His ears were still ringing and he smelled like tobacco and other people's sweat.
Slowly, tiredly, and with what he thought was an easy and charming smile on his face, Rodspeed applied the brakes and peeled down the windows of his borrowed blue Toyota Corolla. He was surprised by how humid it still was at such a late hour and, to a lesser extent, the confessional stench of alcohol emanating from the two policemen in night coats that had signaled for him to stop.
Slowly, tiredly, and with what he thought was an easy and charming smile on his face, Rodspeed applied the brakes and peeled down the windows of his borrowed blue Toyota Corolla. He was surprised by how humid it still was at such a late hour and, to a lesser extent, the confessional stench of alcohol emanating from the two policemen in night coats that had signaled for him to stop.
"Let me have a look at your license", ordered the taller, lanky policeman who had the lined, tight face of an academic, save for dull, watery eyes.
"Good evening officer. So sorry-I left it at home tonight, and this is my mother's car. Is there a fee or something that I can pay to make up for it this time?", Rodspeed replied hurriedly, affecting nervousness and an expression of utmost penitence. At the same time he fished in his front-right pocket for a few crumpled bills that he had presciently set aside a few hours ago.
In the discreet manner of school children passing notes behind a teacher's back, the grand sum of six dollars was quickly exchanged through the open driver's-side portal-from the air-conditioned world of jeans and youth, to the humid world of night-duty and old uniforms. Along with this sum of money went a silent, meaningful look that flashed across both faces.
"Happy New Year, sir-have a good night!" said the suddenly cheerful and obsequiously respectful policeman while averting his eyes. At the same time his fellow officer-by all indications a novice-clumsily removed the red and white striped metal barrier that stretched across both lanes of the quiet suburban road.
Rodspeed merely saluted in response, waited for the stray dog to finish crossing the road, shifted gears and drove off. While reflecting on how maturely and naturally he conducted himself this time, he watched as he shrank the policemen's figures in his rear-view mirror. In tired thoughts he tried to imagine the familial situation of the thin policeman.
He envisioned a family of three-perhaps, four-children, hungry, watching a nonsensical late night show with their mother on a microwave-sized television while a struggling, squeaky fan overhead spun about a rotating axis in a vain attempt to banish the suffocating heat and humidity typical of a rainy season night. Rodspeed also imagined a shiny, red truck-a gift from the policeman to his youngest son-made possible by his kind donation of six dollars.
Well, he really doesn't need a truck. What he needs is a new pair of shorts, and perhaps some green food every now and then, thought Rodspeed, dangerously on the verge of falling asleep behind the wheel.
Rodspeed hit a pothole, jerked awake and noticed the silliness of his thoughts and how magnetized his eyelids had become. He gave himself a cautionary slap on the face and steadied his gaze as he made his way down the unlit, tree-lined roads of suburban Accra. He reminded himself to drink less next weekend. He also
wondered how the skinny policeman could possibly have managed to fail to remember his face each time. They had had no less than four of such encounters as they had that night.
wondered how the skinny policeman could possibly have managed to fail to remember his face each time. They had had no less than four of such encounters as they had that night.
"Blue balls are such sad balls....oh...shoot, I need to get petrol," he said aloud in the silence of his air-bagged world, as he drove past the dozen obese prostitutes signalling for him to stop.
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