I was driving down highway 52, heading north from the city
of Chatfield. I had been on the road for about half an hour, and was already
close to my destination on the north side of Rochester. It was nearby 2am, and
my pockets were full of drugs, money, and lint. I wasn’t breaking any laws that
I knew of other than the aforementioned felonies, so I was mildly surprised
when the cherries lit me up from behind. Almost at the same time, the spot
light from the driver side window popped up and cast its light directly on my
side view mirror, illuminating me and amplifying my fear. I knew I had a bag of
meth in my lap, for what reason I never knew, I just always had my drugs out
playing with them while I was driving. Without moving my upper arm, I searched
for that bag while I slowly brought the Chevy pickup truck to a halt on the
side of the road. As I stopped, I found the bag and quickly tucked it between my
legs. I then turned off the truck, rolled down the window, and made a series of
obvious wallet-grabbing movements, got out my D.L. and held it in my left hand
and placed both of my hands on the wheel.
All of this was designed so that the officer would approach
the vehicle and perceive no threats to him, thus having no reason to pull me
from the vehicle. I knew he was out looking for drunks, and I would blow zeroes
if I had to take a test. What I couldn’t have happen is a road-side sobriety
test because no matter what, if you are removed from a vehicle, even if you
aren’t being arrested, you are patted down to ensure that you don’t have any
weapons or anything illegal on your person. All of this went through my mind in
fifteen seconds.
He approached cautiously; his flashlight probing beams of
curiosity all over the cabin of the truck. This is not how you want to find out
that you accidentally dropped a bag of meth on the floor. But he looked like he
felt safe, and started to focus on me, but kept his hand on his gun just in
case. My body wanted to move but I kept perfectly still.
He introduced himself as an agent of the Highway Patrol and
asked for my credentials. I showed him my middle finger and told him to fuck
off. No, I did not. I gave him my D.L. and he asked if I had any idea why I had
been pulled over and I thought that was a good question. He told me that I had
absolutely no lights on the back of my truck, save for the blinkers, and that I
had a trail of wires about five feet back of the tail. Shit. This is where he
could ask me to step out and take a look for myself, so I offered up a piece of
fiction before he could request. I believe it was something to the effect of
having removed a trailer and having trouble reattaching the wire harness and
forgetting about it. I probably sounded like an idiot, but that’s what I
wanted.
I don’t know if he bought it, but he didn’t beat around the
bush and asked if I had consumed any alcoholic beverages or any illegal or illicit
drugs prior to driving. I had, a lot. But that’s not the type of information
you want to give to an officer. I said no, and I looked him in the eyes when I
said it. It was a bold move but it was better than looking away. He must have
seen something, because he asked me if I would mind performing a quick test.
You never want to tell them no, or they become suspicious, even though it is within
your rights to do so. I said yes, and he brought out the penlight and gave me directives
to follow it using only my eyes. I followed his orders, and somehow, some way,
he didn’t see the high in my eye. I followed that light high and low, left and
right. He even tried to trip me up a few times by switching up the direction.
But I did not fail, and I gave him no reason to pursue any other line of
questioning.
Of course, if the court system and the police force were
actually linked up in this state, he would have discovered that I was out on
$80,000 bond for 1ST degree, level nine drug sales felony, and had
every right to take me out of the vehicle and search me and any property in my
possession. But our system is heavily flawed in that respect, so he handed me
back my license and told me to proceed to the next exit where I could take a
look at my wiring job.
That was one of three times I was pulled over during the six
months that I was out on bail. Every time was equally frightening, and if they
had found what I had with me on any of those occasions, I have no doubt that I
would still be locked up.
