I was in a fallow field in the heat of the summer and waiting for a buyer that I thought was running late. When I saw the squad car barreling down the dirt road, I knew it had been a set-up.
It was not a well-planned operation, as there was a fast-moving irrigation canal not 10 steps from where I was standing. By the time the cop made his way to where I was, we both knew the evidence was gone. I had thrown it into the canal as soon as I saw him. By now that powder was gone and he knew it. That didn't stop him from arresting me. He was pissed.
He was rough and did a very thorough frisk although there was no female office present. He seemed awfully enthusiastic about checking to make sure I had nothing hidden in my bra. He also checked up on my downstairs pretty good - it wasn't third base - but just a small piece of cloth away. I wasn't really surprised. If he was trying to get on my nerves, he had no idea what kind life I had lived at home.
Once I was in the back of his car in the 100+ degree summer heat, the nice officer decided to get chatty. This also was not a new tactic. I got to sit in the back in the stifling hot air of the car while he stood outside talking to me through the half cracked front window. I was ready for the questions and for the heat. If that was all he had for me, I would have been fine.
The questions were so predictable. Where did I get it? What was it? How much was I selling it for? Did I know what the punishment was for selling drugs near the high school? Why was I not carrying any ID? Loaded questions you would be a fool to answer, and never mind what my Miranda rights were. This was a small town and they did things their own way.
I lost my ID, had no idea what he was talking about, and I was in this field because I had needed to pee. Playing stupid is easy and I was good at it.
Eventually, though, the conversation changed course. The nice officer wanted to let me know he knew me and everything about me. He asked me about my boyfriend using his name. It was hard to say I didn't know Ronnie - we had been living together - but all I did was just act like I didn't know anything, which in many ways was true.
When I wouldn't crack, he got abusive, asking me what it was like to turn tricks at the truck stop. (I had done this, but not in a long time as it didn't pay well - but I'd been popped for hooking before and we both knew it.) He asked me how much I charged and if I took it up the ass. I didn't take the bait and just ignored the questions. A lawyer of Ronnie's had driven that into my head.
Finally, he decided to get personal - and took after my mom and dad. It was a dumb move on his part. He had no idea what kind of a monster my parents had been. But it got interesting.
"I was sorry to hear your daddy died," he said.
I am sure he wasn't. No one in town had liked my dad. His job as a payroll manager at the local packing plant had made him an incredibly unpopular guy. He was the guy who delivered the layoff slips and docked your pay when you were late, and he was an asshole on top of it.
The cop said, "Just as well though. Being married to that bitch must have been hell."
I'm sure he had that part right.
While I listened from the back of the police car, this cop told me something I had suspected for years - my mom had never been exactly faithful to my dad. I had been mentally divorced from them for so long that it shouldn't have bothered me, but hearing the details was troubling.
It turned out that my mom got around plenty - and her reputation was well known. She preferred uniforms- cops, firemen, and soldiers when they came through town.
