Chapter Three: The Policeman

13 Apr
BTW when you are done reading this chapter. If you think thinking is fun; if you think philosophy should be for everyone try reading  TheMapThinker.com

BTW when you are done reading this chapter. If you think thinking is fun; if you think philosophy should be for everyone try reading TheMapThinker.com

 

 

 

L C was relieved to see Trevor, who worked for Sternhouser’s market, go up to the man in the dented car and talk to him. Trevor began picking up the groceries and reinstalling them in the cart. While he did so the man stomped toward the women.

The policeman told the driver of the SUV he could go on about his business, thanking  him for his quick reactions. The man looked glad to be gone. L C did not blame him. He drove away slowly, somewhat nervously.

“Who’s gonna pay for the damage to my car?” the man from the dented car growled menacingly as he joined them.

The policeman looked at him. “I believe that is a matter for your insurance company.” He pointed to a sign that listed several things Stanhouser’s market refused to be responsible for. Among them was listed damage from shopping carts.

“The store may not be responsible for the damage but she is. She shoved her basket right into the trunk of my car.”

“You can file a report to that effect but I have to tell you I was a witness to the episode.” He pointed at L C. The little girl wrinkled her nose at him.

“And just who are you?”

The policeman showed them his badge with a quick, practiced movement.

The man left, cussing. “I might have known. A cops wife. She can get away with anything. The law in this town is so crooked. Something needs to be done about it.”

The policeman ignored the man, “What may I do for you ladies?”

Letting go of the girl the woman said, “Tell this woman to give the child to me. I am her nanny. I am her guardian.”

L C shook her head. “Just let her calm down. She’s scared.” To the girl she asked, “What is your name, honey?”

“Zena.”

The nanny snapped, “No. Your name is Guinevere.” To the adults she said, “Her last nanny let her watch that show. I do not.” To L C, “Now give her to me.”

“What did you say the name of your employer was?” The policeman was polite but firm.

“Langlin. Kenneth and Judy Langlin.”

He nodded his head. “They are very important people in this town.” He took out his cell phone, punched in a single number and stepped away a few paces for privacy, then began speaking softly into the phone.

Mom? I need the Langlin’s phone number.”

He stepped further away and L C could no longer hear. He returned a few minutes later saying, “Mrs Langlin will be here in a few minutes.”

The girl looked up. “Mommy?”

His smile was suddenly genuine. “Your mommy is coming.

L C had heard the name Langlin before. Newspapers? Yes. Where else. Not her mother. Her aunt Emmy. L C’s mother enjoyed listening to her sister divulge gossip of the town’s hoity-toity class. Gossip she gleaned while arraigning unruly strands of hair. L C never saw any point in it, but now she found it comforting to know she had a connection with the child’s mother, no matter how tenuous.

The nanny’s voice was soft and gentle. “Come to nanny,” The sweet, concerned caretaker of a small child. She cooed gently to Guinevere, who quickly buried her face in L C’s neck. She turned to the policeman. “Are you just going to stand there like that? She is refusing to give me the child. I am her paid guardian. What she is doing amounts to kidnapping.”

“Let’s wait for Mrs. Langlin. In the mean time, let me get some information.” Turning to L C he asked for her name and identification.

Her name was Lindsey Carol Davenport. She never felt like a Lindsey; a Lindsey would be much skinnier than she and a Carol would be much shorter. She never felt like a Davenport, that was a piece of furniture, a sofa that converted into a bed or a desk. What kind of a girl wanted to be either? The only time she “felt” like a Davenport was in high school when a girl used her back to write a boy’s phone number. “Okay,” she thought, “Now I’m a davenport.” The initials though, L C, fit her.

She was undaunted when people called her Elsie, the name of the cow on a milk carton. Her response was quick and simple, “She’s famous and people love her. What more do you want? Nobody ever heard of Lindsey the Llama or Carol the Camel.”

She did not bother to tell all of that to the policeman. She simply handed him her driver’s license.

(c) 2013 All Rights Reserved

2 Responses to “Chapter Three: The Policeman”

  1. Trish Guerra 04/26/2013 at 4:38 AM #

    Sounds good, bases covered, but would an officer say incident instead of episode?

    Like

    • themapthinker 04/27/2013 at 1:32 AM #

      Incident does sound more “cop like” I agree.

      Brenda and I will have to go over his personal character more closely and decide what “his” character would say. She may decide to change the wording.

      Like

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