Portal Magazine: The Cop, the Clerk, and the Small Yellow Cat : By-Brent D. Seth

Portal Magazine

                                                  Volume 3 Issue 6
                                                     July 29th 2010

Vol. 3 Iss. 6
July 29th

Stevats' Chronicle

Current Issue

Issue Seven: CCSYC : ADAM : Symptom

The Cop, the Clerk, and the Small Yellow Cat- BY: Brent D. Seth

Chapter One

I still remember driving home that night in late November 1998. It was late, sometime after ten, and warmer than usual for this time of year, which was cause for the heavy fog. At least I could easily see the white line painted on the edge of the road, worn though it was. This highway did not see much traffic anymore, which is why I always came this way instead of using the interstate only a few miles further east. I liked being the only car on the road, even on dark, lonely nights like this.

Of course I wasn’t alone. Leo was sleeping on the passenger seat, curled up in a little yellow ball. This had been a long day for him; first a visit to the vet, and then spending the rest of the evening tormenting my sister’s stupid dogs. For such a small cat, he had a very big attitude.

Just before everything started to happen, I lit a cigarette—actually, I never got that far. I had taken a fresh pack out of my coat pocket and was trying to open it, which was proving difficult because the pull-tab was glued down to the rest of the cellophane, and I couldn’t get my fingernail under. But I was determined to get it open, so I fought the plastic with both hands, while barely holding the wheel with my forearms. By the time I noticed the taillights in front of me, it was already too late.

My breaks squealed as I slammed my food on the pedal. Really, they always squealed since the break pads had worn away long ago. The grinding metal was enough to slow us down so that the impact between us and the car ahead was not severe. The sound of the crash, however, seemed deafening, and was just hard enough to knock poor Leo onto the floor of the passenger side.

For a moment I was dazed. The car ahead had already pulled to the side of the road, but I was just sitting there. I looked down at Leo, who was unharmed, but looking at me with an indignant stare that only a feline can pull off successfully. Replacing the still unopened pack of cigarettes back in my coat, I restarted the car, since I had not had the presence of mind to hit the clutch at the same time as the break, and pulled off the road and parked behind the other car.

The other driver disembarked his vehicle, or his unit as I suspect he might have called it. My luck had apparently gone from generally poor to hopelessly bleak, and led me to the unhappy circumstance of having struck an unmarked police car. At least the car was driven by a cop, though the car looked ordinary; it didn’t even have one of those spotlights on the driver’s door. The purpose of the car itself wasn’t really an issue. The fact that I had nailed the thing from behind, and that it was under the pilotage of a policeman, however, was a critical point. And he did not look very happy as he approached.

I was not happy either, but assumed no one would be sympathetic. Even Leo looked annoyed as he jumped back into his seat. I rolled down the window, only half way to make sure the cat couldn’t go anywhere, and forced a smile.

“I am so sorry,” I said slowly. I figured there would be nothing gained by trying to claim innocence. My only hope, thin though it was, was mercy through complicity.

He studied me for a minute, the flashlight scanning the interior of my car and its shaking driver. Perhaps he was afraid of the small yellow cat returning his stare, or maybe the carpet of empty cigarette packs on the floor made me seem like a desperate killer, but for whatever reason, he stayed back several feet from my window.

“May I please see your driver’s license and proof of insurance?” Although it sounded like a request, I was fairly certain of the contrary.

I said nothing; I just obeyed and took the time to feel relieved that I actually did have insurance. Maybe not good insurance since the payments were surely behind. But I kept that fact to myself as I passed the cards through the window.

He stood examining the documents in the beam of his flashlight. For the first time I was able to get a look at him. He was only about forty-five years old, with a military haircut and a very dark tan. Obviously fake since this was Illinois in late November.

After he returned the documents, his free hand went to rest on his hip, right next to the holstered weapon. The gesture was overly dramatic as to make certain I was paying attention. I wasn’t impressed. He was a cop; of course he was armed. I suddenly had a suspicion that he spent a lot of time at home in front of a mirror, admiring himself wearing nothing but the weapon and his fake tan. I suppressed that thought quickly in fear of laughing.

“Sir, have you been drinking?” he asked, but once again I did not feel it was really a question.

I sighed internally--so much for mercy. “No, I have not been drinking. I was trying to light a cigarette.” I doubted that he would be impressed with that response. He looked as though he lived on a diet of whole wheat, raw eggs and creatine powder, whatever the hell that is.

“Please step out of the vehicle.”

Vehicle? Why not just say car, or fifteen-year-old rolling shit-box? At least it was a warm night.

I unfastened my safety belt—at least that would save me a few bucks by the time this over, I thought. Then I scooped up Leo in my right arm and opened the door.

“Put the animal down,” he said, stepping another pace back.

“He might wander off,” I said, “It’s dark and I wouldn’t be able to find him.”

“I’m not concerned about the animal. This is a serious situation, sir. I suggest you do as I say.”

Twice now he was referred to Leo as the animal. Was it impossible for him to identify the species? Was there some kind of little known police protocol that prevented him from calling a cat a cat? This man and I were not going to get along.

“I have a carrier in the back seat. May I please put him in there?” I was trying to sound respectful, but it probably just sounded pissy. However, he nodded reluctantly.

As I turned back to my car, I sensed him grasp his weapon. I rolled my eyes. I didn’t think a 36-year-old grocery clerk and his ten-pound cat were worthy of so much precaution.

I climbed in behind my driver’s seat and noticed someone’s Christmas lights twinkling in the distance. The fog must be lifting, I thought, since I had not noticed those decorations before, even though I had come from that direction.

Leo started to struggle as soon as he realized what I was planning. He hated his carrier, which is why I usually let him ride shotgun. But by the time I got the carrier door open, Leo was determined to not go inside, and he nearly slipped out of my grasp. I held him to my chest and whispered soothing words into his ears. Usually, he didn’t fight me this hard over anything, even the carrier.

While I tried to comfort Leo, out of the corner of my eye I saw the cop mover closer. Slowly, I turned my head. This was starting to fell really strange, and I wondered briefly if the guy was really a cop at all.

He was now standing so close to the car and me that all I could see of him was the area between his ankles and chest. His flashlight was lying in the road where he had last been standing. I drew Leo closer when I realized the cop had drawn his gun. But the weapon was not pointed at us, but at something back along the road.

Even through the mild night, every hair on my body stood tall as I leaned towards the back window. All I could see through the dense fog was the twinkling red and green Christmas lights. They were much brighter now, and before I could even evaluate the implications, we were swallowed by the glare, followed by a throbbing, low-pitch hum and finally the cold, dark embrace of sleepy fog.