Chapter 26

Squiggy had Mule cover up the beer bottles in the seat again as the police officer approached the truck. He waited until the police man knocked on the window with a flash light to lower the window.

"How're they hangin, occifer?" asked Squiggy.

The policeman was rather portly, even bigger than Chief Arnold. He was also wearing shades and a baseball hat that was too small, barely staying on his head. He had a good three chins going on and a lower lip that seemed to fold over and flap in the wind. His nose was bent in a strange direction.

"Pretty straight," he said, standing on his tiptoes to look into the truck. "Y'all ain't been drinking, huh?"

"Depends," Mule said and laughed. Squiggy almost groaned.

"What's it depend on big feller?"

"On what you's askin if we been drinkin."

The comment seemed to confuse the officer. "Your eyes are red," he said, pointing the flashlight at Squiggy.

"It's allergies."

"In the middle of the winter?"

"All year, dude."

"That would suck big ones."

Mule laughed and slapped Squiggy on the arm. "He said it would 'suck big uns'! You guys got that in common."

"Shut up, Mule."

"Okay!"

"You got yer license there, dude?" the cop asked.

"I ain't got one," Mule said.

"Not you, the driver."

Squiggy started digging in his pocket and shook his head. "Dang! I must've forgot it at home!"

The officer pursed his lips. "I does that at times."

"See, we had to leave like really quick to get to the hospital in Fort Smith," Squiggy said. "His daddy had a heart strike."

"What's a heart strike?"

"You know, when they almost croak cause the heart ain't workin right."

"You mean stroke?"

"Yeah. Ain't that right, Mule?"

"Daddy's dead," Mule said, starting to cry. "A bigfoot ate him."

"Huh?" the officer asked.

"He's a little confused with the tragedy," Squiggy said. "He had one of them strokes and then something started eating him. Nasty."

"Boy, that would suck! My daddy got bit by a swirl once."

"What's a swirl?" asked Mule.

"You know what a dadgummed swirl is. One of them little critters that live up in the trees that people hunt."

"You talkin bout them squirrels?"

"Yeah, that's what I said. Swirls got them sharp teeth. Went right into the bone of his pinky toe."

Somebody passed a deadly one. Squiggy crinkled up and shook his head. This was not the time for Mule to be passing one of his deadly poots.

"Crapfire, Mule!" Squiggy said. "You tryin to kill me?"

Mule had the front of his camo shirt pulled over his face. "That ain't me."

They turned to look at the officer. "Good un, eh?"

"Well, we'll be goin now," Squiggy volunteered.

"Aw, hold yer horses. I gotta write you a ticket."

"How come?"

"Cause it's my job."

"Naw, why you wantin to write me up?"

"Broken tail light."

Squiggy shook his head. "We was gonna fix that when we got home. Somebody done broke it at the hospital. Probably some old coot."

"Yeah, but I's gonna have to nail you. We gotta write at least two tickets an hour and I's behind.'

"C'mon, dude! Don't write me no ticket."

"Gotta do it. Sorry."

Squiggy shook his head and leaned over on the steering wheel. This wasn't good. Once the Department of Motor Vehicles found out he was driving with a suspended license, they were going to drop the hammer on him.

"Here," the cop said, handing over his ticket book.

"You need me to sign something?"

"Naw, I was gonna let you fill out the ticket."

"Ain't that yer job?" Mule asked.

"Yeah, but I got a little problem with my readin and writin. That's why I'm a Shady Point cop."

Squiggy took the book and filled out the ticket and handed it back to the officer. "You have a good night."

"You too," said the policeman. "Say, what yer name? I can't read, you know."

"It's Bush," said Squiggy.

"That yer first or last name?"

"My last name's Bush."

"What bout the first un?"

"George," said Squiggy.

The officer nodded. Something seemed like it was wanting to come forward, but it couldn't.

"You have a good night, George," the officer said. "What's yer name, big feller?"

"He's Dick," Squiggy said. "That's his first name. The last one's Head."

"Dick Head, huh?" the cop asked. "I think I heard of you before."

"See you," Squiggy said. The cop waved and he drove off slowly. Squiggy thought this was rather funny. Apparently, Mule didn't. He had his arms crossed and was glaring at Squiggy. "What's wrong?"

"You called me a dickhead!"

"Naw, I didn't. I told him that was your name. Big difference."

"How ya figger?"

"Listen, Mule, we did that so he wouldn't know our real names, okay? Now we's off free and won't have to worry none bout getting tickets or nothing."

"Won't he be able to figger out who you are by yer license plate?"

"Naw, I stole that one up in the city last week."

Mule got into the beer again. "I'd rather you didn't call me by that name. That's what Mommy calls me when she's hacked."

"Yer mom calls you a 'dickhead'?"

"Yeah, and I don't like it none."

"Can't blame you. My mother used to call me a dog turd."

"Better'n dickhead."

"I guess." The two men drove in silence for a few minutes, remembering times they would like to forget. Squiggy took the bypass around Poteau and kept the speed reasonable. He had been stopped twice tonight and been in a fight at a club, enough excitement for him.

Mule looked out the window and watched the trees go by. "I was meanin to ast where you been?"

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"Try me!"

"Okay," Squiggy said and relayed his story. He was right. Mule wouldn't believe him.

Chapter 27