Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 39, No. 13, Mid-December 1994

The Domino Drug Bust: A Love Story by Bobby Lee

If the truth were known, the whole business actually got started with a nap. An untimely nap, maybe. But a nap, nonetheless. Which isn’t exactly what you’d call an auspicious beginning, considering that the outcome was the biggest, not to mention the strangest, drug bust in all of Miller County history.

It’s just that Sheriff Duncan was really tired, and really sleepy. And the midafternoon sun coming through the windshield had warmed the car up so nicely that, with speeders out on Highway 17 being so rare anyway, well, it was only natural for him to conclude that his daily afternoon patrol out past Harvester’s Maw would be a perfect opportunity to catch up on some of the sleep he’d lost on account of his weekly game of dominoes with Miss Petula running so late the night before. After all, who knew?

Who knew that dusty old pickup full of out-of-towners would come racing down the highway at twenty miles an hour over the posted speed limit? Who knew they’d come roaring right past the very spot where the sheriff had chosen to pull off the road and park that shiny new squad car the mayor had bought to help fight the rising tide of crime in America, just like he’d promised to do during the last campaign?

Well, the fact of the matter is, nobody knew. Least of all Sheriff Duncan, a man going on seventy-four years of age and in dire need of sleep. But in point of fact, that’s exactly what they did. And that’s when things began to get a little out of hand.

Because that transition from deep sleep to wide awake isn’t easy. Not for anybody. Just consider the last time your phone rang in the middle of the night, and how that surge of adrenaline carried you halfway down the hall on the way to answer it before your brain even figured out what it was you’d heard. Well, that’s pretty much how it was for Sheriff Duncan when that old truck went whizzing past and woke him up so unexpectedly. His body more or less just jumped right into action, even though his brain was still asleep and his body was acting pretty much at the complete discretion of adrenaline.

Not that you’d have known it from looking, the way he slammed that new high performance engine into gear and went squalling and slip-sliding out onto the highway. But if the truth were known, he was halfway down to Harvester’s Maw and riding right up on the rear bumper of that truck before his brain even considered switching on.

Well, it goes without saying that when his brain finally did switch on it was only to discover that it was facing a fair-sized dilemma, what with him racing bumper to bumper with that old pickup right into Harvester’s Maw. Which, as it turned out, wasn’t anything compared to the dilemma facing the driver of that pickup truck, who’d not only been more than a little bit spooked at the way that car he was watching in his rear view mirror had raced up and parked right off his rear bumper, but was well on his way to becoming downright terrified from the realization that the car that was tailgating him was a police cruiser.

The thing is, what with him being from out of town and all, the driver of that truck was totally unaware that the Maw had gotten its name from the way local harvesting equipment, when it’s being transported out on the highway, has a tendency to swallow up whole unsuspecting motorists who insist on going too fast around that big curve out on the edge of town. And of course, when he panicked at the thought of being pulled over, at the thought of being caught redhanded with the contraband he was carrying, and he slammed his foot down on the accelerator and began to pull out ahead of the police cruiser, he had absolutely no way at all of knowing that he was already staring down the throat of the Maw. And wouldn’t you just know that, true to form, right when he started banking into that ninety degree turn, that ugly mechanical monster reared its massive body up in the road ahead, blocking out the whole world except for what looked to him like acre after acre of John Deere green.

Now, about the time that old pickup went fishtailing out of sight around the curve of the Maw, the sheriff, who had finally wakened to the point that he was beginning to question the wisdom of stampeding a speeding out-of-towner right into the depths of the Maw without nary a by your leave nor word of warning, was also beginning to more fully appreciate his own predicament. Because, being a local, he understood all too well how few options the Maw leaves.

You see, Highway 17, being an old stretch of road, was built back in the days when roads still followed property lines and went around rather than through hills. This particular stretch of Highway 17 comes down on a pretty straight line from the north until within a mile or so of the outskirts of Crenshaw, at which point it runs up at a forty-five degree angle onto a long narrow hill that locally goes by the name of Beaumont Ridge. To avoid going either all the way over the top or right through Beaumont Ridge, after the highway climbs partway up the side of the ridge it bends through a ninety degree turn to the east, forming the curve known as Harvester’s Maw. From there it runs pretty much in a straight line east, angling away from the crest of the ridge, until it reaches the heart of Crenshaw.

Now, what all that means is that, as you round the Maw, all you’ve got on the right as a buffer between you and the ridge is the shoulder of the road, a ditch, a stretch of ground maybe six feet wide. Off to your left, of course, you’re looking at a pretty sharp dropoff down to the bottom of the ridge. So when you come around the curve too fast and find yourself overtaking one of those big, slow-moving harvesters that take up all of their own lane and the better part of the other lane, you don’t have a lot of choices. What most folks faced with that dilemma choose to do is to panic, which generally means they end up driving right up the tail end of the harvester.

What the driver of that pickup, who in fact was a mighty fine driver in his own right, chose to try to do was to veer sharply off to the right, leap that ditch, and glance off the bluff on the other side before finally straightening back out on that little stretch of ground between the bluff and the ditch. What in fact he did was veer to the right, clip the tail end of that harvester with his front left bumper, slide down one side of the ditch and back up the other, and skid across that short stretch of ground on the other side and into the bluff. Which was pretty close to the outcome he’d been looking for, even if the method was a bit different from what he’d planned. The only problem was, he hadn’t anticipated that there might be a utility pole standing there right in his way, and before he could bring that truck to a stop, he’d slammed into that pole and snapped it right in half.

What the sheriff chose to do, on the other hand, was to bank on the fact that there wasn’t going to be any oncoming traffic getting around that green monster up ahead, and to take the opportunity to move over into the left lane while bleeding off his speed as fast as he could by holding his brakes down just shy of the point of locking up. And in a maneuver the kids around these parts will be talking about and trying to copy for years to come, instead of braking still harder the way every fiber of his being was demanding, he let off the brakes entirely as he entered the curve and let the car coast, allowing his speed to edge him back across the road and into his own lane. Scraping past the back end of the harvester so closely that he could’ve reached out and touched up the paint job that’d been marred when the pickup clipped it, he came out the other side of the Maw and pulled off onto the shoulder of the road. And, breathing a sigh of relief they could’ve heard downtown, he pulled to a stop just a few feet short of where the truck was sitting. Just in time to watch the utility pole fall.

See, what had happened was that the truck had clipped that pole with its right front bumper and then rolled on ahead several feet, penning the lower end of the upper piece between the side of the truck and the bottom of the bluff. Which for a second or two provided enough support to keep the top half of that pole sitting pretty much upright, though it was teetering back and forth a mite, first one way, then the other. Which was just long enough for the sheriff to arrive. At which time the sheriff heard a sharp crack and looked up in time to see the top half of the pole tear loose and fall over against the crest of the ridge.

Which, as it turned out, was not really a good thing. Because it was just at that point along the crest of the ridge that old Joe Walker Senior had chosen to build his house. Not that the pole hit his house, mind you. But one of those wooden crosspieces that they attach power lines to did just barely graze that big commercial dumpster that was sitting at the top of old Joe Senior’s driveway. The very same dumpster that old Joe had put up on a set of wheels so he could wheel it around all over the place, and that he’d been using to hold all the waterlogged carpet and lumber he’d been pulling out of his back bedroom, which had been ruined when the roof sprung a leak back during those awful spring storms. And, well, when it was hit by that crosspiece, that dumpster just sort of was nudged over the tiniest bit. Which started it rolling down the driveway.

Now, old Joe Senior has a driveway that runs from his house on down to the bottom of the hill, where it connects up to the highway just a little beyond where the pickup had slammed into that pole. And as luck would have it, that dumpster rolled all the way down that hill and out onto the highway. And of all things, it crossed over the center line and into the far lane just as Miss Petula was coming up the highway in that brand new Lincoln she’d gone all the way up to Kansas City to buy for herself on her seventy-third birthday.

Of course Miss Petula did her best to try to avoid that dumpster, and even though she is going on seventy-four, same as the sheriff, she’s not a bad driver. But it wouldn’t have mattered if she’d been Joie Chitwood. There just wasn’t time or room. And before the sheriff could move or even yell a warning, she slammed right into the side of that dumpster, which, being filled with waterlogged carpet and lumber and being a pretty fair-sized object to begin with, probably weighed more than that Lincoln did. And it was definitely moving faster. And that Lincoln just sort of lost out in the shoving match that ensued and went careening right off the far side of the road.

Now, curious thing about it is that, while old Joe Walker lives on the bluff off on the south side of the road, Joe Walker Junior lives right across the road on the north side, down in the valley where old Stimson’s Creek used to run before it dried up back when they started diverting the water for agricultural use upstream a few miles. And between the highway and Joe Junior’s place there’s not a thing that would stop a car. Not a ditch or a tree or anything. Just a long clear slope that leads right on down into Joe Junior’s back yard.

So naturally that Lincoln not only went off the road, but plunged right on down that hillside, picking up speed every step of the way. And by the time it got to the bottom of the hill, it was going so fast that it crashed right through that giant privet hedge that forms a fifteen foot high border all around Joe Junior’s yard. In fact, it was going so fast that after it passed through the hedge it plowed right on through the yard and crashed right into the back of Joe Junior’s house.

Joe Junior’s house, unfortunately, was built right on the shaved-off top of a little hillock that overlooks the creekbed. And when that Lincoln crashed into it, the force of the impact just sort of broke that house in two, and the front piece slid off the far side of that hillock and into the creekbed. The back end of the house, once it was no longer anchored in place by the front end, was free to slide right off the back side of the hillock and more or less just sort of swallow up that Lincoln, Miss Petula and all. At the same time, what remained of the roof just sort of collapsed down real gently on to the top of the car, kind of like the top of a souffle falling as ft cools, penning Miss Petula inside.

Well, it shouldn’t come as any big surprise that right about now Sheriff Duncan was starting to feel like he was in a Twilight Zone episode or something, what with such an innocent act as taking a nap leading to such a bizarre and unlikely chain of events. And just to complete the picture, as if things weren’t crazy enough, from out of nowhere appeared both old Joe Senior, who’s been an insurance agent in these parts for probably twenty years, and his son Joe Junior, who for two years now has been working as a photographer for the Crenshaw Weekly while moonlighting taking pictures for his father’s agency. And they began scurrying all around the place, like a pair of mice in a cheese factory, taking measurements and shooting pictures for all the world like they were planning to file an insurance claim right at that very moment, with neither one of them even noticing that Miss Petula was still in the car trapped under that collapsed roof.

Needless to say, when it finally dawned on him what the two of them were doing, the sheriff pretty much just exploded into a fit of apoplexy. After all, there he was worrying about whether Miss Petula was even alive, and maybe wondering a little what he would do if she wasn’t, what with her pretty much being a permanent fixture in his life, not to mention his one and only dominoes partner, throughout these past sixty-odd years, and those two bone-heads were down there taking pictures for an insurance claim for all the world like she wasn’t even there!

Well, after several futile attempts to draw the attention of the Walkers to the plight of Miss Petula by shouting at them, the sheriff abandoned the attempt and began searching for some alternative course of action. And to his everlasting embarrassment and regret, what caught his attention at that very moment was the winch that was attached to the front end of the pickup truck, which was still sitting there next to the bottom of that fallen utility pole.

With the line from the winch securely fastened to the portion of Joe Junior’s roof that was resting on top of Miss Petula’s Lincoln, Sheriff Duncan threw the switch and started reeling it in. And once the change in the whine of the winch told him that it was pulling a load, he crossed the highway and sat down on the shoulder to catch his breath and watch what was happening down below.

And of course, as if old Rod Serling himself was behind the scenes manipulating events, things just proceeded to get stranger and stranger. Because the piece of roof that was sitting on top of that Lincoln lurched forward no more than a couple of feet before it caught on something and stopped. But the winch kept winding away, the pitch of its whine getting higher and higher all the while, until there was a loud, wrenching sound and that truck started to roll forward. And wouldn’t you know it, that old winch just pulled that truck right back across the ditch, up onto and across the highway, and down the hill on the other side, barely missing taking the sheriff with it.

Right on down the hill it went, jostling and bouncing and picking up speed all the way. By the time the sheriff had climbed to his feet and started racing down the hillside, it’d passed right through the opening in Joe Junior’s hedge opened by Miss Petula’s Lincoln and crashed into the Walkers, who didn’t see it coming on account of being so totally engrossed in assessing the damage to what appeared to be the remains of a lawn jockey, scattering them across the yard like they were bowling pins.

Without even slowing down, it raced on across the yard and crashed right into the back of the Lincoln, and the force of the impact was so great that it pushed the Lincoln the rest of the way into what was left of Joe Junior’s house, and the pickup just sort of slipped right into the opening that was left when the Lincoln moved on. Only the pickup was taller than the Lincoln, and when it slipped into that opening, it sort of just popped that section of roof right up into the air. Which lifted more or less straight up for several feet, then came crashing down with considerable force right on top of the pickup, crushing the truck’s roof and popping the windows right out of their frames and the hubcaps right off the wheels.

It was an awful sight to see, the way the bodies and all the bits and pieces of debris were strewn all over Joe Junior’s yard, and the way the house had pretty much been reduced to just a pile of rubble. And when Sheriff Duncan finally came running into the yard, huffing and puffing so hard his face was beet red, and saw what he’d done, he figured that for him the game was pretty much over. If Miss Petula hadn’t been killed by the original crash, she was surely dead by now. And even though he’d never in a million years let on to anybody how he felt about her, the thought that she might be dead was too horrifying to even entertain.

On the other hand, having suffered her wrath almost perpetually throughout their long and somewhat strange relationship, he found the thought of finding her alive, of having to face her and own up to what he’d caused to happen to her precious car, almost as horrifying. Especially after he scrambled over the top of that pile of rubble and saw what was left of the Lincoln, which oddly enough was sitting on the family room rug, snuggled up real cosy next to the fireplace. It took him a couple of seconds to verify that Miss Petula was still breathing, but he knew immediately that the car was gone. A total loss. It made him want to just sit down and cry.

Which, curiously enough, was pretty much what he was preparing to do when he happened to notice that the ground around the pickup truck was literally covered with these little plastic bags that were filled with some kind of white powder. Little plastic bags that had apparently been stashed between the truck’s hubcaps and tires and had fallen out when the hubcaps popped off.

So, to make a long story short, that was how Sheriff Duncan happened to win that award for making the biggest drug bust in the whole history of Miller County. Not that he would want anyone to go around repeating all the details, you understand, what with him being a hero now and the governor having given him that award already. After all, there really isn’t any reason to go around embarrassing people, is there?

And besides, in a way he did sort of earn that award. Not by chasing that pickup truck and getting half the county torn up and in the hospital, of course, but by finally screwing up his courage and facing Miss Petula with the truth of what had really happened to her Lincoln. Well, he at least told her part of the truth. He left out the part where he was afraid of finding her alive.

As it turns out, he made his confession when he stopped off at the hospital on his way up to Jefferson City, where the right honorable governor of the State of Missouri was waiting to give him his award. He even took her some flowers, which was kind of out of character for him. Except Miss Petula insisted later on that she had on several occasions informed him that she was allergic to that particular variety of flower.

Of course, if you ask him about it, he’ll deny it. But then he’ll give you a funny little smile, and then he’ll say he would’ve done it anyway, on account of he’s known all along that she’s been sweet on him all these sixty-odd years that they’ve known each other, and that he doesn’t want to leave her any false impressions, like maybe she has more of a chance with him than she really does.

But folks who know him don’t buy that story. And at least two reliable witnesses who were on the spot insist that even though the whole time he was there she was chewing him up one side and down the other for being so foolish and irresponsible, when he left her room he was smiling and humming for all the world to see. Which is really pretty extraordinary behavior for a man Miss Petula says is the orneriest critter humankind ever got around to spawning.

The thing is, for Sheriff Duncan, being chewed out by Miss Petula like that’s better than getting a hug from anybody else. Or a medal from the governor, if the truth were known. Because he knows it’s just her way of letting him know without actually saying it that she still cares.

Oh, and by the way. While he was at the hospital he learned that the Walkers are going to be up and walking around again in no time. Which is good news, since the sheriff’s been thinking maybe he could get Joe Junior to take a picture of him holding that award the governor gave him. He figures he’s going to give it to Miss Petula as a present the next time they play dominoes.