6.
 "I haven't done anything." He was careful not to raise his voice. With a man like this, that would only make things worse. But he felt a pink wash of humiliation; his cheeks burned like the fire in the car.
"Don't go anywhere." The policeman turned and walked to his motorcycle.
Tom waited. Time went by and he squatted, then sat on the ground.
The fire department left and in the same dust cloud appeared a tow truck. The tow truck driver, who wore blue overalls, walked up to Tom: "You got insurance?"
"I'm afraid it lapsed."
The man, tough looking with leathery skin and a cloud of white hair jammed under a baseball cap, stared at Tom.
"It ran out a month or two ago."
"Who's gonna pay me for the tow? You got money in your pockets?" He eyeballed Tom as the policeman had.
"I can earn some money. I'm just trying to get a new start here. I can pay you, but it will take a little time."
The policeman returned. "Tom Smith, huh? You got an alias, Sir? Tom Smith has a clean record with the Kansas HP, but you all of a sudden don't look like Tom Smith to me. You got any money on you?"
"Nossir. Just the value of the car."
The officer looked at the charred, smoking wreck. "You figure that car's worth enough to keep me from arresting you for vagrancy?"
"Sir, I can be out of town in a couple of minutes. I'll never come back."
The truck driver said: "Who is going to pay for the tow? That's what I want to know. Quit dicking around here, Joe."
"Open the cigar box."
The officer used his ballpoint pen to stir things around. Photos, little knickknacks. "Okay." He flipped open his warrant book. "I'll tell you what I'm going to do. Antonio here is going to tow your car to the impound lot. I'm going to write you a ticket for unsafe driving. Cost you about $500. I'll tell you what I'm going to do. I'm going to keep the white copy and the yellow copy in my book here. I'm not going to turn them in. I'm going to issue you the pink copy. If I don't hear from Antonio the next ten days you paid him—."
"—A hundred bucks—" Antonio said.
"—Then I'm going to submit these to the department and the county clerk, and we'll be looking for you. Sir, do you understand what I just told you?"
"Yessir." Tom took the pink paper, a flimsy that smelled metallic, and folded it with dirty, shaking fingers.
The policeman went back to his motorcycle and drove away. The tow truck driver hooked up Tom's car and then pulled up. "Get in." He sniffed. "You're not oozin' anything, are you?"
Tom held up his hands. "Just my hands, I think."
The driver threw a roll of gauze on the seat between them. "Take what you need. You can wash up at the station." He shifted the truck into gear and pulled into traffic. In a milder tone he asked: "You ain't busted up inside or nothing, are you?"
"Just a few aches here and there. Thanks."
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Copyright © 2018 by Jean-Thomas Cullen, Clocktower Books. All Rights Reserved.
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