High Country Nocturne

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Ten o’clock. Two o’clock. I knew the drill.

It had been many years since I had been pulled over by the police, almost as many years since I was a young deputy sheriff doing traffic stops myself. When I did, I wanted to see the driver’s hands right where mine rested now.

Ten o’clock and two o’clock on the steering wheel. Left hand at ten. Right hand at two. Where I could be sure he wasn’t concealing a gun.

Extra points if he had shut down the engine and held his driver’s license and vehicle registration.

Unless the driver was being extra careful because he was a bad guy.

Then I would be on extra guard.

Traffic stops were scary, especially if they were on lonely roads after midnight. It was you and the driver and anybody else in the car and the darkness. Backup might be miles away.

You might think you were pulling over a driver to tell him his taillight was out. Unless the driver had killed his girlfriend or robbed a Circle K five minutes before and didn’t know you were only being Deputy Helpful.

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