It was three weeks after my fifty seventh birthday and somewhere in the region of thirty five years since becoming a policeman when it happened. You hear stories, of course, but something with this level of perverse criminality had never actually happened to me.
Her 4 x4 was sat, broken down on the hard shoulder and, yes, doubling back probably wasn’t the best idea. But she reminded me of my daughter in an odd sort of way. Maybe her hair. Maybe not.
It was a quarter of a mile before the opportunity arose to turn around and by then the though had entered my mind, like that Danny Glover in Lethal Weapon – I’m getting too old for this shit. These things always turn out to be a tyre-change… Well my back hurts almost every time I bend past ninety degrees so you can’t be too careful.
It was the thought of my daughter Jodie being there and some deviant predator getting his hands on her. I didn’t like the idea. That and the fact that if the blokes down the station found out I would never hear the bastard end of it. Not after the last time. If it was Jodie I would have told her to just get in the car behind those almost-black tinted windows and phoned the nearest roadside assistance firm on her mobile. But it wasn’t Jodie.
What was wrong with the car? She didn’t know. She had the bonnet up but she admitted that she didn’t know what she was looking for.
She hesitated in following my instructions to jump inside and try the ignition. Just stared at me. Stared at me like a Spanish waiter listening to you mangling his language in a café in Barcelona. She didn’t say anything but she began to walk slowly toward the drivers door. Opened it. Slammed it. Turned the key.
The engine k-k-k-k-ga-jugged to a stop. Sounded like the battery was dead. That was fine because there were some jump leads stashed in the boot of the car. Red to red, black to black, popped the bonnet and I could feel my back starting to twinge as I wired the cars together. All the while she sat presumably still starting from behind those dark windows.
Lowered myself into my car and started it, shouted to her to do the same but she didn’t. Shouted again but again, nothing, so I wandered over and tapped on the driver’s side window and she wound it down.
That was when I caught a glimpse of it. The back of the 4 x 4 was mostly empty in that there were no seats in the traditional sense. Instead there was a chair with heavy restraints attached.
Didn’t react. Told her to start the car.
A wooden chair with heavy restraints and a great many unfriendly looking wires running off it.
The car started first time.
Standing up straight allowed me to see the chair. The electric chair was bolted to the floor. I nodded at my automotive success and thought for a second about what to do about that fact that she had a portable chamber of death in that back of her car.
So I smiled at her and waved my hand in the general direction of the contraption behind her. I mean, to be honest, I was expecting something along the lines of modern art or exercise equipment or – well – dogging or something.
She smiled at me and I breathed out, realising that I had been holding my breath, waiting for an answer. I smiled back. She slowly opened the door of the car and told me it was called ‘Old Sparky’. And that was the point she Tazered me.
As I started to wake there was a long line of drool connecting my shirt with my mouth and she was babbling.
Told me that I would have been fine if I hadn’t spotted the damn thing.
Told me that she didn’t want to have to do this but I’d given her no choice.
Told me something complicated about modifying capacitors and transformers.
Told me that she would have to drive around a bit first to recharge the battery then she was going to run great electrical dragons through my chest and render me no longer alive.
I objected. Vociferously.
Told her that you couldn’t just send officers of the law to the chair.
Told her that she couldn’t just go around using Old Sparky – someone would notice
I even tried to shake myself loose. Gave the chair a good gu-gu-gu-guk but it was bolted down well.
And then she started to apologise. Told me she didn’t have a choice. That she didn’t want to do it
She pulled the 4×4 into a lay-by, lifted a panel on the dashboard where there was a red switch. Definitely not a good sign. She stared at me in the mirror and pressed the button.
My body gave a miniature convulsion, starting where she had attached the electrodes to my chest my muscles seemed to pull tight like my shoulders were shrugging and then push out as far as they could, forcing me against the hard back of the chair. I screamed, “Stop it! That bloody hurts!” And the car stalled.
She stumbled towards me and for a moment I thought she might ask me to help her jump start the car again but instead she began spewing platitudes saying how she had changed her mind, she was sorry and how she would loosen my arm.
Just one arm. Then she would run for it. By the time I’d freed myself she would be away and we would be even. Right?
I just kept thinking about what Danny Glover would do in Lethal Weapon. I am too old for this sit.
She unbuckled the strap around my right wrist and I immediately hit her as hard as I could. It felt the same as hitting a man only, well, lighter. Of course I fudged that last detail when I told the story to Jodie but I did tell her that the whole incident seemed to have completely sorted out my back problems.
