Passing Through
By
Paul Carro
Sheriff Lindsey Baker spoke loudly into her cellphone over the omnipresent sound of a siren.
Cars moved out of her way as she sped down the freeway.
Normally she would have road raged at drivers slow to pull over, but the phone conversation held her attention.
The loud siren made it difficult to hear clearly.
She refused to raise her voice to compensate because the conversation already bordered on an argument.
“No, honey, I don’t have time to cook ribs tonight. They take too long and I’m on the job.”
She shook her head as her husband Glenn argued his case on the other end. Blah, but I want ribs tonight. Blah, and you never cook anymore. Blah, ribs, I want ribs.
And I want you to get off your duff and order your own damn food.
If you can call me then you can call a restaurant, Lindsey thought.
“Honey, if I have time, I will pick up some ribs. How about that?” Compromise struck.
She did not need to buy any wine for the meal. Her husband was supplying plenty.
The object of the initial service call finally made an appearance in the form of a head looming over a car which had pulled over to allow the sheriff to pass.
Lindsey’s internal siren went off louder than the one atop her city vehicle.
Walking along the side of the freeway, was one of the largest men she had ever seen.
The tall man strode down the interstate highway. Not walked, not jogged, but strode, was howLindsey thought of his gait. Tall was an understatement. She had several ‘big fellas’ on her team, but this stranger was taller. Six-five minimum and at least two fifty.
“Honey, you ever read them Lee Child Jack Reacher novels? Because I think I just ran into his much larger cousin,” Baker said as much to herself as her husband.
Glenn’s response was swift and infantile.
The sheriff pulled her phone away and looked at the screen, incredulously.
Were they face-timing, she would have flipped him the bird.
She stuck her tongue out at the phone just to preserve some sanity before pulling it back to her ear and continuing the conversation.
“You’re asking if I find him cute? A man who could put me in the ground?
First, the word would be handsome or even hot.
Someone that size is not cute, never cute.
Good ole Lennie wasn’t cute when he crushed that poor puppy, or rabbit, depending on which version one reads,” she said.
The utter silence on the other end prompted a response.
“Of Mice and Men, honey. Sorry, I guess that reference was like bringing a knife to a gunfight with you,“ she said.
Glenn took to cursing loud enough to be heard over the siren. Lindsey declared her love to her frustrated hubby and hung up. She killed the siren and drove closer to the roadside stranger. The man appeared oblivious to her presence.
At least he appeared to be heading out of town, and she considered allowing him to go on his merry way, but there was the possibility of him becoming a road flapjack. Big guy or not, a semi did not discriminate. It was also against the law, walking on the interstate like that.
She lit him up, but the man kept moving, never looking back. At the speed vehicles raced past, she could not safely make a traffic break with a single cruiser, so she pulled onto the breakdown lane behind him.
Bloop!
Baker single blipped the siren, but the man just kept on keeping on.
Baker was five-ten and gym fit. She could handle herself in most cases and where she could not, she had the great equalizer at her hip.
Still, the man was large, and better than gym fit.
He was all kinds of muscle as best she could imagine, considering the oversized black duster and black sun hat he wore.
Being so tall, the man’s sleeves fell short on his arms along with the coat’s bottom which barely reached past his quads.
Hefty forearms and calves suggested the man was muscle-packed everywhere.
The muscles that were visible were not the glory ones, but were the ones routinely ignored by show boaters at the gym.
That likely meant the man was big everywhere.
As it was, the coat seemed in distress at having to cover such a massive form.
She pulled up closer behind him. The man moved at a brisk pace and continued his ignoring the law tour. Realizing her lights and blooping siren were slowing traffic in a looky-loo fashion, she killed both and life on the freeway went on.
Once a break in traffic occurred naturally, it was Maine after all, (if one does not like weather or traffic wait a minute) she pulled alongside the man.
The sheriff gestured for the pedestrian to move further from the traffic lanes.
The stranger looked her way and tipped his hat.
That was her last straw. She gunned it ahead of him and hit the brakes, storming out of the vehicle only to gasp in fright as a pickup blew past, honking at her for being too close to the road.
She stepped into the man’s path, and to his credit, he stopped. Shit, more mountain than man, Baker thought, but did not let her unease show. She felt suddenly small. Man was a brick house. No coat could hide his proportions. She should have called backup, she thought.
“Stop right there, close enough,” Baker said, hand on her weapon.
“I already stopped, sheriff, though it pains me to do so,” he said in a voice like gravel in a blender.
“Why is that?”
“Because I’m just passing through,” he said.
“Just passing through?” Baker asked.
“Yes, ma’am, and you’re impeding progress,” he said.
“Is that so?”
He nodded. She examined the stranger from a safe distance. An odor emanated from the man, but nothing unpleasant. Sweat, dirt, leather from the jacket, but no sign of alcohol, nor the sickening sweet smell of certain drugs.
“You don’t need to call for backup,” the man said.
“Why does that make me think I should?” Baker asked.
“I’m letting you know I will not hurt you unless…”
There it was. A threat. “Unless what, cowboy?”
“I mean no harm. I’m just passing through,” he corrected himself.
“How about if I give you a lift?”
He lit up at the suggestion, which Baker found strange.
She also got a better look at his eyes. She heard of gray eyes before but never met anyone who had them.
He did, but when the brim of his hat blocked the sun, the eyes went dark, ink black.
She jerked into a defensive posture when he suddenly moved. Baker tightened her grip on the weapon.
“I’m just taking you up on the offer. Glad to get off my feet,” he said and started toward her vehicle.
She raced ahead and opened the back door. He got in the rear seat with no problem, despite his immense size. Once inside, she breathed a sigh of relief and slammed the door. She retook the front seat and readjusted her rearview, which had never needed to be aimed so high.
“Looks like you have had practice getting into police vehicles,” she said.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Then it hit her. She met his gaze and felt a chill. His eyes were black for certain and colder than any she ever saw. While uncertain who she had in her backseat, she felt unsafe, despite his calm demeanor and her position of power over him.
“I’ll ride as far as you will take me, but I think it would be best for all if I get to the town line,” he said.
“Is that so?” She asked as he nodded in reply, eyes never blinking. “Well, we have one stop to make first, I’m afraid.”
Baker tried to focus on the road, but she kept glancing in the rearview.
The man’s eyes remained focused on the same mirror, waiting for her to look back again.
For a tourist passing through, he was uninterested in scenery.
She leaped in surprise when a cell rang.
Hers. Waylon Jennings professed his love to her through a ringtone. She always answered Waylon.
“Honey? Bad time. I know, I don’t like leaving things where we did either, but one of us must work.” Baker glanced in the rearview. Her passenger gazed with eyes shifting from that gray to black. Damn those eyes, she thought. “Honey, I love you, but I have to go.”
She disconnected with her husband Glenn. The stranger watched her intently during the brief exchange, waiting for her to finish the call before speaking, his voice still like pebbles clacking together.
“Trouble at home?”
“Don’t know that I would call it that,” she said. “And none of your business.”
“You really should let me pass through,” he said.
With that, he finally looked to the street.
Baker had already pulled off the interstate.
Baker operated out of the nearby Monmouth station.
There were holding cells there, but they would deliver anyone booked to the prison down south.
Their county was massive, and the drive was substantial.
It was not worth making the trip for such a minor infraction, but it was those eyes.
Baker feared letting the man go only to discover him responsible for some atrocity along the way.
“What is your name?” Baker asked her passenger.
“Crevice,” he answered.
“Crevice? What kind of name is that?”
“A name.”
“And where are you from?”
“That I can’t answer,” he said.
“Well, ain’t that convenient,” she said.
“Not at all. It is a burden I carry. One of many,” he said.
The man ceased speaking for the rest of the trip.
Crevice appeared disappointed when they arrived at the sheriff’s station. Two of her big boy deputies that she had called ahead greeted her. Officers Nolan and Higgins, both good men that she would give her life for. They could not help but remark on the man’s size.
“Dang, how much do you weigh?” Nolan asked.
“It fluctuates,” the man answered.
“Something wrong with your throat?” Higgins asked.
“That’s how he talks,” Baker said.
Waylon crooned again. “Honey, please. Bad time right now. Yes, I still love you…”