“Very much so,” Terry reported. “It’s eating from a bag of Raisinets.”
“Those are mine!” Jennifer cried.
The Whelpers stood there discussing the situation for fifteen minutes before a highway patrol car pulled up, and a young state trooper asked what was the matter. He listened sympathetically to the story about the rat in the rented LeBaron.
“You want me to call the Avis people?” he asked. “Maybe they’ll send another car.”
“Actually, we’re on a pretty tight schedule,” explained Gerri Whelper. “We’ve got reservations at a motor lodge in Key Largo. They said we had to be there by five or else we lose the rooms.”
Jennifer, who had almost stopped crying, said: “I don’t care about the motel, I want a different car.”
Terry Whelper said to the trooper, “If you could just help me get rid of it.”
“The rat?”
“It’s a big one,” Terry said.
“Well, I can probably shoot it.”
“Could you?” Gerri said. “Please?”
The trooper said, “Technically, it’s against regulations. But since you’re from out of town…”
He stepped out of the patrol car and unsnapped the holster strap on his.357.
“Wow!” said Jason.
Jennifer put her arms around her mother’s waist. Terry Whelper manfully directed his brood to move safely out of the line of fire. The state trooper approached the LeBaron with the calm air of a seasoned lawman.
“He’s under the seat,” Terry advised.
“Yeah, I see him.”
The trooper fired three times. Then he bolstered the gun, reached into the convertible and picked up what remained of the creature by what remained of its tail. He tossed the misshapen brown lump into some holly bushes.
“Thank you so much,” said Gerri Whelper.
“You say it was a blue pickup. You didn’t happen to see the license plate?”
“No,” said Terry. He was wondering what to tell Avis about the bullet holes in the floorboard. When the kids climbed back in the rental car, their mother said, “Don’t touch any of those raisins! We’ll get more candy when we get to the Amazing Kingdom.”
“Good, I want a Petey Possum Popsicle,” Jennifer said, nearly recovered from the trauma. Jason asked if he could keep one of the empty shell casings out of the state trooper’s revolver, and the trooper said sure.
Terry Whelper grimly contemplated the upcoming journey in the red, rat-befouled LeBaron. He felt fog-headed and emotionally drained. To think, just that morning he’d been safe and sound in his bed back in Michigan.
“Don’t forget to buckle up,” said the trooper, holding the door open.
Terry said, “This ever happen before?”
“What do you mean?”
“This rat business.”
“I’m sure it has. We don’t hear about everything.”
The trooper smiled as he closed Terry Whelper’s door. “Now, you all have a nice vacation.”
In the blue pickup truck, still heading north, Danny Pogue said, “That was the damnedest thing I ever saw.”
Bud Schwartz, who was driving, said, “Yeah, that was some shot. If I do say so.”
“There was kids in that car.”
“It was just a mouse, for Chrissakes.”
“It wasn’t a mouse, it was a rat.” Danny Pogue poked his partner in the shoulder. “What if those was your kids? You like it, somebody throws a fucking rat in their laps?”
Bud Schwartz glanced at the place on his shoulder where Danny Pogue had touched him. Then he looked back at the highway. His bare bony arms got rigid on the steering wheel. “I wasn’t exactly aiming for the kids.”
“Were too.”
After a few strained moments, Bud Schwartz said, “You don’t see that many convertibles anymore.”
“So when you finally see one, you throw a rat in it? Is that the deal?” Danny Pogue picked at a pair of ripe pimples on the peak of his Adam’s apple.
“Let’s just drop it,” said Bud Schwartz.
But Danny Pogue remained agitated all the way to Florida City. He told Bud Schwartz to let him off in front of the Long John Silver’s.
“No way,” said Bud Schwartz.
“Then I’ll jump outta the goddamn truck.”
Danny Pogue would damn sure try it, too, Bud thought. Jump out of the damn truck purely on principles.
Bud Schwartz said, “Hey, you don’t want to do that. We’ve gotta go get your money.”