-4-
Sam sat in the Sumas police station’s only jail cell. He’d felt guilty about leaving the driver trapped in the stinky Stop-n-Sip bathroom, so he’d run past the door and kicked the rock loose before he ducked behind the station billboard with his loot. The driver had emerged, puzzled, then shrugged, and got into his truck, no doubt moving on to bigger, more exciting places, and he pulled away, none the wiser.
Just as Sam had stepped out from behind the billboard, a hand fell on his shoulder. It was Officer Myrmidon. Sam usually liked seeing the town’s only policeman—Officer Myrmidon had watched out for Sam after his mom left, giving him unclaimed coats, sneakers, and toys from the lost and found at the police station—but Sam wasn’t happy to see him at that moment.
When Officer Myrmidon had asked, “Hey Sam, what are you hauling there?” and pointed to his bulging backpack, Sam had simply sighed, handed over the pack, and climbed into the rear seat of the police car without making a fuss. He knew the drill—he’d been in the back seat of the police car before. Sam buckled his seatbelt and settled in for a ride to the jail.
On the way to the station, they’d pulled over a kid in an old Camaro. It was funny, Sam thought, because the kid turned out to be Officer Myrmidon’s son. He was an older kid with long hair, not at all what Sam would have pictured for Officer Myrmidon’s son, and they didn’t seem particularly friendly with one another.
When they arrived at the station, Officer Myrmidon dropped the backpack full of stolen fireworks in the garbage and ushered Sam into the one-room police station’s jail cell.
“Okay, you’re in here until your dad comes to pick you up,” the tall policeman said. “Remember, this was a choice. Your decisions out there determine whether you wind up in here.”
The door clanged shut. It was a bright spring-almost-summer day, and instead of enjoying the smells of the fresh spring grass, new flowers, and burnt fireworks, he was behind bars. Sam sighed loudly. Not much of an adventure, he thought.
Sam slumped on the cell bench in his baggy cargo pants and a black concert t-shirt for the band Lobotomy. The cell was bare except for a toilet and some toys Officer Myrmidon had tossed in with him to help him pass the time—a foam bat, a ball, and a deck of cards. The place smelled sterile, and Sam played poker against himself beside the metal toilet, cheating and tapping the foam bat against the wall. He secretly kept one ear tuned in to the father-son conversation across the room.
“I wish you’d been on time for once,” Officer Myrmidon said to PJ. “I had thought we might go fishing…yesterday.”
“Fish should still be there, right?” PJ said.
“I have responsibilities today. You familiar with those?”
“Like paying your bills, doing your laundry, sticking with your wife? Stuff like that?”
Officer Myrmidon looked up, hurt. “How is your mother?”
PJ took a seat in the interrogation chair. “She’s fine. Happy, I think. She’s dating now.”
Sam saw PJ’s dad wince.
The big officer sat at his small oak desk and glanced at his computer screen. He typed quickly, then rose and grabbed his coat. “I just got confirmation that some climbers are missing in caves south of here. I need to take the truck to help with search and rescue. Wait here until I get back. Call my cell if anything comes up, anything at all.”
“You’re leaving?” PJ said. “But I just got here.”
“I took yesterday off,” his dad said, “the day you were supposed to be here. I have local duties today and a border to guard.”
“You’re not with the federal border patrol,” PJ said. “You’re just a small town cop.”
“There’s no one else for hundreds of miles out here. Who do you think is keeping us safe?”
“From what? Drunk Canadians?”
“I need to go,” his dad said.
“This sucks,” PJ said. “More than usual.”
“I’m sorry we can’t be together right now, but my job is important.”
“Huh. That sounds familiar,” PJ frowned.
“Just wait here,” his dad said. “Our young guest’s father should be coming soon. The key is on the desk, but don’t let him take Sam in his car if he’s...” Officer Myrmidon made a bottle tipping motion with his hand.
“Aye-aye, sir. Any other responsibilities you want to lay on me while you’re gone? Finish high school? Find a job? Make something of myself?” PJ picked up a police baton and rattled the bars of the cell, causing Sam to misshuffle and scatter his cards. “Feed the monkey?”
PJ's dad appeared at his son’s shoulder like silent lightning. He grabbed the baton, twisted it away from PJ, and whirled it under his own arm in one smooth motion. PJ stared, shocked by his father’s incredible speed and dexterity. “No!” his father said. “Don’t do anything.” He placed the baton on the desk and walked back to the door. “That’s what everyone’s come to expect from you.” Then Officer Myrmidon slipped out like a whisper.
Sam gathered up his cards and snuck the deck into one of the many pockets of his oversized cargo pants alongside a butane cigarette lighter he wasn’t supposed to have.
PJ slumped in his dad’s chair and put his feet up. He pushed off and spun in a circle, tapping the baton in his hand and glancing at Sam. “Hey little dude, when’s your dad gonna be here to get you?”
“He should be here as soon as happy hour is over,” Sam said.
“Quality family life, I see,” PJ said.
“Like you,” Sam shot back.
“Take a long walk off a short dock, convict.”
“I’m not convicted yet,” Sam said, “on this new charge.”
“Oh yeah? What’re you in for?” PJ asked as he rifled through his father’s desk drawer.
“Illegal fireworks.”
“My dad put you in the slam for a few firecrackers? Man, he is uptight.”
“They were the big ones, and some of ’em sorta ended up in my backpack.” Sam pointed through the bars at his worn backpack in the garbage.
PJ pulled Sam’s pack from the trash and looked inside. “Whew! Nice. I oughtta find a way to dispose of these myself. By the way, something tells me this isn’t your first time in the pokey, am I right?”
Sam hung his head. “No, but it’s the last time. Your dad says that next fall he’s gonna help me get back into the school that kicked me out and get a job when I’m old enough.”
“Made you some promises, did he?” PJ smirked.
“I’m gonna change everything around when I get out,” Sam proclaimed.
“Hate to be the bearer of bad news, little fella, but people don’t change, not really. You got a criminal record at twelve and the most likely job in your future is to hold up the Stop-n-Sip someday.”
“...where you’ll be working,” Sam snapped back.
“Leave me alone,” PJ said, “I’m a busy man.” He resumed spinning.
BEEP-BEEP-BEEP! An alarm shrieked, and PJ fell out of his chair. He floundered up wide-eyed, holding the night stick out in front of him like a cross against evil.
“Hey delinquent, what’s that beeping?” he said.
“A border sensor,” Sam said.
“A what?”
“A police motion detector at the U.S./Canadian border. I heard your dad once tell a guy on the phone that it goes off when smugglers sneak across and drop off bags of stuff in the woods.”
“What kind of stuff?” PJ said, growing interested.
“Things they don’t want to take through customs in their car—illegal contraband, tax-free cigarettes…bundles of cash in small denominations.”
PJ’s eyebrows shot up, and Sam hoped PJ wasn’t thinking what he thought PJ was thinking. He’d already gotten into enough trouble for one day.
– End Chapter Four –
