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It doesn’t take me long to shower, drink two cups of coffee, and dress for work. I’ll change into my uniform at the station, so I always try to get there twenty minutes before my shift starts.
It’s quiet in Bitterroot Valley this morning as I drive through town. And that’s just the way I like it. The station is quiet as I walk through to the locker room, and I go through the motions of changing into my uniform and checking everything on my belt. Then, I move to the weapons vault to choose the weapons that I’ll have on me and in my vehicle.
And once I’m in the car, ready for my shift, I get a call first thing.
“Mrs. Wilburn is holding up traffic again,” I’m told. “She’s ten miles outside of town, doing twenty-five in a seventy, with at least a dozen cars behind her.”
“I’m on my way.”
Mrs. Wilburn has to be at least eighty, and she likely shouldn’t have her license anymore. She refuses to drive over twenty-five miles per hour, regardless of where she is, and she’s become a pain in my ass.
With my lights flashing, it doesn’t take too long to find her, and when the other drivers pull over to make room for me, I turn around on the highway and get behind the old woman, turning on my siren.
Like a good citizen, she pulls over onto the shoulder, and the drivers that she was holding up pick up speed, waving at me with gratitude as they pass by.
I walk on the inside of the shoulder and knock on her passenger window.
“Hello, dear,” she says when she rolls it down. “What’s wrong? Are you looking for a fugitive? I don’t think I saw anyone out here, but I’ll keep my eyes open.”
“No, ma’am, we had another complaint about your speed.”
“Oh.” She frowns. “I’m sorry. Sometimes my foot just gets away from me, and I go too fast.”
“No.” I laugh now and shake my head. “You go too slow, Mrs. Wilburn. You can’t go twenty-five in a seventy. It’s not safe.”
“I’ve never heard of anyone complaining about someone going too slow. Why, I’m just being safe.”
“No, actually, like I said, it’s not safe. I have to give you a ticket this time, ma’am.”
“For going slower than the speed limit? That’s ridiculous. I’ll call your mother, Chase Wild.”
“And I’m sure she’d love to speak with you, but that doesn’t change the fact that I have to write you a ticket for reckless driving. You’re considered a hazard on the road.”
“Well, I have to get into town for my hair appointment, don’t I? How else do you suggest I get there? Fly?”
“Maybe someone could drive you.”
“I’m perfectly capable of driving myself.”
Right. As we’ve established. She needs to be moved into town so she doesn’t have to drive on the highway at all anymore, but that’s none of my business.
“I need your driver’s license and registration, please.”
“This is ridiculous.”
Rather than giving me what I need, she rolls up the window and simply pulls back out into traffic. It’s not a high-speed chase. I hit my lights and siren, but she ignores me all the way into town, and when I pull in behind her in the parking lot of her beauty salon, she ignores me when I try to speak to her.
She just hobbles right inside, moving surprisingly fast for a woman with a walker.
“Mrs. Wilburn, you’re under arrest.”
Gasps sound through the place, and everything goes quiet. You could hear a pin drop.
“I am not.”
“Yes, ma’am.” My face is grim as I rest my hand on my weapon. “I do not want to cuff you, ma’am, but I need you to come with me.”
“I can’t. I have an appointment.”
