THE THREE SOULS—Chapter 2

There was a loud knock at the door. I cracked the door and saw two policemen. One was heavyset, with a round face and beady brown eyes. He held his nightstick with authority. The other policeman was thin and had a subtle smirk on his face. He stood with his feet firmly planted on the ground and his hands to his side. His steel blue eyes cut into me.

“Is your name Johnny Chambers?” The heavyset policeman asked quickly.“We’d like to talk to you, if you could step outside.”

The words sounded ominous. As I opened the door I paused, deciding to question their authority.

“May I see some identification?” Both policemen show me their badges and ID, and as I looked them over I said to myself,“I know this is the real thing. These are real policemen with real jobs, and they are about to interview me for some reason that I don’t know about.” Oh, I’d been thrown out of a few places. I’d written a hot check or two, although I usually took care of them. But this was serious. These guys meant business, and I had no idea what it was about.

“Put your hands up in the air when you come out of the door and listen to my instructions.” The heavyset policeman grabbed my hand, and I heard the familiar quick click of handcuffs being secured around my wrist.

“You’re cuffing me? What’s the charge, officer?” I asked, but whatever the reason, this situation was going downhill fast.

“What’s he done?” Kitty’s voice chimed. I could see I was heading to jail, and I didn’t have a clue what would happen after that. I was led to the patrol car and squeezed into the back seat. I looked around and noticed the shotgun rack located between the front and back seat. The heavyset-policeman sat in the driver’s seat and the thin officer sat in the passenger seat. They gave me their names but still hadn’t told me what I was charged with. There I was, just an unemployed truck driver waiting to hear the charges. The police radio blared incessantly as the two policemen rifled through sheets of papers with numbers printed on them. I looked over to see Kitty peering through the screen door. She had a perturbed look on her face and stepped away from the door to sit on the couch.

“Can you tell me your names and what I’m being charged with?” I asked again.

“My name is Officer Bates and this is Officer Halston.” said the heavyset policeman.

“Have you ever owned a Smith and Wesson .357 magnum with serial number 048765431?” said Bates.

I thought about that gun, and after a few minutes it came to me. Howie had used my car at work, and I had that gun under the front seat. A couple of days later when I looked for the gun I couldn’t find it. I didn’t see why these clowns were questioning me. I didn’t have that gun.

“I loaned my car to Howie at work, and the gun was in the car.”

“Where’s Howie?” Bates chimed in gruffly.

“He left work soon after that and I haven’t seen him since.” I said, trying to assure both officers that I was not their man.

“This gun was involved in a robbery. It was found in a dumpster not far from the crime scene. The serial number is linked to you and the handgun had your prints on it, and that’s why you are being questioned.” Officer Bates grabbed the radio, spouting a bunch of jargon about me, then rattled off a group of numbers. The two policemen seemed excited. So this was the payoff for cops, even when they had the wrong person.

I could see them getting excited when they executed somebody. Who cares if it’s the right person, as long as someone’s paying the price, right? I started thinking about how