You couldn’t use all the gears except on the highway; and when he pushed down on the gas he felt the power pull him back in the leather seat. They went to the grocery store on Esplanade and bought a half case of beer. They put it on the front seat between them. Wally opened one of the warm beers on the bumper of the car by putting the cap against the metal edge and knocking it down with the palm of his hand until it popped loose. The beer foamed up over the front of his coat. He upended the bottle and drank fast, his throat working, to avoid spilling any more. Avery put the car into gear and pulled away from the curb and made a right turn into the Quarter.
“One-way street,” Wally said.
Avery stepped on the brake and put the car in reverse. He backed into a driveway to turn around. The exhaust throbbed against the stucco wall of the building. An automobile was coming down the street towards them. Avery waited for it to pass before he pulled out. It stopped in front of them and blocked the driveway. The headlights went out, and Avery saw the city police emblem on the door. He could hear the police calls coming over the mobile radio inside. The officer got out and walked towards them. He had a flashlight in his hand.
“Put the beer under the seat,” Avery said.
“There’s no room.”
“Cover it with your coat.”
Too late, old pal.”
The officer shone the large three-battery flashlight at them and into the car. The bottles were amber in the light. The officer was young and looked as though he hadn’t been on the police force long. He wore a tight, well-fitting light blue shirt and dark blue trousers with a black stripe down the side. He had a pistol and holster on his hip and a thick leather belt with the.45 cartridges protruding through the loops and handcuffs in a black leather case and a short billy with a spring and a lead weight in it. He was tall with dark hair and athletic features. There was a pair of sunglasses in his shirt pocket.
“Do you know this is a one-way street?” he said.
“I didn’t see the sign,” Avery said.
The officer shined the light on the bottles.
“Have you been drinking?”
“Not in the car.”
“Let me see your driver’s license, please.”
Avery took out his billfold and opened the celluloid viewers.
“Take it out of the wallet, please.”
Avery gave it to him. The officer looked at it under the flashlight.
“This expired last year, Broussard.”
“I didn’t look at the date on it.”
“I say, I’m the only one drinking, officer. This fellow is quite all right,” Wally said.
“You’ll have to come down to the station with me.”
“I’m not drunk,” Avery said.
“You have liquor in your possession and you’ve been drinking.”
“Look, couldn’t you give me the ticket and let it go?”
“Both of you get in my car, please.”
“I say,” Wally said.
The officer opened the door for Avery to get out.
“Let’s go,” he said.
“You can’t get me on a D.W.I. I’m not drunk.”
“He’s disgustingly sober,” Wally said.
“Don’t make it hard on yourself, Broussard.”
“I haven’t had more than four beers this evening.”
“Get out of the car.”
“I’m not going to jail for a D.W.I.”
“You just have to go to night court and pay your fine.”
“We’re absolutely broke. That means the can, doesn’t it?” Wally said.
“Come on, Broussard.”
“All right, but I want a test. Do you understand? I’m not going to jail on a drunk charge.”
“Have you been in jail before?”
“No.”
“Put away your beer and come along, too,” he said to Wally.
“Righto. Just a moment. I never leave an unfinished drink about.” Wally drank down the last of the beer in the bottle.
“I want the test right away. As soon as I get in the station,” Avery said.
“You’ll get it.”
“No jail, either. You understand.”
“Both of you get out.”
“Let go of my shoulder,” Avery said.
“I told you to get out.”
“Take your hand off me.”
“You’re making trouble for both of us. Now climb out of there.”
Avery knocked his hand away.
“All right, stand up,” the officer said. “You heard me. Put your hands against the car.”
“Isn’t this a bit absurd?” Wally said.
“Put your hands on the car and lean on them, Broussard.”
Avery stood with his feet wide apart and his weight on his arms. The officer shook him down carefully. He kept one leg inside Avery’s as he patted with his hands along his trousers so he could kick his feet out from under him if he attempted anything.
“You’re next. Lean against the car,” he said to Wally.
“You haven’t any abnormal complexes, have you?”
“Do what I tell you.”
Wally turned around and placed his hands on the car fender. The officer searched his pockets.
“Get in the back seat of my car,” he said.
The inside of the police car was fitted with a thick wire screen which was attached to the roof and bolted to an iron bar that ran along behind the driver’s seat so that the driver was protected from anyone behind him. Wally and Avery got in, and the officer pulled the car up to unblock the driveway and went back to move Suzanne’s sports car out into the street and park it by the curb.
As they rode down to the police station Avery began to feel afraid. It was an empty sick feeling in his stomach, the same sick feeling he had when he was taken to the work camp on the train in handcuffs and a prison guard met him and the deputy sheriff at the depot and they drove down the dirt road in the pickup truck and he had looked out the window and had seen the white barracks through the pines and the denim uniforms of the men and the high fence with the strands of barbed wire at the top. He felt in his pocket for his cigarettes and found that he had only the package of Virginia Extra he had bought earlier in the evening. He tried to roll a cigarette and the tobacco shook out of the paper. He took a cigarette from Wally, but the smoke tasted bad in his mouth. He tried to remain reasonable and to think of the best thing to do, and then he knew that there was nothing to do; they had him and maybe they would fine him and let him go, or someone might check and discover that he was an exconvict, and that would mean the jail without bond and a trial for parole violation and then the ride on the train back to the work camp and two more years on the gang.
They walked up the steps of the police station, a brown brick building with yellow shades on the windows. There was a big marble corridor inside and spittoons were placed along the walls, and at the end there were two varnished swinging doors with panes of frosted glass in them. Wally and Avery and the officer went through the doors into a large room where there were several desks, filing cabinets, spittoons, and telephones. There were only two men at the desks. One of them was in uniform. The officer told Avery and Wally to sit down on the bench by the wall and wait. Avery rolled another cigarette and the tobacco fell out the ends, and when he lighted it the paper flared up and made the smoke hot in his throat, and finally the cigarette broke apart in his hand. The officer made out his report and started to leave.
“Am I being charged with a D.W.I.?” Avery said.
The policeman didn’t answer him and walked back out through the wood doors.
The officer in uniform at the desk came over to them with some papers and a fountain pen in his hand. He had a square, blunt, red face and brown hair that had begun to thin and recede at the forehead. He sat down beside them on the bench and crossed his leg and held the papers on his thigh to write.