Free 5 Tutti Frutti by Mike Faricy Page A

suddenly caught the thing in my rearview mirror as it raced around the corner behind me and took off in the opposite direction.
    I made a U -turn, tearing across some poor guy’s front lawn in the process. I sped up to try and catch Rockett. He was maybe two blocks ahead of me. I accelerated and blasted through an intersection my horn blaring, my engine roaring. I was gaining on him, I’d cut the distance almost in half. I could hear the sand and gravel pinging off the undercarriage of my Fleetwood. We raced along a winding residential street as I continued to gain on him. We were little more than a block apart when I first heard the siren and saw the flashing lights in my rear view mirror. I raced down the street for maybe another half block before I realized my situation could only get worse so I pulled over.
    I turned off my engine and watched in the rear view mirror. The squad car stopped, the driver’s door opened, and a uniformed officer knelt down behind the open door.
    “Step out of your vehicle. Place your hands on top of your head,” a voice blared out over a loud speaker.
    This wasn’t going my way. I did as directed and waited there, standing in the middle of the street.
    “Kneel down. Keep your hands on your head.”
    As I knelt , I could feel the pea gravel, that the city uses for resurfacing grinding into my knees. The street had recently been tarred, oiled, and then dusted with a coating of the gravel. The fresh oil worked its way into the knees of my jeans. They were ruined in short order, but at least I didn’t have to lie down in the stuff.
    “Lay face down on the street, keep your hands on your head and spread your legs.”
    I thought about that for a long moment.
    “Face down on the street, place your hands on your head, and spread your legs. Do it now!”
    I saw another squad car with flashing lights racing toward us. From somewhere behind me I hear d a car door slam. Not that it made any difference, but I guessed there were possibly four to six officers on the scene. I lay down in the freshly tarred street and ruined my shirt.
     
    Chapter Eighteen
    “I trust you found the accommodations to your liking,” Manning looked across the table at me. We were seated in one of the department’s interrogation rooms, nice place if you were into brown cigarette burns worming their way across Formica, dull gray walls, and Manning’s ever-present bottle of Maalox. He seemed to be enjoying himself, and his eyes literally sparkled.
    “To be honest, no, I didn’t like the accommodations. I would have been better off sleeping in my car.”
    “Except that we had to impound it. Towing fee, yesterday and now today in the impound lot. Gee, it starts to add up. Funny you didn’t contact your legal representation, Mister Laufen. I suppose…”
    “Come on , Manning, quit yanking my chain. You know I called him last night. He was unable at the time to come down here, so I…”
    “I believe the technical term is shit-faced.”
    “ If you say so. Look can I go? You know I didn’t do anything.”
    “Speeds of up to seventy-five miles per hour on a residential street in the city of St. Paul, that’s pretty serious. School kids present, that’s going to cost a little additional. Four nine-one-one calls from tax paying citizens. Resisting arrest, not the best…”
    “Resisting arrest? Come on, I didn’t resist arrest. I pulled over, laid down on a freshly tarred street. I mean look at me, my clothes are ruined. When did I resist anything?”
    “Just reading the arrest report. O bviously I wasn’t present to witness this latest incident.” He leaned back and smiled, attacked his gum a half dozen times causing it to audibly snap, then reached for his bottle of Maalox and took a gulp.
    “I admit I was speeding, foolishly. But I didn’t resist arrest, Manning, you know that.”
    He shrugged, “Mister Rockett has filed a restraining order against you. Would you care to explain?”
    “A restraining order?