Hey all! I know, I know, I have two other stories on here that still aren't finished yet, but I got the inspiration for a new one and decided I may as well start writing and posting it! And this one has a bit of a twist that my other ones don't have--a focus on watersports! So if you're into that sort of thing, or if you like the other stories I have on here, I think you'll really like this one!
Without further ado...
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Part 1
“You got any weapons on you?”
I shake my head. “I’ve been known to stun people with my good looks and charm. Does that count?”
He scoffs. “Nice one, jackass. Spread ‘em.”
It’s past midnight, and I’m in the parking lot of the only bar I could find in the tiny town of Checotah, Oklahoma, pressed against the side of a patrol car, hands cuffed, and being frisked by a cop. He runs his hands over my shirt and pants, checking me up and down for anything dangerous. When his hands get to my inner thighs, he spends a little more time there than I think is necessary. As soon as I feel his hand graze my balls, I turn my head until I can see him out of the corner of my eye. “Watch it, dude.”
He pulls his hands away and opens the back door of the car. “All right, in you go.” He puts a hand on my head and forcefully pushes me into the back. Seconds later, he gets in the driver’s seat and pulls out of the parking lot.
When the car gets up to speed, he speaks up. “So, what’s your story, dude? Why are you causing trouble in my town?” Instead of answering, I try maneuvering my arms so the handcuffs aren’t cutting into my wrists as bad. He turns his head to check on me, then looks back at the road. “Choosing to remain silent, huh? That’s fine, it’s your right.” After a few moments, he continues, “At least tell me where you’re from. I can tell you ain’t from around here.”
I decide to speak up. What could go wrong with just a little small talk? “I’m a long haul trucker, just stopping in for the night.”
“Where ya headed?”
“Albuquerque. I started this morning in Knoxville and need to get there by tomorrow afternoon.”
He laughs. “Well, that ain’t happening, I can tell you that.”
“What do you mean!?”
“As drunk as you are, you’re gonna be spending the rest of the night sobering up in the county jail.”
I sigh, angry that I put myself in this situation. I glance outside the window as we leave town and watch the light from the streetlamps gradually fade away. Soon, I hear him grumble and quietly muttering to himself, “I shoulda taken a piss back at the bar. It’s gonna take forty minutes to get to the jail. No way I’m waiting that long.” He pulls the car to the side of the road and shifts it to park. He turns his head to the side again. “Hang tight, and don’t cause any trouble while I’m gone.”
What kind of trouble does he think I could possibly get in?
He steps out of the car and walks around to the right side, standing at the edge of the road, then faces away from me. I watch as his right hand moves in a downward motion, unzipping his fly, then digs inside and frees his cock. Seconds later, though it’s dark, I can make out the stream of liquid emanating from his member.
I find myself fixated on him, not because I’m into guys or anything—quite the opposite, in fact. I’m fixated because I desperately need to go myself.
When his liquid stream finally dies down, he gives his cock a few shakes, shoves it back under his pants, zips everything up, then spins around and returns to the driver’s seat. He puts the car in gear and gets back on the road and up to speed.
I squirm around in the back seat, trying hard to not let loose and piss myself. “Uh, officer, how long did you say it was to the jail?”
He answers back sharply, “Forty minutes, why?”
“Because I really need to go, too.”
“Go what?”
I breathe, trying to keep both my frustration and bladder under control. “Piss.”
“You’re just gonna have to hold it.”
“I can’t. Not for that long.”
“You shoulda thought of that before having five rum and cokes.”
I scoff. “I didn’t have that many.”
“Well, the bartender said you did, and I’m going to trust the bartender I know than some out-of-towner I don’t know.”
Beads of sweat start to form on my forehead. “Please, officer. I really can’t hold it until we get to the jail.”
He huffs so hard that he causes the windshield to fog up a little. “As much as I wanna make you suffer, I don’t want to have to clean up a mess in the back seat of my car, either.” He pulls the patrol car to the side of the road again, steps out, and walks to the right side, but this time, he opens the back door and glares at me, a little perturbed. “Get out.”
I breathe a sigh of relief. “Thank you, sir.” I swing one leg out, then the other, and lean my upper body forward to help stand myself up. I’m finding out tonight that it’s a lot harder moving around when your hands are cuffed. “All right, I’ll be as quick as I can.” I move my cuffed hands out from behind my back, offering them up for him to free.
He laughs. “You takin’ me for a fool?”
I shake my head. “No, sir.”
“I didn’t graduate from the academy yesterday. You ain’t gettin’ those off until we get to the jail.”
“Then what do you want me to do? Piss myself?”
He scoffs and shakes his head, then to my surprise, moves his hands to the button of my jeans. He tries a few times to unbutton it, but is unsuccessful. He gets more and more frustrated, and I feel like I’m going to burst at any moment. He grumbles loudly, “Good grief,” then reluctantly finds the zipper of my pants with his hand, grasps it, and pulls down. He slowly reaches inside the fly of my jeans and beneath my underwear. I don’t really give a shit that he’s doing what he’s doing—as long as I don’t wet myself, I’m happy. He grasps my dick with his finger and thumb and gently pulls it through the fly, freeing it from its prison.
There’s just one little problem. Well, it’s more of a big problem. There’s nothing I find even remotely sexual about this situation, but I’m starting to get hard. It doesn’t stop at a semi, either—I get fully erect. Maybe it’s because I haven’t gotten any action in a while, or maybe it’s because I gotta take a piss really bad, or all this time I’ve had a thing for being in handcuffs or exposing myself in the outdoors. Whatever it is, it’s stopping me from being able to relieve myself, even though I desperately need to go.
The cop shakes his head. “You gotta be fucking kidding me. We’re already running late to the jail as it is. I can’t be getting into trouble because of you. Hurry up and do what you need to do before I change my mind and make you ride the whole way like that.” He crosses his arms and turns around.
I close my eyes, my hands cuffed behind my back, and try thinking of the most non-sexual things possible in an effort to deflate my erection. Trying to picture rushing floodwaters seems to help, too. Soon, I push and push and a squirt of piss finally shoots from the end of my dick. I push even harder, and as my dick starts returning to its limp state once more, the flow becomes more regular, and I spend the next minute or so emptying my bladder the rest of the way. I thrust my hips forward and shake every last drop of piss out.
The cop turns back around and looks at me. “You done yet?” I nod, and he turns his attention to my now soft dick once more. He bends down slightly, then hooks a finger inside the fly of my pants, pulls them away from my body, and meticulously moves my dick back to its rightful place beneath my underwear with his other hand. He zips my fly back up, then wipes his hands on his uniform pants. “All right, let’s get your ass back in the car.” He guides me down into the back seat once again, a little more gently than the first time. With that, he closes the door, then walks back to the driver’s seat, and pulls back onto the road.
Being in the back of a police car seems to make time pass slowly, but time would probably be passing a lot slower if he hadn’t let me relieve myself. Nevertheless, we finally arrive at the jail. He parks and gets out, then opens my door and pulls me up by the arm. I scramble to my feet, then he leads me into the building.
Another officer sits behind a desk just inside the door, separated from us by a thick pane of glass with a few holes drilled for sound to pass through as well as a small compartment where things can be passed back and forth to either side. She sits up, lowers her glasses and looks me up and down, then turns her attention to the cop. “Officer Reynolds, finally back, I see.” She buzzes open a thick metal door, completely solid except for a very narrow slit of glass.
He swings the door open and answers back. “Yup. Another rowdy night at the bar. Why do these things always have to happen on a weeknight?”
She chuckles. “Hey, if they didn’t, you and I would be out of the job.”
Officer Reynolds—the only name I know him by—leads me by the arm to a cell devoid of everything but what looks like a very uncomfortable mattress attached to the wall and an equally uncomfortable metal toilet. It’s a good thing he let me empty my bladder on the way here, because there’s no way I’d be using that toilet. The rest of the place is eerily quiet—we three seem to be the only people here.
Soon the other officer joins us, and Reynolds reaches in and starts removing my wallet, phone, and keys from my pockets, reading off the contents to the other officer, who writes everything down on a pad of paper and puts it into a bag. He opens my wallet and glances at my license. “Zane Willoughby, huh? Interesting name.” Once all my possessions have been taken, the other officer returns to the desk.
Officer Reynolds guides me into the cell, and there’s an ungodly metallic squeal and a bang as he closes it shut. He motions for me to turn around, then reaches through the bars and removes the handcuffs. “This is your home sweet home for the night. Try not to rearrange any of the furniture while you’re here.”
If I weren’t in the slammer, I’d have laughed at the joke that he’s probably told every other person unfortunate enough to find themselves here.
With that, he turns and walks away and through the heavy metal door, shutting it behind him. I’m now left all alone in a fluorescent-lit hell with pastel yellow walls and dark gray metal bars. It’s so quiet I can hear the lights humming. There’s literally nothing else I can do but wait, so I try as hard as I can to make myself comfortable, shut my eyes, and drift off to sleep.
* * * * *
I’m jolted awake—by what I don’t know—and I have a splitting headache. I don’t have my phone to check the time, and the fluorescent lights are just as bright as when I got here, so I stand up, walk up to the cell bars, and angle my head so I can see outside the narrow slit of glass in the large metal door. It looks to be daylight outside, so at least I got some decent sleep.
The rest of the drinks I had last night have caught up to me and I need to take a piss again. I swallow my dignity and walk over to the metal toilet, undo the button and zipper of my pants, hook a thumb under the waistband of my underwear, and free my dick from inside. I take a deep breath and start letting loose a sizable stream of piss. I never noticed how enjoyable and satisfying the feeling of liquid passing through your dick could feel, but I guess after being in a hellish place like this with absolutely nothing in the way of comfort and entertainment, you start to find pleasure in the most mundane things. I shake off the last few drops, put everything back in its place, and sit back down on the edge of the mattress.
Seconds later, I hear a door open and slam shut. I jolt to my feet and look through the bars and see Officer Reynolds through the narrow glass slit. The huge metal door begins to open, and I quickly sit back down.
He steps through the door and stands directly in front of me, the two of us separated only by the metal bars of the cell. He’s wearing the same kind of uniform he had on last night, and stands with his feet about shoulder-width apart and his arms crossed. He looks me up and down. “How you feeling?”
“Like shit, and desperate enough to do anything to get out of here.”
He smirks. “Ah, so I was able to confiscate your good lucks and charm last night, because they’re nowhere to be found now.” As much as I want to tell him to fuck off, I know that’s not going to get me out of here any faster. He continues, “Gonna get into any more bar fights?”
I swallow my pride and figure I may as well be respectful. “No, sir.”
He nods. “I like your answer.” He produces a key from his pocket, sticks it in the cell door, and swings it open. There’s another loud, metallic squeak, but this one isn’t nearly as bad, especially since the door is opening rather than closing. He motions for me to step out. “Come with me. Let’s get your things.”
The large metal door buzzes once more. He opens it, then we both step through and walk to the front desk. There’s a different officer behind the thick pane of glass this time, and he pushes through all my stuff that got taken from me the night before. I do a quick check of my wallet to make sure nothing is missing, then sign a piece of paper certifying that I’ve received all the possessions I came in with.
I look up at Officer Reynolds. “How can I get back to Checotah?”
“Usually people have a family member come pick them up. In your case, you should call a taxi.”
“I can’t. My phone’s dead.”
He huffs and rolls his eyes, then motions for me to follow him. “Ah, what the hell. I don’t usually do this, but you can ride with me. I have to head back up there anyway.” I’m somewhat taken aback by his willingness to give me a ride, but I’d be stupid not to take him up on his offer. I follow him outside and to his patrol car, then he turns to me. “Don’t look too cheerful. You still have to ride in the back.”
I shrug. “Hey, as long as I don’t have to wear handcuffs, I won’t complain.”
He smiles ever so slightly, then opens the back door and lets me get in. He gets in the driver’s seat, revs up the engine, and pulls out of the parking lot.
The first several minutes of the ride back are silent. I glance out the window at the passing scenery, then turn my attention to his reflection in the rearview mirror. “I appreciate you giving me a ride back.”
He shakes his head. “Don’t mention it.”
“Why, though? Why be so nice to a complete stranger from out of town?”
“Well, when you said you were a trucker last night, I started feeling like I was maybe being too hard on you. That sure is a tough job.”
I tilt my head. “It can be, but being a cop is probably a lot tougher, huh?”
This time I see an actual smile form on his face in the reflection of the mirror. He nods. “It is in some ways, but then again, I always have my community here. You don’t really have that, do you?”
I sigh. “Nope.”
“Plus, it’s people like you who make this great country of ours really work. If we didn’t have people like you, things would be a lot harder for all of us.”
I crack a half-smile. “Thank you for saying that.”
“My brother’s a trucker, you know.”
“Oh, really?”
“Yeah. He’s my twin, too. I don’t get to see him much. I miss the hell out of him sometimes, but he’s off traveling the continent, getting to see all kinds of places. Makes me a little jealous at times.”
I chuckle. “Yeah, that is a nice perk.”
“Shame you won’t be able to stop and see much on your way to Albuquerque.”
I sigh. “Yeah, I’ll need to haul ass to get there on time. But that’s OK—I do the Knoxville to Albuquerque route a lot, so I’ve already seen just about everything there is to see.”
“Nice. I’m jealous. I’ve never even left the state.”
“You’re kidding!”
He shakes his head. “Nope.”
“Well, take my advice and take a few days off to go on a road trip sometime. This country’s too big for anyone to stay in the same place their entire lives.”
“I might just have to do that.”
We continue much of the rest of the ride back in silence. Eventually, I feel the car slow down a bit. He makes a few turns until we finally end up at my truck. He parks next to the curb, then gets out and opens my door since I can’t open it from the inside.
I stand up and reach out my hand, and he shakes it. “Thank you, officer.”
He smiles. “Call me Dean.”
“All right. Thank you, Dean.”
“No problem, Zane. Oh, and before I forget—” He reaches inside his car and retrieves an envelope, then gets a stern expression on his face. “Instead of jail time, I recommended our DA reduce your charge down to a fine, and she agreed. It’s a steep fine, but it’s better than jail. You can fight it if you want, but trust me, you’ll lose in court and there will be jail time. And if you don’t pay it, we’ll make sure every officer in the State of Oklahoma is looking for your truck.” He holds out the envelope. “This has all the info you need to pay.”
I take the envelope from him. “I get it, I get it. I’ll pay the fine.”
His expression returns to normal. “Good. Sorry to be such a hard-ass, but I put in a good word for you and my ass is on the line if you don’t pay.”
I nod. “I understand. Thanks for doing me a favor and reducing it to a fine. That really helps. Jail would kill me—I’m surprised I survived just the one night.”
“Don’t mention it. And don’t let me catch you in McIntosh County causing any more trouble.”
“You won’t, at least not the illegal kind.”
He laughs. “All right, you be safe out on the road, and watch out for the crazies, you hear?”
“Loud and clear. Tell your brother to be careful, as well. Take care, Dean.”
“You too.”
And with that, he gets back in his patrol car, spins it around, and speeds off in the opposite direction.
The very first thing I do when I get in my truck is plug in my phone. I need to find the nearest truck stop and book a shower, stat.
To be continued...
Without further ado...
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Part 1
“You got any weapons on you?”
I shake my head. “I’ve been known to stun people with my good looks and charm. Does that count?”
He scoffs. “Nice one, jackass. Spread ‘em.”
It’s past midnight, and I’m in the parking lot of the only bar I could find in the tiny town of Checotah, Oklahoma, pressed against the side of a patrol car, hands cuffed, and being frisked by a cop. He runs his hands over my shirt and pants, checking me up and down for anything dangerous. When his hands get to my inner thighs, he spends a little more time there than I think is necessary. As soon as I feel his hand graze my balls, I turn my head until I can see him out of the corner of my eye. “Watch it, dude.”
He pulls his hands away and opens the back door of the car. “All right, in you go.” He puts a hand on my head and forcefully pushes me into the back. Seconds later, he gets in the driver’s seat and pulls out of the parking lot.
When the car gets up to speed, he speaks up. “So, what’s your story, dude? Why are you causing trouble in my town?” Instead of answering, I try maneuvering my arms so the handcuffs aren’t cutting into my wrists as bad. He turns his head to check on me, then looks back at the road. “Choosing to remain silent, huh? That’s fine, it’s your right.” After a few moments, he continues, “At least tell me where you’re from. I can tell you ain’t from around here.”
I decide to speak up. What could go wrong with just a little small talk? “I’m a long haul trucker, just stopping in for the night.”
“Where ya headed?”
“Albuquerque. I started this morning in Knoxville and need to get there by tomorrow afternoon.”
He laughs. “Well, that ain’t happening, I can tell you that.”
“What do you mean!?”
“As drunk as you are, you’re gonna be spending the rest of the night sobering up in the county jail.”
I sigh, angry that I put myself in this situation. I glance outside the window as we leave town and watch the light from the streetlamps gradually fade away. Soon, I hear him grumble and quietly muttering to himself, “I shoulda taken a piss back at the bar. It’s gonna take forty minutes to get to the jail. No way I’m waiting that long.” He pulls the car to the side of the road and shifts it to park. He turns his head to the side again. “Hang tight, and don’t cause any trouble while I’m gone.”
What kind of trouble does he think I could possibly get in?
He steps out of the car and walks around to the right side, standing at the edge of the road, then faces away from me. I watch as his right hand moves in a downward motion, unzipping his fly, then digs inside and frees his cock. Seconds later, though it’s dark, I can make out the stream of liquid emanating from his member.
I find myself fixated on him, not because I’m into guys or anything—quite the opposite, in fact. I’m fixated because I desperately need to go myself.
When his liquid stream finally dies down, he gives his cock a few shakes, shoves it back under his pants, zips everything up, then spins around and returns to the driver’s seat. He puts the car in gear and gets back on the road and up to speed.
I squirm around in the back seat, trying hard to not let loose and piss myself. “Uh, officer, how long did you say it was to the jail?”
He answers back sharply, “Forty minutes, why?”
“Because I really need to go, too.”
“Go what?”
I breathe, trying to keep both my frustration and bladder under control. “Piss.”
“You’re just gonna have to hold it.”
“I can’t. Not for that long.”
“You shoulda thought of that before having five rum and cokes.”
I scoff. “I didn’t have that many.”
“Well, the bartender said you did, and I’m going to trust the bartender I know than some out-of-towner I don’t know.”
Beads of sweat start to form on my forehead. “Please, officer. I really can’t hold it until we get to the jail.”
He huffs so hard that he causes the windshield to fog up a little. “As much as I wanna make you suffer, I don’t want to have to clean up a mess in the back seat of my car, either.” He pulls the patrol car to the side of the road again, steps out, and walks to the right side, but this time, he opens the back door and glares at me, a little perturbed. “Get out.”
I breathe a sigh of relief. “Thank you, sir.” I swing one leg out, then the other, and lean my upper body forward to help stand myself up. I’m finding out tonight that it’s a lot harder moving around when your hands are cuffed. “All right, I’ll be as quick as I can.” I move my cuffed hands out from behind my back, offering them up for him to free.
He laughs. “You takin’ me for a fool?”
I shake my head. “No, sir.”
“I didn’t graduate from the academy yesterday. You ain’t gettin’ those off until we get to the jail.”
“Then what do you want me to do? Piss myself?”
He scoffs and shakes his head, then to my surprise, moves his hands to the button of my jeans. He tries a few times to unbutton it, but is unsuccessful. He gets more and more frustrated, and I feel like I’m going to burst at any moment. He grumbles loudly, “Good grief,” then reluctantly finds the zipper of my pants with his hand, grasps it, and pulls down. He slowly reaches inside the fly of my jeans and beneath my underwear. I don’t really give a shit that he’s doing what he’s doing—as long as I don’t wet myself, I’m happy. He grasps my dick with his finger and thumb and gently pulls it through the fly, freeing it from its prison.
There’s just one little problem. Well, it’s more of a big problem. There’s nothing I find even remotely sexual about this situation, but I’m starting to get hard. It doesn’t stop at a semi, either—I get fully erect. Maybe it’s because I haven’t gotten any action in a while, or maybe it’s because I gotta take a piss really bad, or all this time I’ve had a thing for being in handcuffs or exposing myself in the outdoors. Whatever it is, it’s stopping me from being able to relieve myself, even though I desperately need to go.
The cop shakes his head. “You gotta be fucking kidding me. We’re already running late to the jail as it is. I can’t be getting into trouble because of you. Hurry up and do what you need to do before I change my mind and make you ride the whole way like that.” He crosses his arms and turns around.
I close my eyes, my hands cuffed behind my back, and try thinking of the most non-sexual things possible in an effort to deflate my erection. Trying to picture rushing floodwaters seems to help, too. Soon, I push and push and a squirt of piss finally shoots from the end of my dick. I push even harder, and as my dick starts returning to its limp state once more, the flow becomes more regular, and I spend the next minute or so emptying my bladder the rest of the way. I thrust my hips forward and shake every last drop of piss out.
The cop turns back around and looks at me. “You done yet?” I nod, and he turns his attention to my now soft dick once more. He bends down slightly, then hooks a finger inside the fly of my pants, pulls them away from my body, and meticulously moves my dick back to its rightful place beneath my underwear with his other hand. He zips my fly back up, then wipes his hands on his uniform pants. “All right, let’s get your ass back in the car.” He guides me down into the back seat once again, a little more gently than the first time. With that, he closes the door, then walks back to the driver’s seat, and pulls back onto the road.
Being in the back of a police car seems to make time pass slowly, but time would probably be passing a lot slower if he hadn’t let me relieve myself. Nevertheless, we finally arrive at the jail. He parks and gets out, then opens my door and pulls me up by the arm. I scramble to my feet, then he leads me into the building.
Another officer sits behind a desk just inside the door, separated from us by a thick pane of glass with a few holes drilled for sound to pass through as well as a small compartment where things can be passed back and forth to either side. She sits up, lowers her glasses and looks me up and down, then turns her attention to the cop. “Officer Reynolds, finally back, I see.” She buzzes open a thick metal door, completely solid except for a very narrow slit of glass.
He swings the door open and answers back. “Yup. Another rowdy night at the bar. Why do these things always have to happen on a weeknight?”
She chuckles. “Hey, if they didn’t, you and I would be out of the job.”
Officer Reynolds—the only name I know him by—leads me by the arm to a cell devoid of everything but what looks like a very uncomfortable mattress attached to the wall and an equally uncomfortable metal toilet. It’s a good thing he let me empty my bladder on the way here, because there’s no way I’d be using that toilet. The rest of the place is eerily quiet—we three seem to be the only people here.
Soon the other officer joins us, and Reynolds reaches in and starts removing my wallet, phone, and keys from my pockets, reading off the contents to the other officer, who writes everything down on a pad of paper and puts it into a bag. He opens my wallet and glances at my license. “Zane Willoughby, huh? Interesting name.” Once all my possessions have been taken, the other officer returns to the desk.
Officer Reynolds guides me into the cell, and there’s an ungodly metallic squeal and a bang as he closes it shut. He motions for me to turn around, then reaches through the bars and removes the handcuffs. “This is your home sweet home for the night. Try not to rearrange any of the furniture while you’re here.”
If I weren’t in the slammer, I’d have laughed at the joke that he’s probably told every other person unfortunate enough to find themselves here.
With that, he turns and walks away and through the heavy metal door, shutting it behind him. I’m now left all alone in a fluorescent-lit hell with pastel yellow walls and dark gray metal bars. It’s so quiet I can hear the lights humming. There’s literally nothing else I can do but wait, so I try as hard as I can to make myself comfortable, shut my eyes, and drift off to sleep.
* * * * *
I’m jolted awake—by what I don’t know—and I have a splitting headache. I don’t have my phone to check the time, and the fluorescent lights are just as bright as when I got here, so I stand up, walk up to the cell bars, and angle my head so I can see outside the narrow slit of glass in the large metal door. It looks to be daylight outside, so at least I got some decent sleep.
The rest of the drinks I had last night have caught up to me and I need to take a piss again. I swallow my dignity and walk over to the metal toilet, undo the button and zipper of my pants, hook a thumb under the waistband of my underwear, and free my dick from inside. I take a deep breath and start letting loose a sizable stream of piss. I never noticed how enjoyable and satisfying the feeling of liquid passing through your dick could feel, but I guess after being in a hellish place like this with absolutely nothing in the way of comfort and entertainment, you start to find pleasure in the most mundane things. I shake off the last few drops, put everything back in its place, and sit back down on the edge of the mattress.
Seconds later, I hear a door open and slam shut. I jolt to my feet and look through the bars and see Officer Reynolds through the narrow glass slit. The huge metal door begins to open, and I quickly sit back down.
He steps through the door and stands directly in front of me, the two of us separated only by the metal bars of the cell. He’s wearing the same kind of uniform he had on last night, and stands with his feet about shoulder-width apart and his arms crossed. He looks me up and down. “How you feeling?”
“Like shit, and desperate enough to do anything to get out of here.”
He smirks. “Ah, so I was able to confiscate your good lucks and charm last night, because they’re nowhere to be found now.” As much as I want to tell him to fuck off, I know that’s not going to get me out of here any faster. He continues, “Gonna get into any more bar fights?”
I swallow my pride and figure I may as well be respectful. “No, sir.”
He nods. “I like your answer.” He produces a key from his pocket, sticks it in the cell door, and swings it open. There’s another loud, metallic squeak, but this one isn’t nearly as bad, especially since the door is opening rather than closing. He motions for me to step out. “Come with me. Let’s get your things.”
The large metal door buzzes once more. He opens it, then we both step through and walk to the front desk. There’s a different officer behind the thick pane of glass this time, and he pushes through all my stuff that got taken from me the night before. I do a quick check of my wallet to make sure nothing is missing, then sign a piece of paper certifying that I’ve received all the possessions I came in with.
I look up at Officer Reynolds. “How can I get back to Checotah?”
“Usually people have a family member come pick them up. In your case, you should call a taxi.”
“I can’t. My phone’s dead.”
He huffs and rolls his eyes, then motions for me to follow him. “Ah, what the hell. I don’t usually do this, but you can ride with me. I have to head back up there anyway.” I’m somewhat taken aback by his willingness to give me a ride, but I’d be stupid not to take him up on his offer. I follow him outside and to his patrol car, then he turns to me. “Don’t look too cheerful. You still have to ride in the back.”
I shrug. “Hey, as long as I don’t have to wear handcuffs, I won’t complain.”
He smiles ever so slightly, then opens the back door and lets me get in. He gets in the driver’s seat, revs up the engine, and pulls out of the parking lot.
The first several minutes of the ride back are silent. I glance out the window at the passing scenery, then turn my attention to his reflection in the rearview mirror. “I appreciate you giving me a ride back.”
He shakes his head. “Don’t mention it.”
“Why, though? Why be so nice to a complete stranger from out of town?”
“Well, when you said you were a trucker last night, I started feeling like I was maybe being too hard on you. That sure is a tough job.”
I tilt my head. “It can be, but being a cop is probably a lot tougher, huh?”
This time I see an actual smile form on his face in the reflection of the mirror. He nods. “It is in some ways, but then again, I always have my community here. You don’t really have that, do you?”
I sigh. “Nope.”
“Plus, it’s people like you who make this great country of ours really work. If we didn’t have people like you, things would be a lot harder for all of us.”
I crack a half-smile. “Thank you for saying that.”
“My brother’s a trucker, you know.”
“Oh, really?”
“Yeah. He’s my twin, too. I don’t get to see him much. I miss the hell out of him sometimes, but he’s off traveling the continent, getting to see all kinds of places. Makes me a little jealous at times.”
I chuckle. “Yeah, that is a nice perk.”
“Shame you won’t be able to stop and see much on your way to Albuquerque.”
I sigh. “Yeah, I’ll need to haul ass to get there on time. But that’s OK—I do the Knoxville to Albuquerque route a lot, so I’ve already seen just about everything there is to see.”
“Nice. I’m jealous. I’ve never even left the state.”
“You’re kidding!”
He shakes his head. “Nope.”
“Well, take my advice and take a few days off to go on a road trip sometime. This country’s too big for anyone to stay in the same place their entire lives.”
“I might just have to do that.”
We continue much of the rest of the ride back in silence. Eventually, I feel the car slow down a bit. He makes a few turns until we finally end up at my truck. He parks next to the curb, then gets out and opens my door since I can’t open it from the inside.
I stand up and reach out my hand, and he shakes it. “Thank you, officer.”
He smiles. “Call me Dean.”
“All right. Thank you, Dean.”
“No problem, Zane. Oh, and before I forget—” He reaches inside his car and retrieves an envelope, then gets a stern expression on his face. “Instead of jail time, I recommended our DA reduce your charge down to a fine, and she agreed. It’s a steep fine, but it’s better than jail. You can fight it if you want, but trust me, you’ll lose in court and there will be jail time. And if you don’t pay it, we’ll make sure every officer in the State of Oklahoma is looking for your truck.” He holds out the envelope. “This has all the info you need to pay.”
I take the envelope from him. “I get it, I get it. I’ll pay the fine.”
His expression returns to normal. “Good. Sorry to be such a hard-ass, but I put in a good word for you and my ass is on the line if you don’t pay.”
I nod. “I understand. Thanks for doing me a favor and reducing it to a fine. That really helps. Jail would kill me—I’m surprised I survived just the one night.”
“Don’t mention it. And don’t let me catch you in McIntosh County causing any more trouble.”
“You won’t, at least not the illegal kind.”
He laughs. “All right, you be safe out on the road, and watch out for the crazies, you hear?”
“Loud and clear. Tell your brother to be careful, as well. Take care, Dean.”
“You too.”
And with that, he gets back in his patrol car, spins it around, and speeds off in the opposite direction.
The very first thing I do when I get in my truck is plug in my phone. I need to find the nearest truck stop and book a shower, stat.
To be continued...