“My Ship Comes In” is the fourth story, a novella, in T.K. O’Neill’s Northwoods Pulp Reloaded collection of three short crime stories and this longer story. Ebook available here.
I stare in the rearview mirror with disbelief as the white Chevy with the cherry on top comes up fast behind me. Everything turns to black and a sick feeling fills me up. I tell myself that I’m okay—it’s only a speeding bust, but then I remember the cocaine mirror lying on the floor in back, uncovered, and look frantically around for something to throw over it. “Dory,” I say, my head throbbing, “carefully reach in the glove compartment and get a map or something to throw over that mirror in back. We’re getting pulled over, so try not to show any movement, if you can manage it.”
Her shoulders rise up and her skin gets a few shades lighter but she manages to slide out the Florida road map and skillfully work it between the shifter and the bucket seat to drop it on top of the mirror. As I come to a halt, I look back at the cop and out of the corner of my eye see an edge of the mirror sticking out under the map. But it will have to do; the cop is out of his cruiser and striding toward us now.
He’s a big man, about six-four, with a small gut hanging over his belt. He’s a local—Levy County Sheriff’s Department, it says on the driver’s door of the cruiser—but has the aviator shades, trooper hat and jackboots that all the heat down here seem to wear. This one has an arrogant swagger like maybe he played football in college and misses the opportunity to hit people.
“Driver’s license and registration please, sir.”
I reach above the visor for Bagley’s alternative wallet.
“Take it out of the wallet, please.”
He holds a clipboard with one hand while studying us. I hand him the license. He puts it on the clipboard and stares into my eyes.
“Are you aware that the speed limit is fifty on this road, Mr. Kirby?”
“Yes.”
Dory shoots me a sideways glance.
“You were traveling over seventy. Got your registration handy?”
I start to feel the panic. “It’s not my van, officer. It belongs to a friend of mine down in St. Pete. He let me use it for a little sightseeing and camping trip, and I don’t know where the registration is.”
The cop frowns. “Please step back into the patrol car with me, Mr. Kirby.”
I get out of the van and start to walk back along the highway toward the cruiser.
“Please step to the shoulder, sir,” the cop says with authority. “Move around to the other side of the van.”
I turn and go back around the front of the bus. “Dory, look for that registration card, will you please?” I say, passing by the passenger window. “I’m sure it’s in there somewhere.”
The cop is lumbering along behind me and I sense him peering in the windows of the van. But he doesn’t linger and I’m able to calm down enough to stop shaking. I get into the cruiser and the cop slides behind the wheel. My shoulders feel like they’re up against my ears. Cop leans back against the seat and the scent of garlic and onions and cheap after-shave hit me like a toxic cloud. He lifts his shades and peers down at the license.
“What kind of name is Elton, boy? Some kind of limey moniker, like that fruit Elton John? You a limey, son? They got all kinds of funny names over there in the U.K.”
But no Billy Bob and Bubba.
“No, I’m an American.”
“And where in America do you reside then, Elton?”
“In St. Pete. That’s where I’m headed.”
“You need to get your driver’s license changed then, this one here’s from Colorado. You need a Florida resident license.”
“Only been here for three months, officer.”
“Then yer only sixty days overdue, boy. But I ’magine you and the missus have plenty of things to keep ya busy.” He winks at me.
“Uh…well… ah, yeah. And here she comes now—the wife. She must have found the registration papers.”
Dory is walking toward us; red purse slung over her left shoulder and a white card in her right hand.
“Sure is a pretty one,” the cop drawls. “You are a lucky guy—even with a name like Elton.” He laughs, winks again.
My buddy.
“Yes I am, Officer. I surely am. Sometimes I don’t realize how lucky.”
(To be continued)
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