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“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.
“What is your name?” he said to Wally.
“Wally Laughlin.”
“Age.”
“Twenty-five.”
“Why did you give the officer some trouble?”
“I assure you I didn’t. The fellow seemed intent on making a fool of himself.”
“That’s enough of that.”
“What am I being charged with?”
“You’re not charged with anything. You can go if you like. Just try to cooperate with the police next time.”
“Why was I brought down here?”
“You’d better go, son.”
“Do you want me to do anything?” he said to Avery.
“What time is night court?”
“Eleven o’clock,” the officer said.
“Go tell Suzanne what happened. Ask her if she can raise the fine,” Avery said.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to stay around?” Wally said.
“Just see Suzanne.”
“We’ll get the car and come back before eleven.”
“Thanks.”
