Sheriff Roy saw many odd occurrences during his time as a law enforcement officer. His years manning the helm of Mud Lick’s Sheriff’s Department opened his eyes to many wild cases of people breaking the law.
The call he’d gotten about a disabled vehicle straddling a median near the Wiggly Piggly? This was something out of a bad training video at the Academy.
The car was an old El Camino that somehow managed to strike a sign proclaiming “No U Turn” in the median near the Wiggly Piggly’s parking lot. Brown might have been the color, but it was now a mixture of Bond-O, rust colors, and some puke green.
At first the Sheriff thought the interior of the vehicle was on fire. Smoke almost completely covered the car’s interior, making it impossible to discern if anyone or anything was actually in the vehicle.
Sheriff Roy approached the stopped El Camino* cautiously. After removing his baton from his service belt, he used the tip to gently tap the driver side window of the Camino.
“Oh shit” came a muffled voice from inside the car, followed by what sounded like a grown man impersonating a hyena.
“Mellow out, man, we’re getting pulled over!” another voice said.
Slowly the window of the Camino rolled down, releasing billows of smoke from the interior. Sheriff Roy immediately identified the smell in the car.
Reeferheads, Sheriff Roy thought. Just what I needed this afternoon.
The smoke eventually cleared from the vehicle interior, and the Sheriff could see two men in the car. One looked like an aging hippie who’d just left the first Woodstock and was still trying to find his way home. The other was a Latino male in a wool knit hat, a T shirt that read “Grumpy Old Stoner,” suspenders, and jeans.
“Afternoon, sir,” Sheriff Roy began. “May I please see your license, registration, and proof of insurance?”
“License?” the driver asked. “Isn’t it back there on the bumper, man?”
The driver couldn’t stop giggling.
Under the influence driver. Sheriff Roy mentally ticked off a box in his head.
“Sir, I’m asking if I can see your driver license, your vehicle registration papers, and your proof of vehicle insurance. Can you produce that for me please?”
The driver stuttered for a minute, trying to grasp the request.
“Oh yeah man, here’s my driver license for you, man,” the driver finally said, snapping back to some semblance of coherence. As the man handed the small plastic rectangle to the Sheriff, he started laughing again.
“Hey I just thought of something funny,” the driver giggled. “Your mama, man.”
Disorderly conduct. Another box mentally checked in the Sheriff’s head.
Gritting his teeth, Sheriff Roy regained his composure and continued after inspecting the license. “What’s your name, sir?”
“Isn’t it on the license there?”
“Yes sir, it is.”
“Can’t you read it man?” The Camino’s driver leaned out of the window to stare at the license. “See? Pedro. That’s my name, man. Pedro.”
“Okay, Pedro, you want to tell me why you’re parked on a median? Maybe why you struck a sign driving and have been sitting here for the past two hours according to my dispatch call?”
Pedro continued to giggle, closing his eyes briefly once, then opening them widely after returning to giggling again. Turning to his companion, Pedro said “Hey man I didn’t know it was going to be like this, man. How long does this shit last?”
The man in the passenger seat stared blankly ahead and said nothing. He just took a handful of…something, tossed it in his mouth and swallowed it.
Five will get you ten that’s destruction of evidence. Another box ticked off.
“Sir?” Sheriff Roy asked. “You in the passenger seat. You got any identification on you?”
The man stared ahead, blankly. After a few moments he mumbled, “I refuse to answer any questions on the advice of my attorneys that I might incriminate myself, man.”
“What’s wrong?” Pedro asked. “The dude just wants to know your name. What’s your name man? Just tell the dude and we’ll be good.”
The Camino’s passenger responded by vomiting all over the floorboard.
“Uh, he says his name’s ‘Ralph.’” Pedro said, pausing for a brief moment to get that retort out before continuing to giggle wildly.
“Give me just a minute, gentlemen, while I run this. I’ll be right back.”
As Sheriff Roy started back to his patrol car he heard Pedro yell, “Come back baby! I miss you already sweetheart!” before giggling again.
Keying the license into his cruiser’s dash-mounted computer, the Sheriff stared at the results with wide eyes.
Surely not, thought the Sheriff. It can’t be possible there’s two of them this different in my town.
He picked up his car’s receiver. “Dispatch, this is Sheriff Roy. Put me through to Deputy Miranda ASAP please.”
Within moments of the Sheriff’s request, Deputy Ernesto Miranda’s voice crackled over the speaker. “What’s up, boss?”
“You got any kin named Pedro, Deputy Miranda?”
Silence dominated the airwaves for a moment. “Is this some kind of joke, Sheriff? I’ve got a cousin named Pedro. Are you trying to rib me?”
“What’s your cousin look like, Deputy?”
“Oh he’s a short little fucker. Five foot six maybe at best. And the last time I saw him he had this nasty looking mustache. Our aunt—we call her “Tia,” Sheriff—was bitching about it last time he was at a family dinner because he was stoned off his ass and wouldn’t clean pasta salad off it.”
“Well don’t look now, Deputy, but I think I’ve got your cousin pulled over near the Wiggly Piggly higher than giraffe pussy in an old El Camino that struck a road sign.”
An audible exhalation came through the speaker. “Fuck” said Deputy Miranda.
“No one’s been injured and it looks like he was driving at maybe 2-3 miles per hour by my estimation when he struck the sign. The car was hot-boxed to high hell from reefer and I’m pretty sure that’s not all your cousin’s high on at the moment.”
“Why can’t you just call it marijuana or pot, Sheriff?”
“Because when I went through my training they called it reefer so that’s what I’ll call it, dammit,” Sheriff Roy snapped. “Now is there some reason I should send your deadbeat pothead cousin on his way? Because from where I’m sitting I’m about to arrest his ass and his friend too. He’s looking at a DUI and a possible possession charge.”
Deputy Miranda didn’t respond immediately. Most likely, Sheriff Roy thought, his second in command was weighing whether the amount of paperwork and awkward family dinner conversations was worth the arrest.
“Deputy Tyrone needs some extra busywork and I’m done with covering for Pedro,” Miranda finally replied. “Sheriff, I think you should go ahead and arrest them both.”
“Thank you, Deputy Miranda, and happy Cinco De Mayo.”
“You know you can still buy me tacos and a margarita and it’s not cultural appropriation, right Sheriff?”
“I’ll get you Bull Taco on the way back to the station if you’re so inclined, Deputy.”
Deputy Miranda laughed and signed off.
Returning to the Camino, Sheriff Roy addressed Pedro.
“I’m placing you under arrest, Pedro Miranda, for driving under the influence. I’m detaining you, ‘Ralph,’ because I think you’re both dopers and one of you probably has some kind of contraband on your person. Both of you have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an…”
Sheriff Roy’s recitation was interrupted by “Ralph” erupting into a fit of coughing and laughter.
“That’s a trip, man!”
“What’s so funny, sir?” Sheriff Roy asked.
“Yeah, man, I’m over here fucking getting arrested by the pigs, man.” Pedro griped. “What’s so fucking funny?”
“Ralph” doubled over in a fit of laughter.
“He’s reading a Miranda ‘Miranda Rights,’ man! That’s some funny shit, because your name’s Miranda,” “Ralph” gasped for breath, “And you’re getting read your own rights, man! What a trip!”
Both Pedro and “Ralph” found this immensely funny. Sheriff Roy didn’t see the humor.
At least the two dopers’ laughter kept them nice and compliant all the way to the Driftwood County Jail’s processing area and straight through booking.
Sheriff Roy was very libertarian in his leanings toward reefer, he contemplated later that night. He saw no problem that some states had legalized its use for adults, and even realized there were some possible medicinal benefits the plant conferred.
It was still illegal in the God Fearing State of Alabama, though, and because of that it was Sheriff Roy’s job to keep dopers like Deputy Miranda’s cousin Pedro off the streets and away from polite society.
And the good Sheriff was resolute in his decision that he wouldn’t touch a single jazz cigarette or anything like it until no less an authority than Nick Saban himself declared the stuff okay for use.
The man did Afflac commercials, after all.
And Pedro deserved the arrest. It’s bad form to talk badly about someone’s mother.
*Ed. Note: No El Caminos were harmed in the writing of this post.
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