Page 59 of Stilettos and Outlaws

Opening my door, I stepped out and approached the truck cautiously. More officers got killed on simple traffic stops, than on armed robberies or domestic violence.

I blew out a long breath, the idiot hadn’t rolled the window down. If he wanted to play hardball, so be it. I knocked on the glass.

The driver, an older white male with a long gray beard, totally ignored me. “Did you know beards have been found to be dirtier than toilet seats?” I said loudly.

The driver’s head snapped around and the window rolled down. “You think you’re funny or what?”

“No, sir, but you do have some powdered sugar in your beard.”

He glared at me and licked the powdered sugar off his beard.

Ugh, that was totally gross.

“Why did you pull me over?”

“You were speeding; you ran a red light and almost hit a blue minivan. I need your license, registration and proof of insurance.”

Grumbling under his breath, he gave me his paperwork. “You are a fucking bitch.”

“Why thank you. Do you know how fast you were going, sir?”

“No.”

I smiled. “I guess that means I can write anything I want on the ticket.”

He stared at me in utter disbelief.

I raised an inquiring eyebrow.

“Fifty,” he snarled.

“The speed limit is forty, sir.”

The idiot’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. “Can’t you give me a warning?”

“A warning? Okay, I’m warning you to slow down and obey all the traffic laws or I will give you another ticket.”

“That’s not fair.”

My temper flared. “You want me to be fair? Fair is where you go to ride the Ferris wheel, eat cotton candy, and play ring toss.”

“Am I making your quota for the day?” He shot back.

I gave him my Debbie Sunshine smile. “You are. Now I can get the toaster oven I’ve been wanting.”

“Bitch!” He slammed his hand against the steering wheel. “I’m going to call the sheriff and get you fired.”

Enough was enough. In my best mean mother voice, I stated, “I’m going back to my car to run your name through the NCIC database. You will stay in the car. If you attempt to run, I will chase you down and arrest you. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good.” As I walked back to my patrol car, I noticed Sergeant Bergman parked across the street. I held up four fingers.

He nodded and drove off.

Unfortunately, Dennis Johnson didn’t have any outstanding warrants. I wrote him a ticket for speeding and running a red light. An evil smile curved my mouth. Those tickets would cost him over eight hundred dollars.

I walked up to the truck and handed him the tickets. “You are scheduled to appear in court in three weeks. If you miss your court date, a warrant will be issued for your arrest. Have a nice day, sir.”

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