The Minotauress

Stu let them see his hand on his holster. "This your car?"

"Yes, sir, it shore is."

"What's gonna happen one minute from now when I run the plates?"

"Nothin', sir. I gots my insurance'n registration right here... "

Stu studied the three of them. "Which one of you used the stolen credit card?"

Oddly, the two rednecks both looked to White Shirt.

"Stolen?" White Shirt whispered.

"Make it quick, guys. If I hear one word that sounds like bullshit... I'm busting all three of you."

Silence.

"Sir, there's been mistake," White Shirt stepped up. "I used the credit card." Next, he looked at it with a puzzled expression. Then he sighed. "And you know what? This one's not mine. I know what happened, Officer. About a month ago, I found a man's wallet in the parking lot of the Qwik-Mart in Luntville, and I returned it to him immediately. It was a man in a Rolls Royce, and he even gave me a $100 bill as a reward for returning the wallet. But after he drove away, I discovered that one of his cards had fallen out of it... "

"And you've been using it ever since," Stu said.

"Oh, no, that's not the case at all, sir. I had every intention of calling the credit card company the next day to report it misplaced but I simply forgot."

Stu tapped his foot. "And I'm supposed to believe that?"

"I assure you, sir. I'm not prevaricating in the least."

"Prevaricating, huh?" This was starting to stink. Stu glared at Long-Hair and Fattie. "You two guys looks like townies—" Then he glared at White Shirt. "—and you look like a librarian. Something's not right here. You three guys know each other?"

"Actually, no, sir, not really," White Shirt stepped right up again. "I was walking home tonight and these gentlemen kindly offered me a ride, and in their generosity, I thought it only fair for me to buy them some gas."

"With a stolen credit card?"

"No, sir," he said, slightly weary now. "I intended to use my own card but I used this one by mistake." He raised the card in emphasis. "This card, that I found and intended to report lost."

"But forgot to?"

"Precisely."

Stu's eyes flicked back to the rednecks. "Is that true?"

"Aw, yeah, it shore is... sir," answered Long-Hair. "We'se just offered him a ride's all."

"Don't really know him," Fattie said. "We'se was just bein' neighborly."

Stu ruminated further. I don't have probable cause to bust the rednecks or do a search. "Mind telling me what's in the U-Haul?"

"Just some old furniture'n stuff we'se movin' to my Daddy's house down the way," Long-Hair said.

Hmm. Stu kept tapping his foot. Make the decision. "You," he said to White Shirt. "Turn around, hands behind your back."

He took the credit card, did a quick pat-down, and cuffed the guy. "Don't move," he ordered. He walked right up to Long-Hair till their faces were an inch apart.

"You look like a con," he said.

Long-Hair didn't bat an eye. "I don't know what'cha mean... sir. All I been doin' tonight is mindin' my own business... "

I don't know what's wrong here, Stu realized, but I don't have anything to take them in for. "You boys be on your way." He started back toward White Shirt but paused to take one last glance at the shining El Camino. "Nice car, by the way."

"Why-why—thank ya, sir!" Fattie enthused. "Just you have a good night!"

Stu walked White Shirt to the cruiser. "In the car, and—" He pulled a small, very old book out of the guy's back pocket. He looked at the title, bewildered.

"The Account of the Incubi of Vasr Monastery? London, 1787? What the hell is this?"

"It's a grimoire, Officer, since you asked. For your information, I'm a Harvard graduate, and one of my fields of study involves antiquarian literature. I'm also a nationally published novelist. Perhaps you've heard of me. My name is—"

"Just get in the car," Stu said, and pushed the guy in back.

He drove back to the station, disappointed. "I'm going to have to arrest you for the credit card. When we get to the station, I'll read you your rights and give you a piece of paper to sign stating that you understand your rights."

"That's fine with me, sir," the guy said, quite cheerily.

Stu lit a cigarette. Still. There's something funny. "So what have I got? A Harvard grad with a two-hundred-year-old book in his pocket hanging out with two redneck deadbeats in a hotrod at two in the morning?"

Oddly, White Shirt seemed relieved. "Well, since you're arresting me, I guess I'll have my day in court."

"Yeah, you will. And you know what else? You don't seem to care in the least that you're going to jail."

The guy smiled in the rearview. "Perhaps it's my predestination. All experience is life, Officer, and all of life is experience, and the truth of that experience is what I crave, to infuse into my novels. My books allegorically bid the question: How Powerful Is The Power Of Truth?"