At 4:00 in the morning, riding on a smooth road in the dark, I could be anywhere. After an hour goes by we turn onto a road that feels like we are actually OFF-road & it is then I remember where we are - ah, yes, Jamaica. On the way from Montego Bay to Kingston. For the stupid SAT, of all things. No tourist trip, this.
It is now difficult to sleep in the car, even tho it is still dark with not even a hint of daybreak in sight. My son & I ride in the back of a Camry, our heads flopping this way & that in half-sleep, while up front our driver (hired for this event) negotiates the road - if you can call it that. Perhaps, I wonder, we should have rented a Jeep.
Suddenly the police are sirening & flashing behind us. This is unusual - so unusual that our driver doesn't seem to actually register that it is OUR car the police are after. Not like there are any other cars on the road. The road widens & the police car pulls up next to us.
"Pull over.", he instructs the driver.
"Great." I say.
We pull over. The two policemen exit their vehicle. One of them, must be the ranking officer, leans into the driver's window, pointing a flashlight of such size that I assume the officer must lift weights in order to have the muscle power to hold it up, into the driver's face. As the spotlight is not aimed at me, I am able to see that the officer is wearing a bullet-proof vest & a machine gun strapped over his back. Hmmm, I think. Not your routine police stop.
"Turn off the vehicle & get out of the car & give me the key." the policeman tells the driver.
Our driver appears to be related to my son somehow, as the three part command has him totally flustered. He gets out of the car, leaving it running (& now beeping it's 'door ajar' story) & stands next to the policeman.
"What did I do, Officer?" he asks.
"It's just a routine stop." the officer says, "I need to see your ID & the vehicle documents."
The driver scurries around the car to the passenger side to get the documents from the glove box, while the officer scrutinizes the driver's identification with his massive beacon. The second officer stands outside of our headlight's arc, just the whites of his eyes & metal buckles & buttons shine in the dark. I can't see his teeth, so he must not be smiling. The frogs are singing their impartial song. The Camry continues to beep in counterpoint.
"Well, Mr. Henry," the officer addresses our driver. "This car has been reported stolen by the owner. It has a tracking device. We have been tracking you from Montego Bay."
"WHAT?" Mr. Henry cannot believe it. I cannot believe it either. The car & driver belong to a major company whose sole job is to haul tourists all over the island. Obviously, there must be some misunderstanding. "There must be some misunderstanding." Mr. Henry echoes my thoughts. I can't help but chuckle to myself, cuz it is kind of funny, tho I am worried this may put us behind schedule.
"That may well be." says the policeman. "But we need to go to the station to sort this out." He gives Mr. Henry the directions to the station & warns that he will be "right behind us", in case Mr. Henry has any "funny ideas". It is 5:15. I doubt any of us have any "funny ideas" at this time in the morning.
Ugh, I groan to myself. The station - this could take weeks! I am ready to abandon my driver to his fate & hop into another vehicle, but, looking up & down the dark road I see no miraculous replacement vehicle waiting.
"What's going on?" my son stirs.
"We're suspected of car theft. We're going to the police station." I told him.
"Oh, Okay," he said, & turned his head & went back to sleep. Men! I think to myself, simply useless. So, off we go to the station.
At the station, we watch the police car bottom out on the dip into the driveway - we park on the street. The driver, Mr. Henry, gets out of the car & wanders off into the station. I feel the need to do something, so I hop out of the car & find the second officer still sitting in his vehicle. It occurs to me that I could possibly make matters worse, so I try for a docile tone, "Excuse me, Officer." He nods at me, giving me permission to address him. "Well," I begin, "I know you have all your police business to take care of, here, & all, but I am just kind of wondering how long this is going to take? My son has to be in Kingston by 7:45." I consider adding something like, 'it's a matter life & death! - a kidney/heart/brain transplant!'. But, I reconsidered, thinking it sounded too melodramatic, plus just then my son decided he may as well get out of the car, too, so he wandered over to us, looking healthy as can be.
So, this officer, smiling now, happily gave us the low down on our criminal status, how they'd been tracking us, & how now it was all up to the driver's company to clear things up. This didn't make me feel much better, because as far as I could see our driver hadn't even called his company to back him up.
I discovered at this moment, while being held for car theft in a strange dark police station, in the middle of a small town in the mountains that can't even afford a decent police station driveway, that I just could not stand by & do nothing. I did what any self-respecting woman would do in this situation. I called my husband.
"Hi, Honey."
"Yeah?"
"Are you asleep?"
"No, no. What's going on?"
"Well, we're in a little town in the mountains called Moneague. We're at the police station. The car we are in has been reported stolen."
Okay, I admit the man may have been sleeping a little bit - but you would expect when you drop a bomb like this on your husband that he would say something more edifying than, "Well, what do you want me to do?" Men! Again, useless, useless, useless!
"Oh, I don't know." I said. "It just occurred to me that in case you never see us again, you might be a little curious as to what has happened to us. May-be," I enunciate as if speaking to a child, "you could call the man you called to arrange this car & start working on it from that end. I am just worried we are going to get to Kingston too late for the stupid test."
A charge of car theft - nothing compared to the thought of my son missing the SAT!!
Meanwhile, in the station, the officer in charge is busy scrolling thru the telephone of Mr. Henry, looking for - what? - the contact Mr. Henry was going to meet in Kingston? The shady shop where the year old Camry would be fenced for parts, & it's hapless passengers sold in to a white slavery ring?
My husband calls me back. "Yeah, I called the supervisor & he was asleep. Didn't know anything about it."
I can feel my husband shaking his head in disbelief, astonished that after all this time, no one (besides me) had thought to call someone who might be a major key in the stolen car puzzle.
"I figured. The policeman is playing with the driver's phone, so I guess that's why he hasn't been able to call his boss."
We sit silently, on either end of the phone, breathing & listening to the frogs.
"Well, I guess that's it then." I said, "I guess we just have to wait." Behind me I hear the other officer asking my son what kind of test he is taking & that he is sure my son will pass. "Thanks." I say to my husband. "I'll call you later."
"Okay. Good luck."
"Yeah."
Luck was with us. The officer suddenly handed the phone back to Mr. Henry with a snap, & in the way of the Jamaican police, said nothing else, leaving Mr, Henry to ask if we were free to go. We were, said the officer, sounding somewhat disappointed, (most likely he was ready to throw us in the slammer) as he thanked us for our cooperation.
We hurried back to the car, my son, my driver & I, like co-conspirators, racing away from the jaws of Babylon. We were free! Soon we were bumping up the road again, my son getting his good nights rest before a major test, me crossing my fingers that we were not late, & Mr. Henry? Well, who knows what he was thinking, if anything at all.
Soon, day was breaking from behind the Blue Mountains. Looked like we were going to make it in time after all.
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