Josie nodded in reply.
I sat in the car and waited. There were two deputies in the cruiser. One tall and fat, the other shorter and thin. I recognized them instantly. The tall deputy approached from the driver’s side of the car, the short deputy approached from the passenger side. Both of them had hands resting on the butts of their holstered guns.
“This just keeps getting better and better,” I said.
I made a production out of placing both of my hands on top of the steering wheel. Deputy James seemed to like that. He smiled when he said, “Roll down your window,” and smiled some more when I returned my hand to the steering wheel afterward and said, “Is there a problem, Deputy?”
“He wants to know if there’s a problem,” James said.
Deputy Williams was leaning against the passenger door of the Taurus. Josie’s window was rolled down, and he was looking across her at me.
“I don’t have a problem,” he said. “Do you have a problem?”
“I don’t have a problem unless Dyson gives me one.”
“Hmm, Dyson?” I said. “Who’s he?”
“Oh, dang,” James said. “Now we have a problem.”
“Here I was hoping for a problem-free day.”
“Just goes to show.” James took a step backward and rested his hand back on the butt of his gun. “Outta the car, Dyson.”
I reached down for the door latch. When I opened the door, Josie turned to do the same. Williams put an arm through the window, covered her breast with his hand, and pushed her back against the seat.
“Don’t move, honey,” he said. He gave her breast a squeeze. “Mmm, nice.”
Josie squirmed under his touch and tried to push his hand away. Williams grinned at her.
“Atta girl,” he said. “Now, stay put.”
He removed his hand, stepped back from the window, and made his way to the rear bumper. I was already standing there, facing James.
“This will go much easier if you just admit that you’re Nicholas Dyson, escaped criminal,” he said.
“Who?” I asked.
Williams drove his fist deep into my stomach. I lost my breath, doubled up, and went to my knees. It took me a few moments to regain my composure. While I did, I noticed the shiny bands of chrome-plated steel wrapped around the fingers of his right hand. No wonder he hit so hard, my inner voice said. I used the bumper and trunk lid to pull myself upright again.
“Brass knuckles,” I said. “I thought that went out with Polaroid cameras.”
“We’re traditionalists,” Williams said. “Something works for us, we stick with it.”
“Let’s talk, Dyson,” James said.
“My name isn’t Dyson.”
Williams hit me again and again I went down. Loose gravel dug into my knees. To alleviate the pain, I fell backward into a sitting position, propping myself up with one hand while clutching my tender stomach with the other.
“We can do this all day,” James said.
“We?” asked Williams.
“I’ll take a turn. Do you want me to take a turn?”
“That’s up to Dyson here.” Williams nudged me with his toe. “Whaddaya say, Dyson?”
“You can call me anything you want,” I said.
“We can call him anything we want,” Williams said.
“How ’bout dipshit?” James asked.
“That, too,” I said.
James squatted next to me. “You’re a smart guy, aren’t you, dipshit?” he said.
“’Course he’s smart,” Williams said. “He’s from the big city. Way smarter than us good ol’ country boys.” He nudged me with his toe again. “Ain’t that right?”
I continued to clutch my stomach. “I don’t feel smarter,” I said.
“He doesn’t feel smarter,” Williams said.
“Don’t know why,” James said. “Big-time criminal mastermind like him.” He circled a beefy hand under my arm and pulled me upright. “You are a big-time criminal mastermind, aren’t ya?”
“No, actually, I’m not,” I said.
“He’s not a criminal mastermind,” Williams said.
“We’ve been misled,” James said.
“Wouldn’t be the first time.”
“So, here’s what we’re thinking,” James said. His fingers dug into my shoulder and pain shot down through my arm, numbing my fingertips. “We slap the cuffs on you, drag you down to Duluth, we’re heroes. Might even get a commendation out of it.”
“But then we’d have to make statements,” Williams said. “Explain how we caught you. Probably testify in court…”
“All that paperwork.”
“We hate paperwork.”
“Actually, most everything is done on computers now, but you get the gist of it.”
“Typing,” Williams said. “Ewww.”
“We hate typing.” James held up both index fingers for me to see. “Never did get the hang of it.”
“It is skilled labor,” I said.
Williams rapped the side of my head with the brass knuckles. The blow wasn’t hard enough to break the skin, yet it made me regret the remark just the same.
