I didn’t like the arrest scene I wrote earlier. Dan was too passive and mushy. So here is a replacement.
This being NaNoWriMo, I’m keeping both versions in my draft, and including both in my word count. And who knows, I may be able to use the earlier version somewhere else the book.
The sign on Interstate 80 said ENTERING LOVELOCK, NEVADA. A second sign, partially obscured by the first, said SPEED LIMIT 25 MPH.
Dan saw the second sign too late to slow down from highway speed.
“Shit,” he said. Then he saw the Pershing County Sheriff cruiser.
The lights on the cruiser flashed red and blue. Dan considered punching the gas and trying to outrun the cruiser, but he knew that was crazy. What lay beyond Lovelock, as far as he knew, was nothing more than Interstate 80 through 600 miles of flat, shimmering desert.
He had been so careful with his driving up until now, trying to avoid notice. Now he had fucked up. He hadn’t expected a major interstate highway to turn suddenly into Main Street, Anytown, USA. And yet it had, and he hadn’t noticed in time.
He pulled his car to the side of the street. He removed his wallet from his pants pocket, rolled down his window, and waited for the Sheriff.
Seventeen hours earlier he had left the house on Anton Court, the house in which his dead wife’s blood had not yet congealed, and driven, without consciously choosing a direction, eastward on Interstate 80.
As he wound his way up the Sierra Nevada foothills, he had decided to stop in Reno for the night. Beyond Reno were only small towns for hundreds of miles. He did not want to spend the night in a small town where he, being a stranger, might be more easily noticed. Better to stop in Reno where he would not be noticed and where nobody would ask the out-of-towner any nosy questions.
He had slept poorly, woken early, and set out at 5:30 am. Half an hour later he passed through Fernley. Half an hour after that the sun rose directly ahead of him. And for the next half hour, the half hour that brought him to Lovelock, he had driven into a blinding sun.
The sun was three diameters off the horizon now, three diameters above Main Street. Dan closed his eyes against the glare.
“This is a residential area.”
Dan opened his eyes. The sheriff was tall. Dan glanced at the sheriffs chest. Not a sheriff. Sheriff’s Deputy Anton Corey.
Anton Corey? Where had Dan heard that name before? Then he recognized it. Not Anton Corey, but Anton Court. Zombie Goat’s house.
Oh, Jesus. Not a good omen.
“Yes, sir. I didn’t see the–”
“License and registration.”
Dan removed his license and registration from his wallet and handed them to Corey.
Corey examined the documents. “You know, Mister Roberge, there could be kids playing in the street.”
“Yes, sir. The sun was in my eyes and–”
“Yeah, that’s a real problem this time of day.” Corey looked to his left, toward the rising sun. “You know what a lot of folks do when the sun is in their eyes?”
Dan knew. And he also knew that the officer was going to play with him for a while, giving him every opportunity to say the wrong thing, to justify the deputy asking him to get out of the car, to put his hands on top of the car and spread his feet.
Dan said, “They slow down.”
“Oh,” Corey said, “so you do know. That’s good, I guess, but now something is bothering me. I can see how someone who isn’t very bright might not know to slow down. But you, Mister Roberge, even though you know better, you keep driving at full speed even when you can’t see a clearly posted speed limit sign. Can you help me understand why a smart guy like you would do something like that?”
Dan knew what words were going to come out of his mouth, and he knew they were a mistake. But he couldn’t think of anything else to say, and he couldn’t stop himself.
“That speed limit sign was hidden behind the Lovelock sign. It wasn’t clearly–”
“Are you trying to piss me off, or is it just a natural outcome of your squirrelly personality?”
“Squirrelly …?”
“I’ve given you every opportunity to man up here, Dan, to admit your mistake. But damn near every time you open your mouth you give me a new lame-assed excuse. Do you know how many lame excuses you’ve tried to shovel at me, Dan?”
Dan was trapped. He had no idea how to get out of this with only a speeding ticket.
“Uh, two?”
“I count three,” Corey said. “So far. First you said you didn’t see the sign, which I know is a crock because then you said you did see it. Then you try to blame the sun, when you know full well that the thing to do when the sun’s in your eyes is to slow… the fuck… down. And now you’re blaming… well I don’t know who. The highway department, I guess. You see what I mean, Dan? Squirrelly.”
“Yes, sir, I can see what you mean now.”
“Do you know what the posted limit is back there?” Corey pointed westward, the direction from which Dan had come.
“Sixty five.”
“That’s right. And do you know how fast I clocked you at?”
Of course Dan knew. He had been very careful, up until he entered Lovelock, to make sure he never crept above the posted speed limit.
“Yes, sir. I was going sixty five. Or maybe a bit less.”
“My radar said sixty five. Do you see the problem, Dan?”
“Yes, the limit here is twenty five.”
“No, that’s not the problem. Maybe you’re not as smart as I thought you was. You want to try again?”
“I…” Dan had no idea what the deputy was getting at. “I don’t know what you mean. I honestly don’t.”
“Well it’s good that you’re finally being honest with me, Dan. But the problem is this. That posted speed limit is a maximum. And it’s for when conditions are ideal.” Corey looked toward the sun, now four diameters above Main Street. “Do you think conditions are ideal this morning, Dan?”
“No,” Dan said. “No, sir, I don’t.”
“The law says that when the conditions are other than ideal, you have to slow down to a safe speed. Do you think it’s safe to travel at the full posted speed limit when the sun is shining full in your eyes like that?”
“No, I guess not.”
“You probably didn’t know about that part of he law, did you, Dan? The part about how the speed limit is only for ideal conditions?”
“No, actually, I guess I did know. But I forgot.”
“Well, it’s easy to forget some of the finer points of the law. But now that I’ve reminded you, would you say that you were within the law back there, or that you were breaking the law?”
There were only two answers, Dan knew. One bad, and one worse.
“I’d say I was breaking the law.”
“That’s what I thought, too. I was worried for a while that you were going to be a problem for me. Now I can see that you’re a reasonable man. I think I’ll be able to let you off with just the two speeding violations.”
“Two!?”
“Well, one for back there, and one for here in town. Given what you’ve told me about you breaking the law, doesn’t that seem reasonable?”
Dan closed his eyes. Maybe this would be over soon. Maybe not.
“Yes, sir, you’re being very reasonable with me.”
“Do you have a checkbook handy?”
“What?”
“A checkbook. To write checks.”
“A check?”
“It’s an efficient way of working. I’ll give you a form to sign admitting your guilt, you write a check for six hundred dollars made out to Pershing County Nevada, and you can go on your way. Or if you prefer a court appearance, we can send you a court date for a month or so from now, and you can drive back here–within the speed limit, of course–and talk it over with Judge Corey.”
“Judge Corey?”
“I’m demonstrating my good will by leaving the choice in your hands. What’s your preference, Dan?”
“I’ll write you a check.”
“Now that’s bordering on insult, Dan. I’m not inclined to take bribes.”
What the hell do I have to do to put an end to this, Dan thought. “Officer– Deputy Corey, I didn’t mean to–”
“Relax, Dan, I’m just fucking with you.”
Dan puffed out a short breath.
Corey said, “You wait here. I’ll just go run your license and registration, then you’ll write me a check–excuse me, you’ll write the county a check–and we’ll be done in three minutes. Okay?”
“Thank you, Deputy Corey,” Dan said.
Corey walked slowly back to the cruiser.
Dan had been pulled over a dozen or so times in his life. The length of time between the officer taking his license and registration to the cruiser and returning had never taken less than ten minutes, and sometimes took twenty or more. He didn’t know whether the delay was due to how long the record searches actually took, or merely one more form of intimidation. He suspected the latter, and given Corey’s clear enjoyment of toying with him, Dan expected this wait to be a long one.
So he was surprised when, noticing movement in his side mirror, he saw Corey returning almost immediately. For a split second he was relieved. But then he realized that Corey had had far too little time to run his license and registration.
Then Corey made some odd, twisting motions with his hand at his holster, and flipped the security strap off his weapon.
Corey stopped behind Dan’s door. “Keep your hands where I can see them and get out of the car.”
Dan raised his hands high enough so that Corey could see, then lowered his left hand cautiously and unlatched the door. He pushed the door open and stepped out onto the street.
“Hands on top of the car.”
Dan put his hands on the car.
Corey patted him down, then gripped one of Dan’s wrists and twisted it behind Dan’s back. Dan lowered his other hand so that his wrists were together.
He felt the handcuffs clamp around his wrists.
“Come on,” said Corey, and tugged at Dan’s elbow.
Dan walked with Corey to the cruiser. Corey opened the back door and nudged Dan toward the back seat.
Dan ducked his head, stepped in, and plopped onto the seat.
“Don’t you have to read me my rights now?”
Corey looked at Dan and squinted. “You watch too much TV.”
RSS feed for comments on this post. TrackBack URLBy the way, I’ve driven through Lovelock, Nevada twice. The first time took about a half hour longer than I’d intended.
I wrote the check.