Soon, the officer pulled into Dairy Barne's lot, switched off his engine, and turned to face us. "If I didn't need to use the can, I'd take you straight downtown. I don't buy both of you getting locked in but I can't see a good motive. If your story doesn't check out, I'm going to be mighty peeved." He exited abruptly, slipped his nightstick in the belt's metal loop, and opened the rear door on my side. "No funny business. I'm in no mood to chase down witches and pirates in the middle of the night."
"How far could I go with no money, no jacket, and wearing these?" I pointed to my heels.
"Out." James motioned with his head.
I slid over, again showing more of my inner thighs that I'd planned for anyone to see ever again, other than at the pool. As I struggled to stand, the officer reached down and unlocked my cuff. Once the buccaneer got out, his restraint was likewise removed.
Then, a short lecture: "I'm serious. We go in, I use the can, we have a coffee, we talk a bit, and I'll check on your story. Anything goes haywire, and you'll find out what a Taser feels like."
I rubbed my left wrist. "I'll behave."
The pirate concurred.
As we entered the Dairy Barne, Corporal James nearly danced with anticipation of the restroom. But he had a problem. We were no longer restrained and I certainly couldn't enter the men's room with him. Or so I thought.
Corporal James evidently knew the staff here, because all he did was nod in the cashier's direction and Manager Kurtz nodded back. It didn't communicate much, but seemingly established that whatever was about to happen was official police business. The officer opened the men's room door, poked his head around the corner, and called out, "Anybody in here?" Nobody responded, so James stepped back and motioned for us to enter.
"Huh? In there? With you two guys?"
Kurtz had moved to the near end of his counter but did not intercede.
"Inside. And hurry." James nearly squeezed his knees together. "You promised no trouble. Get in… quick."
I shook my head vigorously. The only time I was in a men's room was at the county stadium after Verdeville won a regional high school championship. All the ladies' accommodations were occupied with long lines outside, and I had decided I'd waited long enough. On top of having to deal with the astonished male customers, I'd found the stink overpowering, the grime astounding, and the graffiti unbelievably odious. Having taken care of nature's call with only three gasps of breath the entire time, I strode from that facility and vowed "never again".
"Inside," ordered Corporal Bursting Bladder. "Now!"
I took a deep breath and darted inside, as though my speed could diminish the shock. Judging from the stench, that restroom was cleaned possibly once a week. Don't men have a sense of smell? Gauging from the pools of, uh, liquid on the floor, none of the Dairy Barne's male customers could aim into either of the old-fashioned sunken urinals, which seemed to be the driest spots in the entire tiled floor.
I stood as near the door as I could and faced the wall. James was already taking care of business. When the sound of the cop's urine stream began to make me feel faint, I whacked the air dryer button with my elbow to partly mask the noise. Didn't help much and hurt my elbow besides.
The corporal completed his primary task and moved to the sinks to rinse his hands. Didn't use any soap. I had taken about four breaths that entire time and each was partly screened by the black satin of my collar when I pulled it up. James opened the door and I burst out like a school kid beginning recess.
Everybody in the Dairy Barne watched intently, including the family with three young children. No one could have known exactly what transpired behind that door, but everyone would realize we weren't in there long enough for it to have been anything much. Kurtz nodded. It probably meant, Okay so far, but no more witches in my men's room.
The cop nodded back, so perhaps he understood. "Okay, let's have us a sit-down and see what's what." James motioned toward a booth. I didn't want to be that close to either of those guys, so I pulled over a chair and sat at the end of their table, which put me in plain view of everybody in the joint.
A very tired-looking waitress moved slowly toward our booth-plus-chair. With her pad and pen poised, she stared but didn't actually ask for our order. "I'm buying tonight, Ethel. Three coffees." He held up that many fingers as though the number needed visual aid.
Ethel put away her pad and trudged back to the counter, some twenty feet distant, where the manager conferred with her briefly. With little care about spillage, Ethel poured three coffees, paused to wipe an obviously filthy towel around the rim of one cup, and brought the tray slowly to our booth. "Manager don't want ya blockin' th' aisle."
Well, I certainly wasn't going to sit with the corporal so I perched on the very edge of the buccaneer's bench seat. The coffee cups looked slightly filmy and I prayed I hadn't gotten the one with the recent rim-swipe. I added sweetener — half a pink packet — and stirred with a greasy fork. I took a sip — surprisingly good. Warmed all the way down my gullet and reminded me I was also hungry. I looked toward the counter at the glass rack with pie slices. Chocolate! Oh, that would be so nice right now. But no money. And I knew this officer wouldn't spring for it. I couldn't very well ask Captain Blood.
The swashbuckler sipped his black coffee a few times and then stared into the rising steam. "So, Corporal James, is there a way you can check our names from here, then let us go back to our vehicles at the armory? It'd be nice to put this entire thing behind us as soon as possible." He didn't use the word "matey" even once. No "avast" either.
Touching the cup reminded me of the splinter in my finger so I worked on it inelegantly with my teeth. Splinters keep hurting until you pull them out because they brush against everything.
The pirate watched for several moments before he pulled out one of those little red knives with attachments. Not the one with ninety-nine gizmos. His just had four or five; one was a tiny pair of tweezers which slipped down into the handle. He extracted those and handed them over without comment.
I sighed heavily. How long was he going to watch me gnaw on my finger before he remembered his tweezers?
James watched the knife activity as he dumped several packets of sugar into his coffee, borrowed the fork I'd used, and then slurped his brew noisily. Finally he addressed the question on the table. "I'm still working on that. I'm off-duty, uh, about ten minutes ago. But I've already called-in the enter and remain, and they're expecting two perps in cuffs."
"But we're not really perpetrators. Since we're just two unfortunate citizens locked in by mistake, that would be an easy explanation. Plus no paperwork for you. Just chalk it up to an oversight by the festival organizers." The pirate was eloquent. "In fact, on Monday morning I can write a letter to the editor criticizing them for locking us in. That puts everything above board."
James mulled it over as he slurped.
I didn't want my name or circumstances in the newspaper, but that would certainly be better than a Police Station booking. When I leaned forward slightly to sip my coffee, the table top pushed up my girls over the cups of that very uncomfortable rig. It caught the corporal's attention each time. Memo to Kristen: burn bustier.
"Okay, let's have some names." From his chest pocket, James retrieved a pen, clicked it a few times for practice, and struggled to get a ticket pad from the rear of his trousers. "Pirate first."
He cleared his throat. "Ryan Hazzard."
It sounded made-up.
Then he gave his address, on the west side of town, beyond the hospital area. Hazzard also pulled the driver's license from his wallet and slid it across the stained table top.
The officer keyed his mic and transmitted what he'd read from the license. "This address doesn't match. It's even a different county."
"Oh, right, haven't changed it yet." Pirate Hazzard shrugged. "Only been here since early September. New in town… you know."
"Yeah. Well, you got ninety days from the time you move here to get a new license. Or else."
I wanted to ask what the else penalty was, but I wisely kept quiet. I did, however, finally extract my splinter and handed the tweezers back to Hazzard. He plucked his own splinters adroitly on the first try and then re-inserted the handy tool into his knife's special chamber.
Corporal James held out his hand. "Concealed weapon. You can get it back from the desk sergeant."
Hazzard looked like he wanted to argue, but he didn't.
We all drank more coffee while the officer waited. The dispatcher evidently flashed him back. James nodded as he listened, and then replied. "No, I didn't see any actual vandalism, but there was a few lights they left on. No. Different county, way over to the west." He squinted at Hazzard's license and repeated the number to the dispatcher. "No, they weren't actually doing anything physical when I spotted them. Just standing outside the back door. No, I didn't say he was a pirate. Just wearing a get-up. You know, costume party. Captain somebody." James rolled his eyes for our benefit. "No, she's not a pirate, she's a witch. No. Witch with a 'W'."
"It's just a costume, you know." I wanted that clear for the benefit of those young children in the nearby booth.
"Yeah, dressed like a witch. Halloween witch. It was that big party out at the old armory. No, I didn't go… working. Yeah, locked in, supposedly. I know, I don't buy it either. Claim they fell asleep. No, not together. She was in a cage of some kind. I'll get back to that. Each one fell asleep they say, and when the other folks took off, they were left behind. I don't know either. Sounds fishy, but what would they steal from a Halloween party? No, nothing on them. Well, the guy had a pocket knife and a plastic dagger, but he probably brought them in with him. No, she hardly has any clothes at all. I mean, this costume's pretty skimpy. You know what I mean." Then he chuckled. "I'll tell you later."
Every ear in the Dairy Barne was no doubt tuned to the corporal's conversation. One could only imagine how many at the station listened at the other end. James turned his attention back to me. "Okay, let's have your name."
"Kristen Prima. 506 Fleming Lane." It was a little neighborhood off Adams Street, on the north end of town.
He scribbled it down. "Can you prove that?" He obviously meant I.D.
I shook my head. "My purse got locked in the armory. When I finally got out of that cage, I was in a hurry and forgot about my stuff 'til the outside door slammed behind me." It sounded a bit too breathless and I knew I needed to slow down. I started sniffling again — couldn't help it. How do I prove I'm bona fide? "Look, I work at the mall branch of Verdeville Bank. I've probably cashed a check for you before sometime. Maybe when I was still downtown."
His head shook sideways as his chin pulled up reflectively.
Evidently not.
"Okay, okay. Go over why you fell asleep in there."
It took me a moment to collect myself. "I was exhausted. I've been working my buns off with this stupid festival and all I got out of it is sore feet, bruises from this lousy outfit, and the whole nightmare with you and this pirate. All because neither Ellen nor Karla could be bothered to check on me before they left the armory." I was still able to speak, but tears rolled down my cheeks and some landed in my coffee. A little salt flavoring won't hurt.
"All right. Hold on a minute." James called in my name and address as he'd scribbled them on his pad. It took a moment for them to get back. "They don't have a match in the database."
"Which database? If it's the one for criminals, there's no match because I've never done anything." Well nothing I was caught for.
"I don't know. I can maybe let the pirate go, but you don't have anything to prove you're who you say you are."
"Well, drive me back to the armory and get somebody to let me in. I'll prove it when I get my purse out of that cage."
The corporal's brain must have made several rough calculations. "That'd chew up a couple of hours, at least. Wait on somebody at the alarm company to reach somebody with a key, and wait for them to get out there, and have to explain everything over and over. Then they'd have to check whether you stole or damaged anything. We might be out there all night."
"Then let me go and I'll bring you my I.D. on Monday morning." Seemed logical to me. I took another sip of coffee and waited.
"How do I know you'll show up?" The skeptical mind of a small city officer would probably not be convinced even if I'd instantly posted bond. He tapped his small tablet with the clicker end of his pen.
"I might have a solution." Buccaneer Ryan. "Write her a ticket and she'll have to show up."
"Ticket for what?" I could have clawed his eyeballs. "I didn't do anything but give up nearly thirty hours of my time for this community's festival and you want to repay me with a ticket?" I fumed. "What charge do you propose for this bogus ticket, Captain Blood?"
"Impersonating a witch during Halloween." Hazzard smiled.
"If you write me a ticket, he gets one too!" I poked Hazzard's arm.
"I can't write you up for putting on costumes." James apparently had an idea, however. "But I sure can ticket you for that enter and remain I already called in." His lips curled in a self-congratulating fashion. "Yeah, that'll work." He pointed to Hazzard. "I can let you go with a ticket and I'll get on home."
"Same for her?" Hazzard's chin moved my direction.
He hesitated with pen poised. "Since you vouch for her, okay. You can work out the rest of this tale with the judge next week."
"What's the fine for entering and remaining? Just in case we can't convince the judge." Hazzard beat me to the same question.
"Not allowed to say. Depends on the judge anyhow. You'll probably do better with Judge Webb than Gunther." James wrote something hurriedly on two stiff pages, tore them out, and put away his pen and pad. "But even if you can't convince the judge, it could be just a suspended sentence, unless the witch comes up with any priors. At the worst it might be a small fine or maybe even community service."
"You mean like spending two weeks working on a Halloween festival?" My icy irony soared over their heads.
After another long slurp of coffee, James keyed his lapel mic and consulted with someone at his station. It seemed like the corporal was making a good case on his end of the conversation. It was late. More than half of the story seemed plausible. The pirate was a good talker; the witch had a temper but didn't really act like a hooker. Et cetera. Officer James ended his transmission and nodded toward us.
"Okay, it's settled then?" The pirate shifted in his seat. "We can go?"
James held out his hands, palms up.
"Go where? My car's at the armory and my key's locked way inside the motor pool!" My inner Kristen wanted to shriek, but I kept her quiet.
"Corporal, can you run me and her back to the armory?"
The officer looked at his watch and quickly eyed the four remaining slices of pie. He signaled for the bill. As Ethel trudged over, James settled things with us. "I guess this is okay, but lemme give you some advice. Don't you wear any costumes to court next week. Those judges hate smart-alecks. 'Specially Judge Gunther." He turned to the waitress. "Ethel, gimme that pumpkin pie to go."
She nodded. "Pay at th' register." Our server trudged back toward the counter and reported loudly to Kurtz. "Three coffees here an' pumpkin ta go."
We all got up and Hungry James hurried toward the pie.
Captain Blood left the tip.
I came this close to palming that dollar. But I figured Ethel would chase me down for it.