Mike Humfreville - 7-18-2005 at 04:07 PM
He slept fitfully the entire next night. No further fearful events took place, but still he couldn?t sleep. Who could under the circumstances? He
thought, as he lay sweating on the bed.
In the morning he packed a couple of clothing changes, grabbed a bottle of rum and headed north for Ensenada. He needed to avoid the local problems
for a period and to replenish his booze and a few lesser supplies. Considerably south of the city in the central desert he?s whisking along doing 80
or so and passes through a speed trap before he could hit the brakes. The officer is behind him now with lights flashing and a whoop whoop whoop of
his siren, which he clearly didn?t need; there was no one around except the two of them and he had already begun slowing. He stopped and waited for
the officer to approach.
?May I see your license and paperwork for the automobile sir?? The officer asked. ?Do know the limit here??
?I wasn?t paying attention.? He answered.
?What about the bottle of liquor on your seat??
?It?s for the hotel when I arrive.?
?Is the liquor on your breath and on the front of your shirt for the hotel as well? Please step out of the vehicle.?
The man struggled out and stood unevenly on the dirt beside the roadway. ?You are driving drunk in my country. There are two ways we can handle this
sir.? The officer said. ?You can relinquish your license, go to Ensenada, pay a fine and get your license back. Or you can pay me directly. I?ll
will save you the trouble and pay the fine for you.?
The man didn?t need to think this one through. He?d been here many times before. But he?d been drinking heavily all morning. ?How much you want? He
asked the officer.
?200 dollars.?
They argued. The man was angry. Too angry. He grabbed the paperwork out of the officer?s hands and tried to run for the car but was too drunk to
make much progress. The officer began to draw his pistol, realized how drunk the man was. He was behind him before he reached the car, slammed him
hard in the back of the head. The man dropped into the dirt, unconscious. The officer went through the man?s rear pockets, extracted a wallet,
liberated its contents and turned to go. He hesitated, turned back to the puddled heap of the drunk, checked his pulse. He looked for other traffic,
found none, and drew his cruiser into the southbound lane of the highway.
?How could that drunk be so stupid? He wondered to himself.
Glad this is fiction
jrbaja - 7-18-2005 at 04:21 PM
because it sounds more like the stretch between Baker and Las Vegas at this point in the tale.
Good story though!
Packoderm - 7-18-2005 at 07:30 PM
Was there a pulse?
Baja Bernie - 7-18-2005 at 07:38 PM
Hate to say it but there is a need for intervention here and soon.
Mike Humfreville - 7-18-2005 at 08:07 PM
Packoderm - There was a pulse.
Bernie - What do you mean?
geez
mulege marv - 7-18-2005 at 08:13 PM
its hard for me to relive this all over again, i thought this was behind me, after all i was young.
sorry, this is very good, didnt mean to make sport of it . go on !
[Edited on 7-19-2005 by mulege marv]
Mike Humfreville - 7-19-2005 at 12:52 PM
I know this story is very dark. But it's exemplary of all the bad habits available to us where ever we are. The real bad guy is the "hero." There
is no intention to badmouth the police or anyone else; only to point out that we all have decisions to make in our lives and that we often make the
wrong ones. The fact that our "hero" could not face the reality of his problem and tried to run opened the door to the officers bad habit. We have
to make decisions in our lives. This story is trying to point out the results of our making the wrong ones. It's depressing to write and very dark
but not trying to make any one person out as "bad." Only to provoke thought. Thanks for reading.
Mike
Eli - 7-19-2005 at 02:43 PM
Thanks for writing Mike, I keep reading, Sara