“What we gonna do? I can’t hide back here.”
Josh didn’t take his eyes off the mirror even as he slipped his gun under the seat. “Yep, any second now he’s gonna hit that light, and we are done. Get down on the floor and pull that tarp on top of you, Rufus. Do it now.” Josh pushed his baseball cap down low so that only the white hair of his temples showed. He stuck out his chin and pushed his bottom lip out, giving the impression that he had no teeth. He leaned over, flipped open the glove box and took out a tin of chew and put a big plug of it in his mouth, which made his cheek bulge. He let his strong frame collapse. Then he rolled down the window and stuck his arm out, motioning in long, slow waves for the police cruiser to pull over to the highway shoulder. Josh eased the truck off the road and stopped. The cruiser quickly pulled in behind the truck, its roof lights throwing off a startling, ominous blue into the darkness.
Josh waited in the truck. You let the boys in blue come to you, no hurried movement. He winced as the cruiser’s searchlight beam reflected off the side mirror. A cop tactic to disorient you, he knew well. Josh heard the boots crunching on the bite of gravel. He could envision the trooper approaching, hand on his gun, eyes trained on the door.
Three times in the past, cops had pulled him over and then Josh would hear the tinkling of glass as the baton just happened to collide with a taillight, with the result that he had been cited for an equipment infraction. It was done just to piss him off, see if he’d do something that would warrant some jail time. It had never worked.
Yes sir, no sir, mister policeman, sir, even as he wanted to beat the man unconscious.
At least they had never planted drugs in his car and then tried to pin that on him. He had several buddies idling in prison right now after being hit with that shit.
“Fight it,” his ex-wife Louise had always said.
“Fight what?” he had retorted. “Might as well be fighting God for all the good it’ll do me.”
As the footsteps stopped, Josh looked out the window.
The state trooper stared back at him. Josh noted that he was Hispanic.
“What’s the matter, sir?” the trooper asked.
The chew bulging against his cheek with each syllable, Josh said, “Wanta git me on Luzzana.” He pointed down the road. “Dis a’ight?”
The puzzled trooper crossed his arms. “Now where do you want to go again?”
“Luzzana. Bat’ Rouge.”
“Baton Rouge, Louisiana?” The trooper laughed. “You’re a long way from there.”
Josh scratched his neck and looked around. “Got me chil’ren on down dare ain’t seen they’s daddy in a while.”
The trooper’s expression turned serious. “Okay.”
“Man say I gone git dare from dis here road.”
“Well, the man didn’t tell you exactly right.”
“Huh, you know’s how’s I git dare, den?”
“Yeah, you can follow me, but I can’t drive the whole way.”
Josh just stared at the man. “My chil’ren, dey bin good. Dey wanta see Daddy. You hep me?”
“Okay, I tell you what, we’re close to the exit you need to take to head on down that way. You follow me there, and then you’re on your own. You stop and ask somebody else. How’s that sound?”
“A’ight.” Josh touched the bill of his cap.
The trooper was about to return to his cruiser when he glanced at the camper. He hit his light through the side window and saw the stacked boxes. “Sir, you mind my taking a look in the camper?”
Josh didn’t flinch, although his hand edged toward the front of the seat, where his gun was. “Hell, no.” The trooper went to the rear of the camper and opened the upper glass door. The wall of boxes stared back at him. Behind the stacks, Rufus huddled under the tarp in the darkness of the camper.
“What you got in here, sir?” the trooper called out.
“Food,” Josh called back, leaning out the window.