No sooner were we snoring than he gunned the car up to eighty, bad bearings and all, and not only that but he made a triple pass at a spot where a cop was arguing with a motorist – he was in the fourth lane of a four-lane highway, going the wrong way.
Naturally the cop took after us with his siren whining.
We were stopped. He told us to follow him to the station house.
There was a mean cop in there who took an immediate dislike to Dean; he could smell jail all over him.
He sent his cohort outdoors to question Marylou and me privately.
They wanted to know how old Marylou was, they were trying to whip up a Mann Act idea.
But she had her marriage certificate.
Then they took me aside alone and wanted to know who was sleeping with Marylou.
"Her husband," I said quite simply.
They were curious.
Something was fishy.
They tried some amateur Sherlocking by asking the same questions twice, expecting us to make a slip.
I said,
"Those two fellows are going back to work on the railroad in California, this is the short one's wife, and I'm a friend on a two-week vacation from college."
The cop smiled and said,
"Yeah?
Is this really your own wallet?"
Finally the mean one inside fined Dean twenty-five dollars.
We told them we only had forty to go all the way to the Coast; they said that made no difference to them.
When Dean protested, the mean cop threatened to take him back to Pennsylvania and slap a special charge on him.
"What charge?"
"Never mind what charge.
Don't worry about that, wiseguy."
We had to give them the twenty-five.
But first Ed Dunkel, that culprit, offered to go to jail.
Dean considered it. The cop was infuriated; he said,
"If you let your partner go to jail I'm taking you back to Pennsylvania right now.
You hear that?"
All we wanted to do was go.
"Another speeding ticket in Virginia and you lose your car," said the mean cop as a parting volley.
Dean was red in the face.
We drove off silently.
It was just like an invitation to steal to take our trip-money away from us.
They knew we were broke and had no relatives on the road or to wire to for money.
The American police are involved in psychological warfare against those Americans who don't frighten them with imposing papers and threats.
It's a Victorian police force; it peers out of musty windows and wants to inquire about everything, and can make crimes if the crimes don't exist to its satisfaction.
"Nine lines of crime, one of boredom," said Louis-Ferdinand Céline.
Dean was so mad he wanted to come back to Virginia and shoot the cop as soon as he had a gun.
"Pennsylvania!" he scoffed.
"I wish I knew what that charge was!
Vag, probably; take all my money and charge me vag.
Those guys have it so damn easy.
They'll out and shoot you if you complain, too."
There was nothing to do but get happy with ourselves again and forget about it.
When we got through Richmond we began forgetting about it, and soon everything was okay.
Now we had fifteen dollars to go all the way.
We'd have to pick up hitchhikers and bum quarters off them for gas.
In the Virginia wilderness suddenly we saw a man walking on the road.
Dean zoomed to a stop.
I looked back and said he was only a bum and probably didn't have a cent.