so don’t you worry. Now, let me have your cell phones, both of you, so I can check the serial numbers on them.” Charlie’s eyes widened in panic at the trooper’s demand. He hadn’t brought his cell phone. It was on the charger back at the house. He knew Laurel had her’s, because she’d told him they’d probably only need one for the trip to her wretched mother’s. Seeing their hesitation at his request, Parker added in a gentler tone: “Don’t you two worry. I’ll give them back in perfect condition. Scout’s honor.” Just like the car keys, huh? Charlie thought, when he felt Laurel tapping his shoulder. She had her pink-striped cell phone in hand, urging him to take it. Charlie had bought it for her on her 35th birthday as a surprise. He’d even pre-downloaded over fifty popular ring tones as an additional gift before giving it to her, and the look on her face now –-a look Charlie had never witnessed—- was tearing a hole in his heart surely the size of Texas. “Take it, Charlie,” she said, the cell phone trembling in her fingers. “He’s obviously crazy. Give him anything he wants so we can get the hell out of here.” Charlie took the phone and handed it out the window to the waiting trooper. Parker took the cell in a hand that dwarfed Charlie’s, and then held out his other hand. “I’ll need yours too, Mr. Weaver,” he said. Charlie put his hands back on the steering wheel to stop them from shaking. “I don’t have it with me, officer. I left it at home on the charger. It was down to one bar and nearly dead, I swear to God.” Parker slipped Laurel’s pretty pink phone in the front pocket of his uniform. “Is that so, Mr. Weaver? Just like your wife over there just happens to be sick and pregnant, too, I suppose?” Charlie nodded, as Parker suddenly took a half-step back and drew his revolver. He cocked the 9mm’s hammer back, pointing the business end of the pistol directly at Charlie’s temple. “If you’re lying to me, boy,” he said in a deadly whisper, “I’m gonna’ paint the inside of your car with your brains, understand?” Charlie was shaking too hard now to even offer a nod of understanding; Laurel beside him with an open mouth covered by both hands in a soundless scream. “Under…stand…,” Charlie finally managed. He was no longer thinking, but reacting to brutal stimulus like a raw nerve might react to a bolt of electricity. The crotch of his jeans were damp, and Charlie felt like crying. “Good,” Parker said. Smiling, again, he returned the 9mm to his holster and leaned over so that his hands were resting on his knees. “You got two hundred dollars on you right now, Mr. Weaver?” he asked. “If you do, this whole thing can be over and done with right now.” He wants me to bribe him? Charlie thought incredulously. Oh my God! This isn’t happening. It just isn’t happening! Maybe in an old re-run of the “Twilight Zone” or “Tales from the Crypt,” but not in the middle of God-Knows-Where Texas! “L…let me check, officer,” Charlie answered, and then turned to Laurel. “How much money you got?” Laurel’s features were pasty, the color of dry Texas topsoil just before winter falls. “I...I don’t know. Let me check my purse.” Charlie waited as Laurel dove in her purse, a black Ford truck doing better than seventy passing their happy little party with a short honk of its horn. Fuck you up a stick, mister, Charlie thought miserably. He watched as Parker turned around, giving the truck a short wave of his hand. “Just boys out having fun on a fine Texas day!” Parker exclaimed. “Now what about the two hundred dollars, Mr. Weaver? It’s no bribe, if that’s what you’re thinking —-and I’m betting you are—- but all part of the choices I’m prepared to offer.” “Eighteen dollars and some change, Charlie.” It was Laurel, her hand held out with a ten, five, and three one dollar bills. “It’s all I’ve got. I wasn’t expecting to spend anything at mother’s house.” Charlie sighed, damp streams of sweat riding down his neck, and took the bills. “I’ve only got a ten in my wallet, so that gives us twenty-eight dollars to bargain with. Oh, boy.” Charlie turned back to the trooper. “Sir? All we’ve got is twenty-eight dollars between the both of us, that’s it. W…we hadn’t planned on spending a lot of money today. I’m sorry, but that’s all we got.” Parker straightened up, stepping up to Charlie’s door. For a terrifying second Charlie thought the trooper might ram his thick head through the window again putrid breath and all, this time screaming, “TRICK OR TREAT!” or maybe, “DON’T MESS WITH TEXAS, PARDNER!” But instead, Parker merely stood there, staring at Charlie in his Honda the way a naughty boy with a magnifying glass might stare at an anthill on a hot and sunny day. “Well,” Parker began, “if that’s all you got, Mr. Weaver, then that’s all you got. Nothing to be done about it. Looks like we’re going to have to go on with choice number two. You sit tight, I’ll be right back.” Watching the trooper return to his cruiser in his rear-view mirror, Charlie stripped off his watch. It was a two year old Timex and worth at least fifty bucks at any pawnshop. With the watch and the cash they had on hand, it would give them a total of seventy-eight dollars (assuming the maniac cop would even take the watch), and with current events as they were, Charlie knew they needed more. Much more. “Laurel,” he said, still watching his side mirror, “you have your wedding ring on?” “My wedding ring?” Laurel answered, confused. “Yeah, I have it on. So what?” “How much you think do you think its worth after twelve years? Say at a pawnshop or on eBay.” “What the hell are you talking about, Charlie? What does it matter?” “Our lives may depend on it, Laurel,” he answered. “We need exactly two hundred dollars to get out of this mess or I’ve got a feeling friend cop out there is going to get nasty. Real nasty. Now how much is it worth?” Laurel was silent a moment, her brow furrowed in thought, then, “Maybe three hundred dollars, give or take. Maybe more. Hell, I don’t know, Charlie! I didn’t buy the damn thing, you did!” “Take it off, Laurel, and give it to me,” Charlie said. “Quickly! He’s heading this way.” After a moment’s struggle with the ½ carat diamond ring, Laurel slid it off her finger and placed it in Charlie’s open palm, along with the cash and Timex. “You really think he’s going to let us off for twenty-eight dollars, a diamond ring, and a cheap watch?” Laurel asked. Her voice had resumed its familiar bitter edge, but not enough to disguise its underlying tones of near panic. Charlie thought of not answering, watching as the trooper lumbered toward them, then said, “If you’ve got a better idea, Laurel, then you better speak up or shut up right now.” But there was no time for an answer. Parker was already standing beside Charlie’s door, peering down with mirrored eyes that belied any true intentions. “Mr. Weaver, it looks like—“ Charlie wasted no time in acting, thrusting his arm out the window with an open hand full of cash and meager jewelry. “Here!” he cried. “Will you take this? Will that cover the two hundred dollars you need?” Parker studied the offering a moment, then smiled. He caught sight of a snake --perhaps a rattler-- sliding under the shade of the Honda, and then disappear into parts unknown. “Mr. Weaver,” he said carefully, “if I didn’t know any better I’d think you were trying to bribe me. Tell me you ain’t trying to bribe me, Mr. Weaver.” “NO, officer!” Charlie yelled. Both his demeanor and patience had come to a terrible climax; any thought of consequence nothing but illusion. “No! No! I am not trying to fucking bribe you! We want to go home! Just take what we have, and give—“ Parker moved with the speed of a man half his size, his cumbersome thick hands magically producing a pair of handcuffs which he snapped deftly over Charlie’s outstretched wrist. CLICK! Grunting, he gave the other end a hard tug --heard Mr. Weaver screaming in surprise and pain-- and snapped the other cuff around the neck of the outside rear-view mirror. CLICK! Parker stepped back amidst Charlie’s cries of outrage, admiring his work. It was perfect. In fact, it was better than perfect--it was ideal for choice number two. “What the hell, man?” Charlie roared. “What are you doing? GET THESE FUCKING THINGS OFF ME, YOU PSYCHO”! He gave the cuffs a vicious yank, rattling both the rear-view mirror and cuff chain, rewarding him with a blinding bolt of pain that shot clear up to his shoulder. Charlie screamed even louder than before, his throat raw and parched with the exertion. Laurel was screaming beside him, but Charlie couldn’t understand her, nor did he care at this point. He knew for the briefest of moments how a wolf or a fox must feel when they’ve stepped into a trap hidden in the woods; tugging and straining, crying into the wilderness, left with no other recourse but to chew its own paw off or die. “GET ME OUT OF HERE, YOU ASSHOLE!” Charlie continued screaming with what voice he had left. “I WANT YOUR NAME! I WANT YOUR BADGE NUMBER! YOU BASTARD!” Parker stood there watching, his thumbs hooked into the seam of his gun belt. He’d wait until Mr. Weaver ran out of steam and then proceed. He noticed the bribe money and jewelry had fallen to the ground, but couldn’t remember exactly when it had happened. That wasn’t good, not good at all. A Texas state trooper had to be sharp, vigilant at all times and alert for any signs of danger. He was new to the job and wanted only to do his very best for the department, but slip ups like failing to notice a suspect drop a handful of cash and jewelry couldn’t be tolerated. Promising himself that he’d do better next time --and there would be a next time, he was certain—- Parker saw that Mr. Weaver was finally winding down. The man looked spent, beat, done-in-for as his momma used to put it. “You all through with your fussing, Mr. Weaver?” Parker asked. “It’s not going to do you any good, you know? You needed two hundred dollars, and you came up short. Besides, if you break off that rear-view mirror I’m gonna’ blow your head clean off. Option two is all you have left, Mr. Weaver.” Charlie didn’t answer. He was wrung out, weak as a newborn kitten and beyond the realms of any rationalization. His cuffed wrist was already throbbing in rapid beats of dull pain and swelling up nicely. Laurel had since stopped screaming --one positive-- but other than that Charlie knew their dire situation had not only taken a turn for the worse, but gone completely off the rails into madness. Just shoot me, Charlie thought. End it. Let Laurel go, but you can have me, you prick. Put the barrel in my mouth and squeeze that trigger. Just don’t hurt Laurel. But Parker had no intentions of hurting Mrs. Weaver. The fine would be paid by the guilty party, the party who had decided that littering in Texas was no big deal, and that person just happened to be Mr. Weaver. Besides, he wasn’t in to hurting women. It was shameful, something his momma would have never approved of. No, sir. Officer Parker took a few steps, returning to stand beside Charlie’s car door. He thought Mr. Weaver looked like death warmed over, something the proverbial cat had drug in from the rain and then shit on. Parker knew what had to be done. “Mr. Weaver,” he said, straightening his sunglasses. “I’m in a good mood today, and despite the fact that you just called me a bunch of nasty names and used foul language in front of the lady here, I’m just going to give you a warning for the littering offense. How does that sound, sir?” Charlie lifted his head. It felt hot, heavy like a millstone and twice as foggy. “Are you serious, officer?” he asked. He felt like crying again, a point of light at the end of a coal black tunnel suddenly giving him rays of shining hope. “We can go? Seriously?” “What do you think, Mr. Weaver?” Laurel’s cell phone was suddenly dropped into Charlie’s lap. “Tell your wife to get her phone a new battery.” Charlie turned the phone over with a trembling hand, opening the back compartment. No battery, but otherwise in good shape. “Can’t have you fine folks calling other people and telling all sorts of wild lies about me, now can I?” Parker said. Charlie only nodded, more than eager to agree and get the hell out of this nightmare. “Glad you understand, Mr. Weaver. Most obliging of you. And that’s why I decided to give you a warning this time. Consider yourself lucky.” Still nodding like an insane bobble-head doll, Charlie asked in a meek voice, “What about the cuffs, sir, and my car keys? I can’t get far in my current condition.” Parker laughed at this, a deep, bone rattling laugh that somehow chilled Charlie to the very marrow. “Well, now,” Parker answered with a toothy yellow smile, “I guess you can’t, can you? But first, I need to give you that warning I promised.” A look of confusion and fresh fear crept into Charlie’s pallid features. “Wh...what do you mean, officer? I thought you already—“ And with the same speed and agility that Parker had already demonstrated once that afternoon with the handcuffs, he demonstrated once again in an encore performance of hellish proportions. Charlie saw it coming --a part of his brain registering it in some hidden corner of his mind reserved for bad dreams, bad news, and bad feelings-- but in no way could he have been prepared for the giant-sized bolt cutters that suddenly appeared in the trooper’s hands. Parker had the bolt cutters stuffed in the back of his pants, retrieved from the trunk of his cruiser. Slipping them by the long handle from behind his back had been easy, and grabbing Mr. Weaver by the hand even easier, but now came the hard part. Mr. Weaver was already screaming, as Parker took one of the man’s fingers --the index finger, he thought-- fitting it nicely between the jaws of the bolt cutter, and then snapped it close with a satisfying crunch of bone. But Parker wasn’t done, yet. A warning was a warning, and what kind of Texas state trooper would he be if he didn’t issue a full warning? Charlie’s ring finger went next, the sharp steel blades of the bolt cutter slicing through the finger’s gristle and bone with the same ease that old paper affords fire. The finger popped off spattering the rear-view mirror in a speckle of crimson, landing somewhere near Parker’s shiny shoes. Charlie could only moan now, guttural sounds, pain no longer a sensation but a galaxy full of fiery stars stretching into a black universe full of chaos, watching first as the trooper cut away one finger and then another with determined, mindless purpose. He was afraid to look at Laurel, knew that she was screaming again, a sound normally only a buzz at the base of his skull but now up close and terrifying, chewing its way to the soft spot within his ear like a diseased maggot. The world was turning shades of gray --dangerous thunderheads behind his eyes-- and Charlie knew he was close to passing out, when the officer finally stopped cutting on him and spoke: “There we go!” Parker declared. “Fit as a titty!” He slipped the bolt cutters back into his pants, unmindful of the bloody stain that would print his ass. “You’re all set, Mr. Weaver!” Parker exclaimed, digging in the front pocket of his blood-stained khaki trousers. He drew out the Honda’s car keys, tossing them to Charlie through the driver’s window. “Oh, almost forgot the cuffs,” Parker said. He dug around in his right pocket, removing a small key ring with two tiny keys dangling from its silver hoop. It twinkled in the Texas sun. Parker removed the cuff from the rear-view mirror, and then the other from Charlie’s ragged wrist. CLICK! The cuffs he returned to his gun belt, a glow of satisfaction warming his belly. It was his first official warning. Parker’s first official warning! Hell, yeah! And it felt good, right down to the tips of his long toenails. “Go on now, Mr. Weaver!” Parker ordered. “Git! You and your pretty wife get back to Georgetown where you all belong and stay there, hear?” Parker stood there in a warm breeze traveling off I-35, watching as the Weavers started their Honda, its driver’s-side door smeared in gore, and then pull off the shoulder and back onto the interstate. He noticed the car was weaving slightly as it picked up speed, but thought they’d be okay as long as they were careful and watched their speed. Smiling, Parker bent over and picked up the twenty-eight dollars lying in the dust. Lunch money, he supposed. He took the diamond ring and Timex, as well. These he would sell at the first opportunity. As for the dismembered fingers, Parker gave them a curious glance thinking he might take them as good luck charms, but decided not to in the end. Buzzards had to eat, too. Returning to his cruiser, Parker waved at a passing motorist (who was only too happy to return the giant patrolman’s wave) and slid behind the wheel of the Crown Victoria. He tossed his trooper’s hat in the back seat and started the engine. The patrol car stank inside, a high ripe smell a person might mistake for a slaughterhouse in mid-August, but Parker didn’t mind. Not one bit. He didn’t even mind the cloud of flies swarming about his head, waving them away with a soft chuckle and a sweep of his mighty hand. He turned around in his seat, looking at the broken body of Texas state patrol officer Chris Parker sprawled across the cruiser’s backseat— his eyes had been gouged out, his bluish lips pulled back in a rictus of either fear or pain. Officer Chris Parker was dressed in white corduroy pants, a stripe of red running down the seam of each pant leg. His short-sleeved shirt was of the same color and material, the black stitching above the breast pocket read: East Texas State Hospital Mark Warner 189-344067-2, Criminally Insane Ward 1 Mark Warner turned back around, checking his image in the rear-view mirror, and almost burst out in hysterical laughter. A Texas state trooper, Warner thought, admiring Parker’s uniform. It was a bit tight in places, but it felt good. Like he was meant to wear it, to utilize it for the better good of mankind. And after he dumped Parker’s body in some landfill or gulley, Mark Warner would cease to exist, and Chris Parker would be reborn. But while he was looking, there was the law to uphold. And uphold it he would, to the best of his duty. Turning off the cruiser’s squawk box, Mark --Chris-- put the car in gear, looked both ways, and then pulled out onto I-35 heading south. The day was still fresh, and Texas was a large state with plenty of motorists who felt they owned the highways, and Mark had plenty of warnings to give out. After all, he was in a good mood today…for now. THE END
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Copyright © 2009 Matthew Lett |