Dispatch I have a problem

Dispatch I have a problem is a short work of fiction dealing with a Sherriff deputy and a speeding car full of chickens. Tecumseh is a fictional town located somewhere in Indiana.

Dispatch I have a problem

Washington County Sherriff’s Deputy G.W. Harding was about to end his shift. It was 11:45 p.m. on a Friday night. He was headed back to the station when a late-model Trans Am passed him as if he was standing still. A stream of curse words filled the air when he hit the lights. By the time he caught up with the vehicle, he was traveling over one-hundred twenty miles an hour. In his wildest dreams, Harding never imagined he’d utter the words dispatch I have a problem before the end of his shift.

It was a cut and dry case of felony reckless driving if he ever saw one. There was no telling what he’d run into once the vehicle came to a stop. The car veered onto the shoulder at such a high rate of speed he was sure it was going to roll. He exited the vehicle with his hand on his weapon. Harding thought he was prepared for any eventuality he might encounter.

What Deputy Harding didn’t expect was the pretty blonde woman wearing the low-cut blouse sitting behind the steering wheel. The type of lady you could find dancing in a top-notch stripper club in Las Vegas. She rolled down the window and gave the traditional response. “Can I help you, officer,” she said. Her cleavage seemed to bulge when she said the words.

The standard question

“Do you know why I pulled you over?” He said.

“I believe it might be because I was going a little fast.”

“A little fast. Lady, I clocked you at one-hundred and twenty miles an hour and that was when you were slowing down,” Harding said.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t think I was going that fast.”

“License and registration. please.” Harding was beyond irritated at this point. The clock hands had moved beyond midnight. If he was going to work overtime, he was going to make it worth the county’s dollar. The bright red fake nails on her hands flashed when she reached into her purse for her identification.

Standard procedure

He walked back to his car, examined the information on the license, and picked up the mic to the radio. “Dispatch I need a check on A Susie Clark. White female about 120 pounds with blue eyes and platinum blonde hair. The last known address is 100 East 650 South Harrisburg, Indiana. She’s driving a red Trans Am with vanity plates reading Foxy Mama.”

There was a long period of silence before the radio spring to life again. “The car is registered to a Susie Clark, same address. There are no wants are warrants.”

Harding thought about what his next move should be. If he took her in, he’d be looking at an hour of paperwork. The way she was driving, he was sure she was going to kill someone. “Dispatch, I’ll be transporting a prisoner,” he said once he made up his mind.

Driver is upset

By the time he walked back to the car, Susie Clark was in the middle of a crying jag. “You need to step out of the car,” Harding said reaching for his handcuffs. Susie stepped out of the vehicle and placed her hands behind her back.

She knew what was coming. Her large breasts heaved up and down as she sobbed. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. If you can’t afford an attorney one will be provided for you. Do you have any questions?” Harding said. He’d gave the Miranda Rights so often he knew them by heart.

It took Susie several minutes to catch her voice. “Can you shut my door for me. I don’t want my birds out on the highway.” Deputy Harding moved around Susie and glanced into the inside of the car. He had no reason to suspect drugs or alcohol. There was no reason to conduct a search or examine the interior of the vehicle until now. He saw movement in the backseat.

Not so standard vehicle passengers

He heard a definite clucking sound and moved Susie Clark to the side and leaned his head into the automobile. That was when a giant rooster crowed in his face and dug into the vehicle’s upholstery with his talons. “Lady, do you know you have a flock of chickens in your car?” Was the only response that came to the mind of the surprised officer.

“Of course I do. That’s why I was going so fast. You see Melvin and I broke up last night. My boyfriend isn’t a nice man. He threatened to kill my birds and put them in the freezer. I couldn’t let him harm my friends, so I loaded them into the Trans Am while Melvin was going for the ax. I have a cousin with a farm down in Kentucky. She said the birds and I could stay with her for a while. I had to drive real fast or Melvin is liable to catch up with me.” Susie batted her eyes at Deputy Harding. His insides turned to mush.

Harding’s response

Harding turned the blonde-haired woman around and sat her down on the seat of her car. He marched back to his police cruiser and picked up the radio mike. “Dispatch, I have a problem. Is there a place where we can put up a dozen chickens?” There was a long period of silence before dispatch made a response.

He could picture the laughing taking place at the station while they were trying to figure out where to keep the birds. Harding glanced at the sign a hundred feet in front of him declaring the cross over into Jefferson County. If she’d pulled over a couple of seconds later, she’d be their problem. He was glad he was on the second shift. The station would be deserted. If this had happened on A-shift, he’d never be able to live it down.

What do you do with a carload of chickens

“That would be a negative on a place to keep the birds unless they can be donated to the sheriff’s barbeque fundraiser,” the dispatcher said with laughter in his voice. “If she isn’t agreeable to contributing the bird to the Sheriff’s barbeque, try the animal shelter in Tecumseh. They might have a place to keep birds.”

It took three tries before Harding got someone at Animal control in Tecumseh to pick up the phone. He explained his situation to the best of his ability. The important thing was to get someone to agree to cross into Washington County to take possession of the birds. He’d breathe easier when they were out of his hands.

Angry rooster

The last thing Harding needed was a run-in with an angry rooster twenty minutes after his shift officially ended. The bird had murder in his beady little bird eyes. “No can do,” the animal control officer said. “We don’t take anything that doesn’t have fur.” Harding could hear the yawn in the person’s voice. He’d lay money on the fact he’d interrupted the man’s nap.

The Deputy faced a dilemma. He couldn’t allow the sexy speeder to drive off into the night without suffering any consequences for her actions.

Therefore, Harding stomped back to the vehicle and reached for his handcuff keys. He motioned for Susie to stand to her feet. Her enormous breasts brushed the front of his shirt when she got out of the car. “Susie, this is your lucky day. I’m going to issue you a summons because I have no idea what to do about your chickens. Turn around. I need my cuffs back.”

Susie gets lucky

As soon as her hands were free, Susie ran her red nails down the front of his chest. She gave Harding a peck on the cheek.

“Thank you, officer. You’ve saved the life of my birds. I owe you a debt of gratitude.” She lowered herself onto the driver’s seat, flashed Officer Harding her sexiest smile, put the Trans Am in gear, and drove off into the night.

The guys at the Liar’s Table get the low down

Ed Wilson from the liar’s table over at the Cup & Spoon heard the entire interchange over the police scanner. He was an insomniac looking for excitement. The first thing the next morning, he brought the subject of a bird sanctuary up at the liar’s table over at the Cup & Spoon. His opinion was Tecumseh was in desperate need of a place to put birds in case of emergency.

Wilson was an amateur ornithologist who spent his spare time bird watching. The other men at the table didn’t have any enthusiasm for Wilson’s bird rescue project. They were more interested in the chick officer Harding let getaway.

There was a lot of speculation about whether she was a blonde or redhead. A brunette would have sense enough not to be caught speeding with a flock of chickens in her car. They were certain she had big breasts. A busty woman could always get out of a speeding ticket. Wilson reminded them Harding gave her a summons. Luther Pigg II suggested the good officer only wrote out the summons so he could see the woman again.

The Henhouse ladies figure Susie will run

The ladies over at The Hen House decided to keep a close eye on the case. It was the type of chase Chopper would send them on if he had to post a bond for Susie Clark.

They knew the woman would run. She had a propensity for speed. A month later, Elba Mae was flipping through the ads in the Tecumseh Times when she ran across the wedding announcements. The picture of a smiling couple gazed back at her.

All is well that ends well

Sherriff’s Deputy G.W. Harding said his vows with Susie Clark in a little wedding chapel near London, Kentucky. Elba Mae thought it was nice poor Susie and her chickens found their happy ending. She closed the paper with a sigh. It looked like the Hen House Ladies weren’t going to make a penny off the speeder who got away. There wasn’t a chance in hell she’d be taken into custody now.  She whistled Here comes the Bride when she went back to work arranging the flowers for the Usher funeral.

Who is Molly Shea?

Molly Shea is an accomplished fictional short story writer from Indiana, who writes short stories and novels about a fictional town called Tecumseh.  To read more of her short stories and adventures click here.

Be sure to follow Molly on Twitter!






Published by henhouselady

I am the author of Saving the Hen House. I didn't know when I started it would turn into a series. I love to ride motorcycles, the blues, my family, and going on adventures. This old hen rocks.

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