Strong Medicine

by Barbara Mountjoy

 

            Bob Jacobs was feeling good. No, he was feeling great.

            He was driving north on Interstate 77 through North Carolina, his newly-purchased black Camaro   sleek and polished. The car was his proudest possession, bought with the signing bonus he’d received when he’d accepted the job as circulation director at the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette.  It was the best job he’d ever had, making $10,000 more a year than he had at the paper in Gainesville. He liked the staff members that were waiting for him to arrive to start Monday morning. Everything was perfect!

            The red clay of Georgia rolled past him quickly, as he concentrated on the pep talk he’d give when he held his first meeting Monday morning. The radio announcer   marked the time, which caused Bob to step a little harder on the gas pedal. Damn! He had to make up that extra hour he’d slept in...stayed up too late partying with his old girlfriend, Susan. He checked in the rear-view mirror and saw no evidence of police presence, just his own reflection, hairline starting to recede, and dark, dark sunglasses, aviator style. Bob wanted to be in his new place in the North Hills of Pittsburgh before dark. Fortunately, he’d been able to find a furnished apartment in a good neighborhood, so all he’d had to pack was his clothing and other personal items, and his grandmother’s mantel clock. It had only taken a couple of hours to load it all the night before, all his needs for the next several weeks, box of corn flakes, clean underwear, and a coffee can full of marijuana..

            He looked in the rear-view mirror again, the thought of his weed a little unsettling. He’d buried the three-pound can deep under everything else in the trunk, after smoking a couple of joints the night before with Susie, who’d stopped by for old times’ sake. It was  a lot of grass, but until he could make proper connections in Pittsburgh, he didn’t want to run out! He worked hard, and sometimes just had a toke so he could fall asleep at night.

            The Doobie Brothers’ “China Grove” came on the radio, and he turned it up, hanging his elbow out the driver’s side window, speeding north along I-77 on the way to his new life. Susie had been cute but unsophisticated. Bob had used her pretty much over the last year for sex and a quick touch for a loan when he’d needed money. He had hopes of meeting someone more suitable in Pittsburgh-- there had been a beautiful blonde   he’d noticed in the accounting department as the publisher had taken him through the building...

            Bob was jolted back to full attention as he heard a siren behind him. Looking into the mirror, he saw a state troopers’ vehicle signaling him to pull over. He glanced at the clock as he slowed down and pulled off, realizing he would really be late now. Hellfire! he thought. That five miles per hour...

            He waited quietly, hands on the steering wheel as the officer left his car and walked up to the driver’s side. “Uh, good afternoon, officer,” Bob said with a friendly smile as he removed the shades.

            The man didn’t move a facial muscle, just stared for a moment. “Sir, I need to see your license and registration.” He bent over and looked into the car, scanning the front and back seats as Bob shuffled through papers in the glove compartment.  When Bob gave him the cards, he glanced at them, then glared at Bob. “Sir, are you aware you were driving seventy-five miles an hour?”

            “Seventy-five?” Bob asked. He wondered if honesty was the best policy, then went for it. “I wasn’t really paying attention, officer. I might have been over the limit, but I didn’t think it was that much!”

            “Would you step out of the car, sir?”

            Bob noticed the officer’s attention was focused on the back of his vehicle. “What’s the matter--”

            “Step out of the vehicle, Mr. Jacobs. Keep your hands where I can see them.”

            “But--” As he hesitated, he heard tapping on the back of his car and the whine of an anxious animal, and looked up in the mirror to see a German Shepherd frantically trying to get into his trunk. He also noticed a second North Carolina Trooper vehicle pulling up behind the first one, and his mouth suddenly felt dry as toast. He complied, seeing the approaching officers keeping their hands at the ready over their guns. The dog was still scratching furiously at the truck, and Bob saw with a stab of agony there were long gashes in the shiny black paint.

            “Mr. Jacobs, our dog seems to think you may have some contraband in your trunk. Do you mind if we take a look?”

            “Look? In the trunk?” His heart pounding, Bob knew exactly what the dog had smelled. But maybe if he told them they could look, they’d think he had nothing worth searching for...

            “If you don’t give us permission, sir, we’ll send  for a search warrant.” The officer wasn’t smiling, but Bob could hear the satisfaction in his voice.

            “Sure, whatever,” he said sadly. As the officers pulled Bob’s suitcases and boxes from the trunk, the dog got more frantic. Finally, the tallest officer pulled out the coffee can and shook it.

            “Mind if I open this?” he asked.

            “That must be a couple of pounds, George,” the trooper holding the dog said.

            “Too much for personal use ,” one of the new arrivals said.

            “You a dealer, Mr. Jacobs?” the first officer asked. “That much dope’s a felony!”

            Bob couldn’t speak. How could this be happening?

            “Serious jail time!” one of the others said. “I think we can confiscate the car, too, for transporting and possession, can’t we?”

            Listening to them, Bob’s head was spinning. It was all going away, the new job, the new car, his new life...

            “Sir, do you give your consent for me to open this?” the officer said again.        

            “No need, Vern. I can smell it from here. That’s probable cause,” the officer behind Bob said. Bob heard the click of handcuffs as the officer removed them from his belt. “Mr. Jacobs, 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 attorney  ....” He kept speaking, but Bob wasn’t listening, not really. What he heard was the third and fourth officers, standing nearby, discussing how they’d received an anonymous phone call from a woman in Gainesville, describing the car to a T, even where the grass was hidden.

            With a pained smile, Bob realized Susie apparently wasn’t as unsophisticated as he’d thought.