Nobody

Tex

It was a single State Trooper, the dark blue uniform looking odd to me since I was used to the tan of the Texas police. He looked young, even with the state trooper sunglasses and his round hat.

He stared at my license plate for a long time, then slowly walked along the side of the truck, looking in the back where the dufflebags were laying. When he got to the window I could see the curiosity in his face.

"Morning, sir," I said, nodding.

"Morning. License, insurance, and registration, please," he stated.

I handed them to him, making sure to give him my temporary license with Samuel English on it, keeping my hands on the wheel where he could see him, and waited.

"Stay in the truck," he told me, taking the paperwork back to his cruiser.

I lit a cigarette, grabbed a can of soda, and waited.

After about fifteen minutes he walked back up to the window.

"Don't see too many vehicles with Texas plates on it, Mister English," he told me.

I nodded. "Yes, sir," I told him. "Left Texas three days ago, mill shut down, decided to take my last paycheck and leave. Sold all my stuff, my little Japanese car, bought a truck, and left."

"Where you going?" He asked me.

"Not sure," I told him honestly. I smiled. "I'm a disabled vet on a full pension, so it won't be like I'll be some drunk or druggie penniless drifter." I put a little challenge in that last part, a little defensiveness, deciding Sam English would be worried about accusations like that.

I saw the doubt in the back of his eyes. "Full pension and still worked at the mill?"

I shrugged. "I'm a working man, sir. Too young to be gathering dust somewhere."

"Where'd ya serve?" He asked.

I gave him a serious look. "Army. Just Cause and Desert Storm." I stared into his eyes and after a moment he looked away.

He looked me over again, doubt returning to his face.

I sighed, opening my wallet and pulling out my blue military ID and my VA ID card. I handed them to him. He looked at them, looked at my face, then handed my paperwork and my ID's back to me.

"Drive safe, Mister English. Mind the speed limits," he told me.

"I will, sir," I promised. I took my time putting everything back. I watched him pull out, talking on his radio, and wondered if the only reason he pulled me over was my Texas plates. I snorted, started the truck, and followed.

I took the first exit off the highway, hitting up a back highway, hoping to avoid running into another cop. For the first time since I'd left the Army, the look of "probably a scumbag" had been leveled at me and I found I resented it.

I resented the fuck out of it.

I was fuming as I lit a cigarette, putting my arm out the window. It was different than it might have been before, when he'd have realized who I was an apologized, this was him doubting what I'd done and where I'd been.

It was infuriating.

I'd been killing motherfuckers, the best the enemy could send against me, while he was plotting how to grab a tit in Junior High, and he fucking looked down his nose at me?

Sam English resented the fuck out it.

I suddenly understood how Tony must feel.

The gas tank was down to a quarter tank when I started to see houses. After a bit I could see the small town nestled inside the Daniel Boone National Forest. The GPS had jack and shit listed, and it made me smile. I pulled into the gas station and got out, looking around. It was definitely a small town, with only a grocery store, a hardware store, a feed store, a little credit union, a gas station, a post office, and a car mechanics garage across the street from the gas station.