fists, then stuck out her right index finger. She brought the tip of the finger to her nose by bending her elbow. She did it without lowering her arms. “Now, Anatol, you do this. You.”
The man nodded, but didn’t move.
She tried to give him a jump-start by raising his right arm to his shoulder and extending it. But as soon as she let go, the arm fell to his side.
So far, he was getting an F. But there was that thing called a language barrier. Harking back to her life as a grad-school researcher, Cindy decided to gather more objective data before hauling him in. Gently, she turned him around until he faced the Chevy’s side. She took his hands and placed them, palms down, on the roof. Then, she brought them behind his back, one at a time, and cuffed him.
Absolutely no resistance.
He was big and drunk, but a damn happy guy.
Carefully, she led him to the cruiser, his feet dragging against the ground as they approached the patrol car. His body swayed and staggered with each step. Cindy found herself propping him up. The teddy bear was a heavy man with a capital H. She linked her hands around the cuffs and tried to keep his spine erect. But instead of being his guide, she found herself being jerked from side to side as he sidled like a monstrous stoned crab.
Finally, they reached the cruiser.
“Easy does it, Anatol.”
She opened the back door and positioned him parallel to the seat.
“In.” She gave him a gentle prod. “In.” She pushed down on his head so he wouldn’t bump his rather thick skull on the car’s ceiling. Partial success. Anatol’s head and body were safely ensconced inside, but his shoes still dangled in the street’s gutter.
Holding up an index finger, she declared, “Wait here.”
Anatol grinned. He didn’t seem the least bit perturbed. Cindy brought out the Breathalyzer from the trunk. At the sight of the machine, the Russian’s eyes lit up in recognition. Without directions, he took the protective paper off the blow hose and exhaled enough sodden breath to knock out a rhino.
“Whew!” Cindy said. “We’ve got a sizeable BAL. You are drunk, sir.”
Anatol grinned and measured off an inch of space between his thumb and index finger. “Dis much vodka.”
Cindy spread her arms out. “More like this much vodka.”
Anatol laughed.
“Do you have one of these?” Cindy reached in her wallet and pulled out her own license.
Anatol shook his head. “No hev.”
“You don’t have your license or you never had a license?”
The subtlety of English grammar was lost on him. “No hev.”
“I see we’re in a rut.” Cindy bent down, picked up his paint-splattered gunboat-size shoes, and placed them in the car. She shut the door. “Officer Beaudry,” she called out, “I got him trussed and ready to go.”
“I’m coming.” As Beaudry started toward the cruiser, the other drunk Russian dogged his heels.
Beaudry turned to face him. “No, you stay here.” He pointed to the wizened truck. “Sit in there. Call up a lawyer for your friend.” Beaudry mimicked a phone call, then pointed to Petrukievich. “Call up help for your friend. He’s going to jail.”
A perplexed look. “Jail?”
“Yeah, jail.”
Cindy watched Beaudry as he tried to act out a prison scene. He wasn’t Cagney, but he got the point across.
“Ah!” Drunk Passenger smiled. He got back into the truck, threw his head back, and closed his eyes. Bunking down for a snooze.
Cindy said, “Do we arrest him as well?”
“For what?” Beaudry answered. “Sleeping? Let’s go!”
Since the backseat was divided from the front by a metal grate, and since Anatol was still handcuffed, they left him sitting solo behind them.
Cindy started the motor, then gripped the automatic transmission shift knob. Something tickled her flesh. A small yellow Post-it had stuck to her sweaty palm. She peeled the paper off her skin. On it was written the word “Remember,” the printing done with a black felt-tipped marker. The dampness on her palm had caused the word to smear. She showed it to Beaudry. “You leave this here?”
He glanced at the paper. “No.”
“I didn’t, either.”
Beaudry shrugged.
Cindy said, “How’d it get here?”
“With traffic being this light, I’m sure it took the freeway—”
“I’m serious—”
“How the hell should I know, Decker? Maybe you put it there and forgot.” He smiled. “Maybe that’s why it says to remember.”
“Very funny.”
Beaudry said, “Maybe the guys over at servicing left it there.”
“Then I would have noticed it when I drove the car out of the lot. I certainly would have noticed it when I pulled Mr. Petrukievich over. Are you sure you didn’t put it there?”
“Yes, I’m sure. I’d remember something like that.”
Cindy was perturbed, but she didn’t say anything. She stared at the paper.
Beaudry said, “Decker, it’s late. I’m tired. Let it go. And let’s go.”
She crumpled the mysterious message. Shifting the car into drive, she released the hand brake and took off. Beaudry called in the arrest, giving the RTO an estimated time of arrival to the stationhouse.
Remember.
Cindy tried to erase it from her mind. “How long do you think it will take to process our friend?”
“What do we have on him?”
“Reckless driving, a DUI with a BAL of over point-two, and operating a moving vehicle without a license.”
“Maybe an hour.”
“Criminy!”
“Why? You got something planned?”
“Later on.”
“I hope you’re not tight for time,” Beaudry said, “because if our drunk tank is filled, then we gotta either take him down to Parker Center or find another substation that can handle him. That means it’s gonna take longer.”
“Graham, it’s three-thirty in the afternoon. How many
