I am an officer of the law. A stout defender of law and order. A valiant warrior striving to bring justice to all, eternally bringing assistance to the weak and the lonely. I also write traffic tickets in my spare time, listening with cynical disbelief to the excuses that come flowing out of saintly lips. I assume an eighty year old nun has saintly lips even if she drives like the devil.
Some of the most boring times with the ability to become the most exciting are those occasions where I've been allocated traffic control duties at the outskirts of a big sporting event. All will be nice and quiet until some asshole realises that if he doesn't get a move on he might miss the first five seconds of an event.
This sort of approaching catastrophe results in said asshole leaning on both horn and accelerator, trying to make up those vital five seconds. What normally happens is a fender-bender, one which is totally not his fault, even though I watched him with my very own eyes as he tried to push a white-haired old granny off the road. (Not that I blamed him for that. She wasn't even going to the match. She was just taking her precious Pekinese for a drive as pupsy just loved going for a slow drive in dense traffic.)
I was out on the outskirts of a race track one day. Not being into race-cars I volunteered for the outer duty, letting the enthusiasts take the close-up positions so that they could ogle the cars being driven in. Ah, I should probably point out that the cars were not being driven in on their own merits. No way known. Not street legal in most cases. The cars were driven in in style, each on their own towing tray, a mechanic at hand to keep them polished and spiffy looking.
That's the general gist of what takes place in the racing events.
An unusual event was finding one of the De-luxe automobiles sitting by the side of the road while the mechanic was showing that he knew how to earn his money, working hard to change a flat tyre on the towing car. The driver of the towing car was over next to the racing car, looking it over with a very proprietary air.
"That is a very lovely lady," I observed.
"Isn't she," gushed the driver. "I'll win today, assuming we get there." A bit of acid in the last comment.
"Two minutes, three tops, and you'll be good to go," called the mechanic.
I'd actually been referring to the woman, not the car. She was about five foot six, slender, the way a steel spring can be called slender. Being slender didn't detract from the shapeliness or strength inherent in the design. I was willing to bet that she had the strength and skills required to jockey the car around.
Looking at the traffic I decided that she shouldn't have any trouble getting to her destination in a timely manner. This side of the race-track the traffic was light. She'd have been in trouble if she wanted to use the front entrance though.
"I trust that you're using the back entrance?" I said, a hint of a question in there.
"Yes, thank god. We'd never make it through the front."
"What's she like on the local roads?" I asked.
She turned to face me, looking quite enthusiastic, saw that I was wearing a uniform, and the enthusiasm vanished, being replaced with a genuine lying smile.
"Oh, officer, I can't take her out on the roads. She's not street legal. I could lose my racing licence if I did anything like that."
"Ah, hadn't realised," I smiled back at her. "You're quite right and as you just hinted, actions have consequences."
I stayed with her just idly chatting until the mechanic came galloping up, eager to get on the road again. She jumped into the driver's seat I noticed. I very politely held up the traffic to allow her a quick get-away, and she was away and gone.
I noticed in the sports section of the paper the next day that a Miss Joan Hatcher had placed first in the local races. Well, good luck to Miss Joan, I thought.
Ever noticed how you may not see one of your neighbours for years and then suddenly you see them every other day. It turned out that Joan Hatcher was a neighbour of mine, not a close one but she lived in the same general vicinity as my place. I'd see her driving down the street or at the local shopping strip. You might saw we became nodding acquaintances. I kept an eye out to see how she was going professionally, noting that she was winning more races than not. She was certainly in the running for the championship cup, though only time (and some tough competition) would tell.
Then came the time when I saw her driving in through the main gates in her illegal car. She was lucky as I'd just received a call to a traffic accident and fight. Deciding the accident and fight were more important than a traffic violation I headed towards the accident.
Wouldn't you know it? It was her towing car and trailer that had been run off the road a short block from where I'd seen her enter the racing grounds. Her mechanic was sitting on the ground next to the car and he was pretty banged up. More banged up than a minor accident would cause. I assumed that the bruiser who was currently thumping a mate of mine was the cause of both the accident and the mechanic.
I stepped up behind the bruiser and banged him hard on the outside of his knee. He went down in a heap, staying down as Fred suggested he do so by lifting his knee sharply and mashing the bruiser's face, said bruiser then deciding to take a nap.
"It appears that it was a setup," snarled Fred. "This idiot deliberately ran her off the road and was about to smash up her car when the mechanic tried to stop him. That delayed him long enough for me to arrive. I told her to leg it to the race and she drove the car off the trailer like a pro and headed for those gates," indicating the gates that she'd gone through. "Idiot here wasn't satisfied with that, swearing that she was not racing today, and tried to take a swing at her. I was preventing him when you rocked up and thumped him. Well done."
"Not a problem," I said. "Ah, what about her. Do we want to charge her for driving an illegal car on the street?"
"No way. Not when the reason she had to do it was a deliberate attempt to sabotage her chance in the race."
I had to admit that his point of view sounded reasonable to me. I know, long arm of the law and all that, but that doesn't mean the arm belongs to a thick headed bully. A bit of discretion is called for sometimes.
A couple of days later I congratulated Joan on her win and didn't so much as mention that little bit of illegal driving.
The current racing season was drawing to a close and the race for the championship cup was over. Not officially, as there was still one race left, but Joan was definitely this year's champion. She was ahead and had sufficient points that she'd still win even if she didn't start in the last race, but that was something she couldn't do. Bad form and all that. People might think she was getting big-headed. Sponsors wouldn't like it.
That bit about needing to race even though a win was not required left me in a bit of a quandary the night of the race. I wasn't on duty at the races. I was just wandering around on my bike looking for especially silly drivers. And I found one.
I sounded my siren and did a U-turn, the car I tagged had taken one look at me and decided to submit.
"Your explanation, and it had better be a doozy," I told Joan.
"The back axle on my towing car snapped and we ground to a halt. The car is going to have to be towed. This is the only way I'll make it to the track. Please. It's only a couple of miles and I'll be extremely careful. You know I'm an expert driver."
"Yes, I do know that. I also know that you've got the championship cup sewed up. Your name is already etched on it, whether you attend this race or not."
"But I have to go. Really I do. If I don't turn up for an important race my sponsors might drop me. They're always about what have you done for them today? Fans might think I'm getting above myself. They could start cheering for someone else and that will help to drive sponsors away. My franchised goods will take a hit in sales. I really need to go."
She had a desperately pleading look on her face. I had to admit that everything she said was true. Besides, if I took her in to charge her someone might steal or vandalise her car. Even if I booked her and left her she'd be on her way as soon as I was out of sight.
"Alright," I snapped. "As far as tonight is concerned this didn't happen. I didn't see you. If I catch you driving the car home, that would be another matter. Now get the hell out of here and remember, this isn't over. Actions have consequences."
