BACK SEAT DRIVER

“End of Line for longtime fugitive Darrell Benjamin.”

“Extradited from Canadian border, accused killer to face multiple charges.”

Media outlets throughout the country ran similar headlines.

And then:

“Winter blizzard grounds multiple airports; record number flights cancelled across American Midwest.”

 * * * 

Rookie Police Officer Hap Davis sat behind the wheel of a partially thawed patrol vehicle. He had the heat turned up as high as it would go. He’d spent the better part of the morning scraping ice, brushing snow and clearing his sinuses in the biting cold.

He checked the gas gauge and noted the time. The windshield wipers worked like a metronome to large snowflakes engaged in a chaotic ballet. Blizzards were a dangerous marvel; better to enjoy as a spectator than be caught in the middle of one.

Hap didn’t mind. Born and raised in northern Maine, Hap could drive anything anywhere in any weather. More importantly, he’d been singled out for this high-profile assignment. He was to accompany Detective Broward, who was transporting an infamous criminal to face charges for multiple crimes. He had managed to elude apprehension for decades and now would be brought to what some would call justice. 

As a soothing warmth replaced the chill, Hap took his phone and scrolled to the picture of a man wearing a uniform similar to his own.

What do you think, Dad? How long was it before you were tapped for a gravy assignment like this? I keep thinking you probably had something to do with it. Somebody’s looking out for me. Well, you know I’d trade all of it to have you around. All the good fortune in the world can’t. . .

The car lights came on as the rear driver’s side door opened.  A small man wearing a grey oversized sweat suit and knit cap slid in. Detective Broward followed closely, taking the man’s cuffed hands and double-cuffing them to the bars separating the front and back seats.

“Officer?” The prisoner, visibly cold and shaking, tried to get Broward’s attention and, failing that, turned to Hap.

“I have carpal tunnel, you see.” He attempted to say with chattering teeth. “It won’t be long before I’ll lose all feeling and. . .”

The passenger front door opened. Broward climbed in.

“Dead man talking?” 

Hap didn’t move.   Dead man?

The prisoner stared for a moment, then slid back into the seat.

The detective fastened his seatbelt, then turned to Hap.

“This as warm as it gets, Davis?   

“Give it a minute, Detective. Good morning.”

“Right. Why don’t you radio dispatch, tell them we’re on our way.”

Hap checked his side mirrors.

“Where’s the caravan? I thought we were being escorted.”

The detective looked away.

“Deemed unnecessary, scrapped at the last minute. Let’s go, Davis. You’re here to drive. So drive.”

* * * 

On those midwestern days when grey clouds were thick and heavy with snow, they hung so low, it was nearly impossible to tell what time of day it was.  The earlier storm had subsided just enough to scatter the area with intermittent squalls that scrambled the air and senses for a moment before moving on.

“Snow squalls remind me of women.”

Hap looked over at the detective whose arms were folded, chin on chest, with eyes closed.

Something tells me the last thing I want to talk about with this guy is women.

“You warm enough back there?” Hap glanced in the rearview.

“Kind of you to ask. Thanks, I am.”

“How’s your carpal?”

“Carpal tunnel. It’s killing me. I haven’t had the surgery yet. Probably won’t now.”

“I’ll see about getting your cuffs lowered.”

“That’s decent of you.”

The detective stirred, mumbling.

“It’s not happening.”

Hap stopped himself from reacting.  The prisoner sank back.

A squall encased them momentarily in a snow-globe whirl of crystal white. When they broke through, it was back to the snowflake ballet set to a windshield wiper beat.

“Okay if I call you Darrell? You want anything? I’ve got water, coffee. Probably cold by now.”

“Coffee would be great.”

Hap glanced at the detective. He was awake and had been listening. He stared at Hap with mild amusement tinged with malice.

“Unless you intend to pull over and bottle feed this vermin, do not offer something you can’t deliver.”

“Detective, I have to ask . . .”

“No, Rookie Officer Davis, you don’t. Let’s just get this straight so there’ll be no misunderstanding. I will not, under any circumstances, be lifting a finger to do anything that might come close to relieving any discomfort the prisoner may be suffering, now or at any time in the future. Understood?”

Hap concentrated on his driving.

The detective leaned closer, firing warning shots. “Is that a yes?”

“Yes, sir. Just focusing on my job, sir. I’m just driving.”

This is wrong.

* * *

They rode in silence, except for the hypnotic swipe of the wipers. As they crossed the border into a rural area, Detective Broward took his lukewarm coffee from the passenger door cup-holder and pried the lid off.  

“Take this next exit.”

Hap frowned.

“Why?”

The Detective remained silent.

“Where are we going? Are you hungry?”

“No. Now, Davis, listen closely. You will take the very next exit you come to.  In the hand not holding the coffee I am drinking, I have my service revolver fixed just so, aimed in a slightly upward trajectory behind your right ear and exiting just above your left ear. Tell me now, do you require any more explanation?”

“No.”

Hap signaled to make a right turn off the highway. He stared straight ahead.  

You there, Dad?

* * *

Broward directed Hap to an abandoned out-of-service station. The gas tanks were covered and neglected, the convenience area boarded and deserted. The parking area hadn’t been plowed as often as the main road but Hap was able to get the vehicle where he was told to go.

He parked behind the property next to a large grey dumpster. A short distance to the other side of them was a scene of evergreen perfection, boughs endowed with a shimmering coat of snow and ice. Staring an extra moment, Hap thought the sight too beautiful to be real. He forced himself to turn his attention back inside the car.

“I know who you are.” Darrell directed this to Detective Broward without looking up.

“You do? All right, you have permission to speak to me. Tell me, America’s Most Wanted, who am I?”

Hap looked from captive to captor to captive again.  I don’t understand what’s happening here . . .

“You’re the brother.”

“Not a bad guess for a dead man.”

Stop calling him that.

“But still, it's wrong. Care to try again?”

Darrell sat back, closing his eyes. He shook his head no.

Hap began to speak and was quickly interrupted.

“Just keep the motor running and the heat on. Oh, and crack the window so we don’t all die of carbon monoxide, ruin everything."

Hap looked at Darrell this time. He appeared the very embodiment of defeat. His sagging features said, “Oh, just get on with it.” Broward glanced at his watch.

“Time for full disclosure, gentlemen.  That was actually a very good guess, dead man . . .”

Hap blanched openly this time. “Will you stop calling him that.”

Broward shot Hap a sharp look and immediately returned to Darrell. “I am not, as you surmised, the brother of your late wife, the woman you buried alive with her lover, bound and gagged together, so they could watch each other die.”

“As the song goes. Yes, I remember.” Darrell’s attention was drifting.

“Catchy little tune; not exactly meant for children's ears,” Broward continued, “As for the brother, he hired me to perform a service on his behalf."

Hap noted his proximity from the glove compartment, where he had stowed the practice revolver he'd signed out before being called away. All he was in immediate possession of was a badge.

“Say, Davis, ever hear of the ‘Dirt Nap Killer’?

“Of course.”

“Well, you’re looking at him.”

Hap, puzzled, looked at the frail man in the loose grey sweat suit. 

“Really?”

“Just wanted to check; you really didn’t know.”

“I didn't put the names together. I was just a kid at the time.”

In reality, Hap had never forgotten the Dirt Nap killer. He was the boogeyman of his youth. He had an MO of burying his victims alive, most commonly together, couples, cheaters, and there had been a song going around about him at the time.

He caught them together.

So he tied them together,

he gagged them together,

he buried them together,

while they were still alive,

so they could watch each other die,

together forever, they would lie.

Dirt Nap Killa, say, why’d ya hafta kill her that way.

Broward added. “Well, so, I know a guy who said he’d had a twin sister, and they'd been separated at birth. He'd gone to great lengths to find her. When he did, well, unfortunately, he never got to meet her because – well, you know the rest.”

Hap frowned. “So, are you even a detective?”

“All right, enough. I’m not here for an all-day Q and A, okay? All anyone needs to know is this: If you do as I say, justice will be served for most parties involved.  Now, Davis, I will tell you what I expect from you after I’m done with this. Do not interrupt me.”

Hap nodded, frowning. 

“Okay. Now I have some options to offer you, Dirt Nap. I could blow your head off right here and now, and come up with a perfectly legitimate and reasonable explanation for doing so. This car has no cams, no recorders. No body cams.” Broward gave Hap a severe look.

Hap pat his chest, shaking his head.

“Now, you can imagine what follows, the mess, the aftermath. So, the next option is more creative and altogether a better one for you, I think. I release your handcuffs to make you more comfortable. You naturally make a break for it, try to escape.”

Hap couldn’t believe what he was hearing. 

Broward and the prisoner’s eyes locked.

“I’ll give you a minute to think about it. My personal preference is that you run.” Broward then turned to Hap.

“Now. You. Your role is really pretty simple. Whichever way the scenario goes, you will sign on to whatever I tell you. Simple. I’ve already had you assigned to be my shadow for the next six months, so I’ll be right there at all times in case there are any questions.”

Dad, are you hearing this? 

Broward turned to the back seat. “So, what will it be? Headshot or flee? Of course, if you can’t decide, I can’t really force you to run without a cattle prod, can I? And we don’t need an extra set of footprints out there to confuse matters. So, there’s only one real alternative to fleeing. I’m sure we can manage the cleanup. What’ll it be?”

“I’ll run.”

“A wise choice.” Broward produced his keys. Hap was still staring at Darrell, dumbfounded. Just then, the prisoner gave him a barely perceivable nod and wink that only served to confused Hap more.

Broward rolled down his window.

“The beauty of your selection is you won’t know exactly when; you’ll be out in the elements, free. No bars, no running from anyone or anything . . . and it's over. Ah, well, enough of that.”

Broward pulled the handcuffs to the opening in the bars and unlocked them with a click. Darrell dropped his hands as if they were bowling balls.

Broward turned around in his seat, checking his revolver. When he was ready, he reached over to his door and disengaged the back passenger lock.

“Whenever you’re ready, within reason.”

I’m gonna be sick. Dad. I don’t know what to do. There’s nothing I can do.

After taking several deep breaths, then a moment of silence, Darrell turned to Hap.

“Thank you for your kindness.”

With that, he put his hands on the car door latch, closed his eyes and bowed his head, and then stepped out. Closing the door behind him, he took a few steps forward. Then, like an aging football player running a play, he made a quick turn and then started walking directly toward the detective with his hands up .

“Please don’t shoot me, officer!”

Hap watched with horror. “You can’t shoot him!”

“Don’t . . .”

As the prisoner’s chest exploded, dozens of birds exploded out from the trees.  Broward continued firing until all that was left were hollow clicks.

Broward felt the metal, then heard the words.

“Drop it, Detective. Do it now.”

Hap had taken advantage of the chaos to retrieve his own revolver and jam it into Broward’s back.

Broward dropped the still warm gun in the snow where it sank and steamed slightly.

“Hands behind your back. Slow.”

Broward took a hand and brought it back around, where Hap took hold of it. As he brought his other hand around, he dipped into an inside pocket and withdrew a small pistol. Just as he brought it around, cocked and ready, Hap fired one shot through the detective’s hand. The pistol hit the dash and landed on the floor.

The adrenalin in Hap’s system propelled him through subduing the detective, applying a tourniquet and dressing the wound, then retrieving the pistol and bagging it for evidence. He read the new prisoner his rights.

Lastly, he reached for the car cellphone.

Broward was slumped in his seat.

“What are you going to say?”

Hap ignored him.

“The plan can still work. We can get his prints on the gun easy. It’s not too late. I’ll pay you.”

Hap looked at the phone in his hand. Tiny buttons with numbers on them. So simple compared to all that goes on around them. They do serve a purpose though, don’t they. Maybe I can, too. I was lucky to have you for as long as I did, Dad. This one's for you.

“Dispatch? This is Officer Davis, Badge 110. I need backup and an ambulance.”

* * *

In the short time it took the others to arrive, Hap spoke.

“You knew it wasn’t going to work, right? Darrell saw to that. I've taken plenty of pictures of the scene untouched. The proof is right there, he was walking toward the car, not running away. He really pulled one over on you.”

Broward was sweating. He spoke haltingly and grimaced through pain. 

“He pulled one over on all of us. I did a lot of research on this guy. He was going to die of cancer soon anyway. He just saved himself from withering away in a prison hospital.” Then Broward lowered his voice. “I thought I was doing him a favor.”

“Nice. How much were you being paid? Not that it matters. Was it worth it, Detective? Is it ever?”

“Look, Rookie, unless you’re telling me you have a law degree, I'm ending the conversation here. And I’m doing you the bigger favor; the less you know, the better.”

Hap looked away. He could hear the sweet siren song of backup patrol cars, medical personnel, media vans and crime scene technicians. Soon they would all be swept up a different sort of squall, of endless questioning, followed by a blizzard of regulations and protocol, and none of it would be quick to dissipate. 

So, before help arrived and the circus began, Hap gazed at the gloomy sky. As he did, a single ray of midday sun broke through the clouds, landing directly on Hap’s chest where his badge shone like a beacon.