“Good evening, officer,” I say, using my most polite, law-abiding-citizen tone.
The cop looks serious in his dark uniform, bulletproof vest, and heavy boots.
“Evening, ma’am. Where are you coming from?”
“Cherry Hill, New Jersey. I was there for a business meeting.”
“And where are you headed?”
“To Animal Heaven. I found a stray dog.”
Mr. Mutt barks on cue.
The officer leans in closer to the window and his nostrils flare.
“What’s this smell?” he asks.
“Oh, I had an accident at the gas station. Spilled gas all over myself.”
“Isn’t Animal Haven in the opposite direction?”
That’s when the map app rats me out. “Please make a U-turn and proceed to the route.”
“I suppose you’re right.”
“Why did you turn this way?”
“Er… mmm…” To lose your tail doesn’t seem like a great answer. “I got confused.”
“Is this vehicle yours, ma’am?”
“No, no. It’s rented.”
“I’ll need to see your license and the rental agreement.”
“Sure.”
I take my driver’s license out of my wallet and search in my bag for the rental contract. It’s not there.
“Is there a problem?” the cop asks.
“I can’t find the contract.”
“Is that so?”
“I’m sure I had it in here somewhere.”
“Ma’am, please step out of the car.”
“What? No. I have it. It’s here somewhere, I swear.”
I drop the bag on the passenger seat and make a quick dash for the glove compartment. Maybe I put it in there without realizing.
That’s when everything goes south. The officer jumps back and grabs the handle of the gun strapped to his belt.
“Stop!” he yells.
Hand still on the compartment handle, I freeze.
“Place both hands on the wheel,” the policeman instructs me. “Slowly, and where I can see them.”
What the hell? What does he think, that I have a gun hidden in my glove compartment? Oh! That must be exactly what he’s thinking.
I comply and place both hands on the wheel. “You people are unbelievable. I was just searching for the rental agreement, and I don’t have a gun. For your information, I’m against firearms.”
“Ma’am, please step out of the car. And from now on, only slow movements.”
“This is ridiculous. What are you going to do? Arrest me? I’ve done nothing wrong!”
The officer not-so-patiently sighs. “Ma’am, your car plate is registered to a blue Toyota Corolla, whereas you’re driving a gray Hyundai Elantra. The plate recognition camera picked up the discrepancy as we drove behind you. And you’re transporting an unrestrained animal apparently soaked in gasoline. Once again, please step out of the car.”
“I’ve told you the damn car is rented. It’s not my fault if the rental company put the wrong plate on. And I’ve told you I just found the dog at a gas station and that I was bringing him to a shelter.”
“But then we flash you and instead of pulling over you turn in the opposite direction. Don’t make me ask again, please step out of the car.”
The brute is only missing an “or else” at the end of the sentence. “Or what? What are you going to do?”
“Ma’am, step out of the car or you’ll force me to call reinforcements.” The officer taps the walkie-talkie strapped to his vest, close to his shoulder. “As of right now, you’re resisting arrest.”
“You’re seriously arresting me? For what?” I open the door adding, “You’re a big, uniformed bully.” I get out of the car. “You can’t do this. I’m an honest, tax-paying American citizen.”
“Then you’ve nothing to fear.”
“This is still a free country. You can’t arrest me for no reason, it’s an abuse of power.”
“No, it’s not. Please turn around, ma’am.”
“Why?”
“Turn around.”
I do as he says.
“Now place your hands on the back of your head.”
“Are you handcuffing me? Is it really necessary?”
“Yes, ma’am. And I suggest you fully cooperate.”
“Are you going to tell me I have the right to remain silent next?”
“You most definitely have that right, ma’am.”
***
After a short journey spent handcuffed in the backseat of a police car with Mr. Mutt by my side, the cops bring me to a police station. Another officer asks me questions to fill out a personal information sheet and confiscates my watch and bag. A third policeman makes me sign a property log for my personal effects. No one takes my fingerprints or a mug shot, leaving me to wonder if I’ve really been arrested or if I’m only being held in custody.
Will I have a criminal record after today? For what? Renting a car? For saving a dog’s life?
No one answers my questions. A female officer escorts me down a depressing cellblock and shows me into a cell. Mr. Mutt follows me around and nobody seems to mind so we’re locked up together. Luckily, we’re alone. No crazy cellmates.
I sit on a small cot bed—the only piece of furniture in this dump. Mr. Mutt lies next to me resting his head on my thighs. Without my watch, it’s hard to tell how much time is passing. How long will they keep us here? Will I get to make the famous phone call? Who should I call? I really don’t wish for anyone to see me behind bars, especially not when I’m so dirty and smelly. I can’t call my parents, they’d get a heart attack. Nikki. I’ll call Nikki and ask her to find me a lawyer. It’s my civil right to see a lawyer! The police can’t keep me here indefinitely.
The rental company is so screwed. I’m so going to sue them. This mess is their fault! They mix up license plates and I end up in jail. Jail, more a tiny concrete hellhole with bars and no air. I’m getting cabin fever. I get up and pace around. Not that it helps. I can only take three steps wall-to-wall. How do people spend years caged like this? I’ve only been here a few hours and I’m already panicking. I need to know how long they’ll keep me here.
Against my better judgment, I grab the bars and place my face as close between two as I can without actually touching skin to metal. I peek down the hall to see if I can yell for someone to come explain my position.
That’s when Richard appears on the hall threshold holding a folder.
“Well, well, well,” the boss says, walking toward me.
It takes me a minute to believe he’s not a hallucination. Of all the people I didn’t want to see me at rock bottom, my impossibly sexy boss definitely tops the list.
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
“They finally tracked down the rental agreement, which was in the company’s name.” Richard stops in front of my cell. “So NYPD called the office to verify your story. Honestly, when the police called to say one of my employees had been arrested, I never imagined it’d be the office’s Miss Goody Two-shoes.”
Is that how Richard sees me? Like a prissy princess? To be fair, I spent years trying to cultivate exactly that image. Still, his words hurt.
“I’m a victim of the system,” I complain.
“Let’s see.” Richard opens the folder. “Unruly conduct, resisting arrest, disorderly person’s offense under animal cruelty laws,” he reads the charges against me. “And driving with the wrong license plate!”
“The car is rented. And I was rescuing the dog from a guy who wanted to send him to pest control.” Mr. Mutt barks his support. “Also, I haven’t resisted arrest, as unjust and unnecessary as it was.”
“It says in here you called the police officer trying to take you in ‘a big, uniformed bully’ and that you accused him of abuse of power.”
“Can you please wipe that stupid”—lips-magnet—“grin from your face?”
“I’m sorry, but this is just too fun. Of all the dumb things you had on that list of yours, I never thought you’d tackle the getting-arrested one.”
“You know about the list?” I ask in horror, releasing the bars and taking a step back.
Richard nods, still grinning.
I slap my forehead. “The night we met. So I didn’t just talk about a list in general, I showed you the actual thing?”
“That you did.”
“But you didn’t tell anyone else about it, did you?”
“No, I promise. But me knowing is the least of your problems.” He taps the folder. “I believe the city of New York now has it on record.”
“Not funny.”
“Not joking. It was in your bag.” Richard searches the file with his eyes. “Item twenty-one, a crumpled sheet of paper.”
I scowl at him. The sheer humiliation doesn’t matter now. I’ll worry about never being able to look the boss in the eye ever again later. First, let’s get out of prison.
“Has everything been cleared with the plate?” I ask again.
“Yes, the rental company admitted it was their mistake.”
“So they know I’m innocent! Why am I still in here?”
Richard can’t help his lips from curling up as he speaks. “There’s still the matter of the other misdemeanors.”
“So what?” I collapse on the cot bed. “Are they keeping me here overnight?”
“The officer who took you in kindly agreed to let you off with a warning if… you apologize.”
I shoot off the bed and grab the bars again. “Apologize? Apologize? They mistreat me. Arrest me for no good reason without reading me my rights. Then they keep me locked in here for hours without letting me speak to a lawyer or make a phone call… and I should apologize?”
“The officer had probable cause; a Miranda warning wasn’t necessary. And since you haven’t really been charged with anything yet, you didn’t need a lawyer.”
“Since when did you become such a legal expert? You’re not even American.”
“I came to the rescue with a lawyer friend. She’s waiting for me outside.”
She? I get a mental picture of a sleek, attractive femme fatale in stiletto heels. Like Kim Basinger in LA Confidential. Another friend.
“So what are my options?”
Richard shrugs. “If I were you, I’d suck it up, apologize, and go home to shower.” He flares his nostrils for emphasis. “But if you want to spend the night in here with your furry inmate and face real charges, be my guest.”
“Easy for you to say. You weren’t mistreated.”
“Now, you’d better decide,” Richard says, turning his head toward the main entrance. “The officer in question is coming. Want me to wait and give you a lift home?”
Hell, no. The less time the boss spends with me while I’m this messed up the better. And I can’t stand to meet his lawyer “friend” in this state either. “No, thank you. I’ll call my roommate.”
“See you tomorrow at the office, then.”
Richard winks and walks away.
Mr. Mutt barks.
“I know,” I say, patting the dog. “I like him, too.”
***
By the time I get out of jail, it’s already dark outside and the animal shelter is closed. The rental company has retrieved the car from the location of my arrest, and there’s no cab or Uber in the world who’d take me for a ride while I’m this dirty. Not to mention the gasoline-soaked pup. Unfortunately, Nikki doesn’t have a car—I only used that excuse to get rid of Richard. So I—we—have to walk home. Luckily, this morning I picked shoes comfortable enough to drive in so they’re not too bad to walk in either, and my house is only a few blocks away.
On the way there, I stop at a Petsmart and buy all the dog-grooming products they carry. At home, I give Mr. Mutt a very long bath. Then I give the bath a thorough cleaning before finally showering myself, hoping to wash away not only the dirt, but today’s humiliation as well. I’m dry and wearing PJs before Nikki comes home.
“Is that a dog on our couch?” my roommate asks as she comes into the apartment.
She’s not wrong. I spent the last twenty minutes losing another battle of wills. It started with me saying Mr. Mutt wasn’t allowed on the couch and ended with the puppy nestled in my lap.
“Yes.”
“I thought you weren’t an animal person. I’ve been begging you to get a cat for ages, you always said the house was too small for a pet, and now you bring home a dog?” Nikki sits on the coffee table, staring at us accusingly. “Does he have a name? Where did you find him?”
“I call him Mr. Mutt.”
“That’s a horrible name.”
“And I found him at a Chevron…”
Mr. Mutt barks.
“…gas station. What’s up with you?” I ask the dog.
Nikki studies him. “He barked when you said Chevron.”
The pup barks again.
“Chevron?” I repeat.
And again.
“I think we settled that horrible Mr. Mutt name, right, Chevron?” Nikki asks.
“Ar-rooff!”
Nikki finally pats him. “So are we keeping him?”
“No.”
An excruciating howl rips through the room.
“Oh, I forgot,” I say. “The pup speaks English.”
“Right,” Nikki says skeptically. “So what is he doing here if he isn’t staying?”
“The plan was to drop him at Animal Heaven, but by the time I got out of jail the shelter was closed. I couldn’t leave him on the street.”
Nikki is about to pet Chevron again when she stops, hand in midair. “Wait, reverse. Jail?”
“Yeah, jail…” I tell her of my afternoon of misery.
“Aw, so now Mr. Hot Sticker even saved you from prison.”
“Richard didn’t save me from prison. He just had to be there as a witness, and used it as an excuse to hook up with a lady lawyer.”
Nikki scrunches her face. “Ouch.”
“I don’t care.”
“Of course you don’t. Just as much as we aren’t keeping the puppy.”
“Woof!”