Illegal

I am an officer of the law. A stout defender of law and order. A valiant warrior striving to bring justice to all, eternally bringing assistance to the weak and the lonely. I also write traffic tickets in my spare time, listening with cynical disbelief to the excuses that come flowing out of saintly lips. I assume an eighty year old nun has saintly lips even if she drives like the devil.

Some of the most boring times with the ability to become the most exciting are those occasions where I've been allocated traffic control duties at the outskirts of a big sporting event. All will be nice and quiet until some asshole realises that if he doesn't get a move on he might miss the first five seconds of an event.

This sort of approaching catastrophe results in said asshole leaning on both horn and accelerator, trying to make up those vital five seconds. What normally happens is a fender-bender, one which is totally not his fault, even though I watched him with my very own eyes as he tried to push a white-haired old granny off the road. (Not that I blamed him for that. She wasn't even going to the match. She was just taking her precious Pekinese for a drive as pupsy just loved going for a slow drive in dense traffic.)

I was out on the outskirts of a race track one day. Not being into race-cars I volunteered for the outer duty, letting the enthusiasts take the close-up positions so that they could ogle the cars being driven in. Ah, I should probably point out that the cars were not being driven in on their own merits. No way known. Not street legal in most cases. The cars were driven in in style, each on their own towing tray, a mechanic at hand to keep them polished and spiffy looking.

That's the general gist of what takes place in the racing events.

An unusual event was finding one of the De-luxe automobiles sitting by the side of the road while the mechanic was showing that he knew how to earn his money, working hard to change a flat tyre on the towing car. The driver of the towing car was over next to the racing car, looking it over with a very proprietary air.

"That is a very lovely lady," I observed.

"Isn't she," gushed the driver. "I'll win today, assuming we get there." A bit of acid in the last comment.

"Two minutes, three tops, and you'll be good to go," called the mechanic.

I'd actually been referring to the woman, not the car. She was about five foot six, slender, the way a steel spring can be called slender. Being slender didn't detract from the shapeliness or strength inherent in the design. I was willing to bet that she had the strength and skills required to jockey the car around.

Looking at the traffic I decided that she shouldn't have any trouble getting to her destination in a timely manner. This side of the race-track the traffic was light. She'd have been in trouble if she wanted to use the front entrance though.

"I trust that you're using the back entrance?" I said, a hint of a question in there.

"Yes, thank god. We'd never make it through the front."

"What's she like on the local roads?" I asked.

She turned to face me, looking quite enthusiastic, saw that I was wearing a uniform, and the enthusiasm vanished, being replaced with a genuine lying smile.

"Oh, officer, I can't take her out on the roads. She's not street legal. I could lose my racing licence if I did anything like that."

"Ah, hadn't realised," I smiled back at her. "You're quite right and as you just hinted, actions have consequences."

I stayed with her just idly chatting until the mechanic came galloping up, eager to get on the road again. She jumped into the driver's seat I noticed. I very politely held up the traffic to allow her a quick get-away, and she was away and gone.

I noticed in the sports section of the paper the next day that a Miss Joan Hatcher had placed first in the local races. Well, good luck to Miss Joan, I thought.

Ever noticed how you may not see one of your neighbours for years and then suddenly you see them every other day. It turned out that Joan Hatcher was a neighbour of mine, not a close one but she lived in the same general vicinity as my place. I'd see her driving down the street or at the local shopping strip. You might saw we became nodding acquaintances. I kept an eye out to see how she was going professionally, noting that she was winning more races than not. She was certainly in the running for the championship cup, though only time (and some tough competition) would tell.

Then came the time when I saw her driving in through the main gates in her illegal car. She was lucky as I'd just received a call to a traffic accident and fight. Deciding the accident and fight were more important than a traffic violation I headed towards the accident.

Wouldn't you know it? It was her towing car and trailer that had been run off the road a short block from where I'd seen her enter the racing grounds. Her mechanic was sitting on the ground next to the car and he was pretty banged up. More banged up than a minor accident would cause. I assumed that the bruiser who was currently thumping a mate of mine was the cause of both the accident and the mechanic.

I stepped up behind the bruiser and banged him hard on the outside of his knee. He went down in a heap, staying down as Fred suggested he do so by lifting his knee sharply and mashing the bruiser's face, said bruiser then deciding to take a nap.

"It appears that it was a setup," snarled Fred. "This idiot deliberately ran her off the road and was about to smash up her car when the mechanic tried to stop him. That delayed him long enough for me to arrive. I told her to leg it to the race and she drove the car off the trailer like a pro and headed for those gates," indicating the gates that she'd gone through. "Idiot here wasn't satisfied with that, swearing that she was not racing today, and tried to take a swing at her. I was preventing him when you rocked up and thumped him. Well done."

"Not a problem," I said. "Ah, what about her. Do we want to charge her for driving an illegal car on the street?"

"No way. Not when the reason she had to do it was a deliberate attempt to sabotage her chance in the race."

I had to admit that his point of view sounded reasonable to me. I know, long arm of the law and all that, but that doesn't mean the arm belongs to a thick headed bully. A bit of discretion is called for sometimes.

A couple of days later I congratulated Joan on her win and didn't so much as mention that little bit of illegal driving.

The current racing season was drawing to a close and the race for the championship cup was over. Not officially, as there was still one race left, but Joan was definitely this year's champion. She was ahead and had sufficient points that she'd still win even if she didn't start in the last race, but that was something she couldn't do. Bad form and all that. People might think she was getting big-headed. Sponsors wouldn't like it.

That bit about needing to race even though a win was not required left me in a bit of a quandary the night of the race. I wasn't on duty at the races. I was just wandering around on my bike looking for especially silly drivers. And I found one.

I sounded my siren and did a U-turn, the car I tagged had taken one look at me and decided to submit.

"Your explanation, and it had better be a doozy," I told Joan.

"The back axle on my towing car snapped and we ground to a halt. The car is going to have to be towed. This is the only way I'll make it to the track. Please. It's only a couple of miles and I'll be extremely careful. You know I'm an expert driver."

"Yes, I do know that. I also know that you've got the championship cup sewed up. Your name is already etched on it, whether you attend this race or not."

"But I have to go. Really I do. If I don't turn up for an important race my sponsors might drop me. They're always about what have you done for them today? Fans might think I'm getting above myself. They could start cheering for someone else and that will help to drive sponsors away. My franchised goods will take a hit in sales. I really need to go."

She had a desperately pleading look on her face. I had to admit that everything she said was true. Besides, if I took her in to charge her someone might steal or vandalise her car. Even if I booked her and left her she'd be on her way as soon as I was out of sight.

"Alright," I snapped. "As far as tonight is concerned this didn't happen. I didn't see you. If I catch you driving the car home, that would be another matter. Now get the hell out of here and remember, this isn't over. Actions have consequences."

With that I turned and mounted my bike, following her at a respectable distance to ensure she went straight to the track. Once she was safely on the race grounds I turned and went in search of her car. I found it easily enough, just back tracking from where I found her and taking the shortest route to her place. Her mechanic was talking to a tow truck driver.

I politely suggested to the tow truck driver that he might like to go sit in his truck while I talked to the mechanic.

"You'd probably get annoyed if I just call you moron, so how about a name?"

"Ah, Neal. Neal Frobisher."

"I see. Did it occur to you, Neal, that the smarter option would have been for you to drive to the race track with Joan as the passenger? Then, after throwing the book at you, I could have taken Joan to the races while you looked after her car."

"I did suggest that, but she wouldn't listen. She insisted that if anyone was going to get into trouble it would be her. There wasn't anything I could do."

"You could have taken the damn keys so she couldn't drive. You could have called a taxi. A taxi might have got her there to attend even if she couldn't race. A tow truck might have gotten both her and the car there. You were a moron. Is she you wife or lover? You're sure acting like it the way she's got you under her thumb."

"She's my boss, and that's it. Anyway, where is she?"

"I made sure she got to the races under police escort. You'll have to make arrangements to get her and her car home again as she won't be driving it. Make sure she remembers that."

Having vented my spleen a little I relaxed and went on my way. No doubt Neal would complain bitterly about my attitude to Joan but I didn't care about that.

Joan managed a second place in that final race and was very gracious towards the winner. She could afford to be. She'd won the championship cup and everyone was happy and smiling.

The next night was the big ball thrown by the racing clubs. Joan was naturally the guest of honour. I also attended the ball, but I wandered about as part of the security. Affairs like this aren't backwards about parting with some shekels to let needy policemen come and protect them.

Spotting Joan, sensationally dressed, I wandered up behind her.

"I see you got home safely. Did the moron arrange for the car to be taken home as well?"

"You!" she snapped at me. "His name is Neal and yes, he arranged transport home for both me and the car. You were very rude to him."

"He deserved it. I'm also going to be rude to you. I'll drop around and see you tomorrow afternoon and we can have a little chat about the laws of the road."

"We will not. It's not as if I've ever driven illegally like that before."

"Except when a certain lowlife ran you off the road and a nice officer told you to get to safety. He meant for you to run, but you took the car with you. He decided not to mention that in his report as it wouldn't have been fair to you."

"Then how do you know it happened," she demanded.

"He was the senior officer there. Not the only one." I gave her a wink and she glared at me.

"Go away," she said. "You're annoying me."

I departed, continuing to stroll around the ballroom looking for pick-pockets, muggers, and terrorists. All were in very short supply that night.

I fronted up at her place the next afternoon at about two. She opened the door and gave me a nasty look.

"What do you want?" she demanded.

"For a start I'd like you to call me Oliver," I said with a captivating smile.

Apparently it was a take no prisoners day as my smile totally failed to capture her.

"Why?"

"Ah, because it's my name and would sound so much more melodious than being called Officer Snoogelflute," I explained.

"Snooglefloot?" she asked, sounding somewhat taken aback.

"No, Snoogleflute, with a flute, not a floot. I must resolutely refuse to answer to the name Snooglefloot."

"I don't blame you. It's a terrible name, no matter how you spell it."

She gave me a confused stare, not sure why we discussing my name. Then her eyes narrowed and she positively glared at me.

"Davies," she snapped. "According to the badge you wore your name is Oliver Davies."

"True," I admitted. "That's another reason I don't want to be called Snoogleflute."

"Why would you imagine that I would?"

"Now please don't try and confuse me. May I come in? I need to explain a couple of road rule to you." I waved the little handbook I was carrying, bringing her attention to it.

"Fine," she snapped, throwing her hands in the air. "If you really insist on lecturing me..." She turned and walked deeper into the house and I followed along like a well-trained puppy.

She walked into the front room and sat down on a comfortable chair, looking all prim and proper. I strongly suspected that her attire was due to her half-expecting me to turn up and it was supposed to put me at a disadvantage. The weather was warm and she wore a lacy, loose, somewhat flimsy blouse, not see-through as such, but her bra (also lacy) was certainly noticeable. She also wore a thin pair of slacks that high-lighted the shapeliness of her legs very pleasantly.

"Now you certainly knew that your car was not street legal," I said quietly, "but you deliberately drove it yesterday."

"What makes you think it wasn't street legal?" she demanded. "My car is perfectly street legal."

"I have it on good authority that your car isn't. While I don't know enough about cars to rule one way or the other except on blatant violations I'd require an expert witness to inform me of the validity of an illegal charge. Fortunately I had one who verified that your car isn't."

"You went and hunted up a witness? Why would you do that?"

"No. The witness came forward of their own accord, stating that the car isn't street legal. I have no reason to think they weren't telling the truth."

"They could have been lying to get me in trouble."

"Doubtful, seeing as you were the witness. Quote. Oh, officer, I can't take her out on the roads. She's not street legal. I could lose my racing licence if I did anything like that. End of quote. Do those words ring a bell? I certainly had no cause to doubt your veracity."

Joan now knew why she shouldn't volunteer information to the police. She very grandly ignored the issue and attacked from another direction.

"It was an emergency," she insisted, quick to provide a defence.

"Not with the boundaries of the act," I riposted. "No lives were in danger. No-one was sick or injured and requiring medical care. Therefore, no emergency."

"Now I'd like to read one relatively little known rule regarding this type of offence. I quote -- If a particularly egregious offence takes place under this act then the officer attending, that's me, can take control of the offender, that's you, and administer a beating to get it through their thick skull that they screwed up. PS -- The officer should think very carefully if the driver is male and larger than him. End of quote."

"You have got to be kidding me," came the softly indignant comment from Joan.

"Why? You know you screwed up and I did warn you that there would be consequences. Oh, wait, I bet your mind headed for the gutter. Let me reassure you."

I turned back to the book and reopened it at where I'd left off.

"There are several PS's. I think the second and third ones also applied to your situation. Um, PPS. The officer, still me, is forbidden to remove any article of clothing from the offender, still you. Um, PPPS. Why do they keep adding a P in front to each PS? Where was I? Oh yes. If the offender chooses to remove their own clothing this is considered a bribe or a threat, depending on the size and sex of the offender and additional charges could be forthcoming."

"Give me that damned book," Joan snapped, rather rudely snatching it out of my hand.

"I think the latter PS's are design to reassure you that rape will not be permitted and that you're not permitted to try to seduce the officer," I explained helpfully.

"Shut up. You're such a liar."

"Just going by the book, Miss," I protested.

Joan was reading the manual very quickly and didn't look as though she believed what she was reading. She took me by surprise when she suddenly flipped to a random page and started reading out loud. I reached for the manual but she smartly turned her back to me, holding the book out of reach.

"Determine if the body belonged to a member of the legal profession. If the answer is yes then the death should be ruled accidental."

She looked over her shoulder at. "Wow. This is quite a book you've got here," she said with a giggle.

"It is," I admitted. "Quite useful at times."

"What? People fall for this malarkey?"

"No, but it breaks the news of what is about to happen rather gently."

I could almost feel the air of realisation that fell over her. She was alone with me and standing right next to me and I'd mentioned spanking. Before she could make a run for it I was sitting down again, drawing her down and across my lap.

Her slacks were pulled rather firmly across a pert little bottom. I'd have loved to have pulled them down but rules are rules. My hand came down firmly, the smacking sound being echoed by a startled scream. A few more spanks were likewise so echoed before she gathered her wits together.

"Stop this," she demanded. "You've got no right to do this."

"Yes, I do," I told her. "Part of this spanking is for being silly enough to drive on a public road in that car. I know it was safe enough but the law needs be obeyed. If you'd thought faster at the scene of the accident you may have had a chance to get someone from the track to come and get you and the car in time for your race. At the worst you'd probably have got a sponsor to drive out and pick you up, giving you a chance to schmoose with the sponsors and circulate with the fans, garnering additional support for yourself. You already had the cup won so the results of this specific race wouldn't have mattered."

Quite valid points in my book and if she'd been quicker off the mark things might have been resolved much more easily. Trying to drive there in the race-car was the cause of her problems, including her now smarting bottom.

"The other point that you seem to have completely missed is that my letting you go those last couple of miles made me equally as liable for any accidents you had and if you'd been caught I'd be a hot favourite to lose my job. Did that occur to you?"

From the appalled look on her face the latter hadn't even crossed her mind. I decided that the spanking was done and sat her up. The way she winced told me that I'd achieved my purpose of bringing home a little pain.

"I didn't think of that," she admitted. "Why did you let me go?"

"Because you are a very good driver and I thought the chances of you having an accident were extremely low. Also, I knew who was on duty and could have talked you past them. I'd have owed some nasty shift changes but thought the risk worth it."

"Um, well, thank you for your assistance," she muttered.

"You're welcome. Besides it gave me an opportunity to attend to the resultant consequences."