Rueben saw the pulsing red lights reflecting off the trees before he rounded the curve, and for one gut-wrenching moment, considered braking and turning the car around. The chase car parked in the greater shadows to his right convinced him of the folly of that. Swallowing the beery, acidic gorge that rose burning into his throat, he slowed for the roadblock that the police had craftily engineered.
Two patrol cars facing opposite directions sat in the center of the road, the overheads rotating in a riot of red light. Beyond, a second chase car also crouched in the darkness, awaiting anyone from the opposite direction who might wish to avoid the police. Rueben came to a stop behind one other car, and watched as an officer (he couldn’t tell who due to the glare) seemed to chat amiably with the driver. Rueben used the few moments’ respite to collect himself.
No one saw anything, he reassured himself. They must have found the body sometime this afternoon, or evening, and conducted the autopsy. That’s why they’re here now. They know the approximate time he died and this is just a routine roadblock to interview everyone who normally passes at this time. They don’t know anything, otherwise they wouldn’t be bothering with this.
The officer waved the other car on and Rueben eased forward. Damn! He didn’t recognize this kid! He must be a rookie. For Christ’s sake! Of all the times to draw the wild card! He could see the kid’s brow puckering up as he played his flashlight over the damage to Rueben’s car. He shot his hand up, as if to say “far enough,” and began walking the length of the passenger side, his head at a tilt.
A sudden wave of hilarity came over Rueben and he could barely contain a chuckle. “Look, kid. Look all you want,” he whispered.
The young officer had worked his way entirely around the car and had now arrived at the driver’s window. “Good evening, sir,” he greeted Rueben curtly. “May I ask what happened with your car?”
Rueben didn’t like the rookie’s no-nonsense attitude and wasn’t used to not being recognized by the officers — it unsettled him, made him feel like just another civilian, or worse, and his mood quickly evaporated. He tried to smile, but felt his cheek muscles twitching and let it drop.
“A deer,” he replied just as curtly. “I hit a baby deer.”
“A deer?” The young officer looked dubious, and his eyes drifted to the damaged headlamp.
“Yeah... a deer,” Rueben repeated, beginning to enjoy the game, that overwhelming feeling of euphoria returning unbidden. “You know... Bambi.” The smile arose naturally now and he could feel laughter bubbling dangerously close to the surface. He could see the kid didn’t like it, but was powerless to stop it.
“And when did this happen, sir?” The rookie wasn’t going to let it be.
“Night before last,” Rueben replied laconically, the smile threatening to split his face. “There’s a report. Blaise took it... Officer Lamanna, that is,” Rueben added smugly.
The rookie seemed challenged by this and took a step back. “Wait here, sir,” he directed, and marched off toward the other patrol car. Rueben placed a hand over his mouth to suppress the giggles.
Presently, he made out the boy, in the company of an older, larger officer, stumping back. He couldn’t believe his luck (then again, yes he could): It was Blaise! Rueben was so pleased with the turn of events that he shouted out a greeting and slapped the veteran officer on the shoulder as he leaned down to the window.
“Rueben, what the hell are you doin’ out, I’d a’ thought you’d learned your lesson the other night,” he joked. Then he took a sudden step back and began to fan the air in front of his face. “Whoa... so you did take my advice, huh?”
Rueben felt momentarily sheepish and grinned stupidly at Blaise. “I’m on my way home,” he offered weakly.
The older officer leaned back in and grinned at him. “Listen, you’re damn lucky I’m here — I switched shifts with Billy MacDougal as a favor, otherwise, this young lion,” he tossed his head back at the now-sullen younger officer, “would be locking your ass up for DWI... pronto.”
“I appreciate it, Blaise, I really do,” Rueben gushed.
Blaise lowered his voice to a stage whisper and hooked his thumb over his shoulder. “Thought he caught a killer when you pulled up with all that damage.”
In just the nick of time, Rueben remembered that nothing had been in the news. “What’s this all about,” he asked innocently, with a sweep of his hand indicating the roadblock.
“Hit-and-run, old son, hit-and-run. Some son of a bitch run down a bicyclist and left him for the flies. Hell of a thing,” Blaise intoned soberly. “Hell of a thing.” He paused dramatically. “In fact, you oughta know ’im. He was a next-door neighbor of yours, if I’m not mistaken.”
Rueben’s mouth had gone suddenly cottony and dry. “You’re kidding... who?”
“A scruffy-looking character name of York... Danny York. Know ’im?”
“Yeah, of course I do. That’s a shame.” Rueben did his best to sound sincere.
“Yeah... well, since I’m here, let me do a walk-around to satisfy the rookie,” Blaise announced, and began to walk in front of the car playing his flashlight along its surface.
Rueben almost protested, but stopped short. He felt the eyes of the rookie watching his face. It didn’t matter, he reassured himself, it didn’t matter.
Blaise sauntered along, reaching the far side of the car and beginning to work his way to the rear. He stopped almost opposite Rueben and appeared to be studying something. Rueben felt his breathing get shallow and rapid. What was he looking at? What could he possibly have missed?
Blaise tapped suddenly on the passenger window and indicated that Rueben should roll it down. Rueben leaned over and noticed that his hand was shaking as he worked the crank. He prayed Blaise couldn’t see it.
“What happened to your mirror, here?” The officer tapped the outside rearview and it spun uselessly on its axis. “I don’t remember this, Rueben.”
Rueben shrugged, unable to speak for a moment; he had no idea what his expression must be. “It was there, Blaise,” he lied as steadily as he could. “The day you came over, it was that way.” For the life of him, Rueben couldn’t think how he could have missed it. Danny’s bike, or body, must have struck it and broke the retaining screws, and yet, it somehow remained in place. Hell, rust must have held it in place for a little longer! For all he knew, it came dislodged when he ran over a pebble a quarter-mile back!
Blaise glanced guiltily past Rueben to the young officer waiting and whispered, “Hell, you think I just missed it?” He paused again, his seamed face a mask of concentration. “Wouldn’t surprise me,” he exhaled, at last. “I’m not a young buck like that one.” He nodded at the rookie. “Well, straight home, Rueben, I mean it, okay?”
“Okay, Blaise,” he answered quietly, though he wanted to shout to the skies.
With a quick glance of contempt at the younger officer, Rueben put his car in gear. “Seat belt,” the rookie snapped and pointed at his chest. Rueben ignored him and drove away.
As soon as he was out of sight of the roadblock he pressed the accelerator to the floor and began to howl and bang the roof with his fist. “I knew it,” he shouted over the cool wind whistling through the open window. “I knew it! There is a God... There is justice! The meek shall inherit the... sonofabitch!”
The deer seemed to be waiting: standing in his lane as he rounded the curve and gazing calmly at his oncoming vehicle. For Rueben, everything slowed down inside his head: He watched as his hands seized the wheel and incredibly, wrongly, wrenched it hard to the right. It was instinct to avoid something in the road, but it was such a mistake in this case, he thought with remarkable calm. His foot had barely touched the brake when he rammed the elm. Worse, his old car had no airbags, and he had neglected to fasten his seat belt as the young officer directed.