I awoke with a pounding headache lying on the floor, legs elevated on the couch. I opened my eyes slowly one at a time. First everything I saw was red then blue. I screamed in shock and surprise banging my head against an invisible barrier. What kind of cruel joke was this? From the ground I saw the celing fan circling above me through the now smudged glass coffee table. Damed 3-d glasses. Where the hell did I get these?

I climbed out of my precarious situation to find a uniformed police officer asleep on the recliner. Shocked at first I pushed away the the fight or flight responses of adrenaline. It seemed best to heed the age old addage and 'let sleeping dogs lie'. I went into the kitchen and found a pint beer glass which I filled with ice then a couple shots of whiskey and topped it off with grapefruit juice as I wondered if there really was a police officer in the recliner or if I was still asleep or if I was having a really screwball trip. I didn't remember eating any acid though that would explain the 3-D glasses. Mushrooms were not capable of causing this sort of madness. I didn't see any tracers. None of the appliances were making faces at me. The laws of psychedelics did not seem to be in play. The world seemed strikingly normal other than the police officer in the living room.

I stepped into the back yard to have a cigarette. It was quite warm, about 95 degrees, clear and humid. By the position of the sun I determined that it was about one or two in the afternoon. In the stickiness and discomfort of this early afternoon, confused by my surroundings, I played back the events of the evening of which I was certain. There were a couple of John Wayne movies, Rio Bravo and The Sons of Katie Elder. Then I demanded Clint Eastwood's High Plains Drifter. I think that somebody put in Dirty Duck and then I remember answering the door for the Mailman... The Mailman at 3 a.m.? That explains the cop on the recliner, sort of. It explains where he came from but not why he was here. Obviously he wasn't here to arrest anybody or hand out any viscious beatings. I remember the 'Mailman' being a quite jovial sort. He had a couple of beers with us. What the hell was his name? Tim? No. Tony? No. Starts with a 'T'. Oh yea, Tom.

Gathering my courage with new found clarity I returned to the kitchen fleeing the sun which burned my eyeballs like a laser beam dispite my theatrical eyewear. Surveying the disaster area I knew there wasn't much choice about it. I saw months of dirty dishes stacked up and I just couldn't stand it. Besides, if I'm going to take the chance of waking up an armed man with a hangover who is empowered by the government to use lethal force I would much rather do it by washing dishes than turining on the TV. It seemed that the sound of running water and clanking dishes would bring back memories of mother doing the dishes after dinner while enjoying a gluttenous nap which seemed more pleasant than snapping on the TV and blaring C-Span at high volume. What else did I have to do? I was also getting a little hungry. I couldn't cook in this mess.

Within a few minutes I began to hear stirring in the living room. I peeked around the corner to find the tall, lanky cop stretching out in the recliner and yawning. I decided immediately to pursue a strategy of appeasement. There weren't a lot of other choices now. I extracted another Heineken from the fridge and poured a shot over ice in a small glass. It seemed safe. I strolled into the living room carrying drinks and asked in a loud boisterous voice, 'Hey, Tom, hair of the dog?'�

The lanky policeman looked up at me shifting from side to side smiling and wearing 3-D glasses as I offered him the drinks. Obviously he was almost as frightened and surprised to see me as I was to see him.

'Huh? Where the fuck? What the fuck?'� He remarked as he came to. He rubbed his head as he looked me over.

'Jimmy right?'� He asked beginning to wake up.

'You got me! Wanna beer or a shot? Hair of the dog. You gonna be ok? Boy you sure can put 'em away. You need a cigarette?'� I asked.

I have used a similar bombardment technique with police officers before. They seem to be astounded and confused by people being genuinely helpful or cordial. You can't play it too strongly though because they begin to get suspicious. This comes from their training.

"Oh shit! Where's Mad Dog?" he demanded looking at his watch.

"I think he's still crashed out," I answered honestly but giving nothing away.

"We were supposed to be in court on my case today," he gasped.

"I'll check on him for you," I offered after pouring down the double shot to free up one hand.

I wandered into Mad Dog's room finding him lying spread eagle on the bed snoring. I wasn't sure how to aproach this sort of situation. I had never woken a lawyer and was not certain how they normally react to the experiance. I had been surprised by people of various other occupations so I aproached cautiously with a broom gleaned from the corner of the room. Standing at a safe distance I poked gently but firmly at his ribbs with the blunt end calling his name in short gruntlike bursts, "Mad Dog!... Mad Dog!"

To my surprise he responded pleasantly without opening his eyes, "What do ya need Chief?"

"Tom said something about going to court today. He looks pretty upset. What do I do?" I questioned in a fearful tone sipping from my beer.

"Oh, I called in sick on that one earlier. They know me and about my health problems. No problem. Tell him that they will reschedule it in a couple of months," he explained while drifting back to sleep.

Dumbfounded at his obviously calling in drunk to court especially on a case for an officer of the law, I returned to the living room to find Tom pacing back and forth shaking and sweating. I decided to play with him a little like THEY always play with me.

"What is it? What did he say? I can't belive I got drunk last night and missed court. Oh shit! Oh shit! What's going to happen to me?" Tom sputtered.

'What's going to happen to me?' How many times have I asked a cop that very same question and they just fucked with me? I mean they made me come to the point of soiling myself. They get a good rise out of scaring the crap out of unsuspecting teenagers terrified of being sodomised in a jail cell by some burly guy with a fetish for young, soft-skinned white boys. Now it's my turn.

"Well, Tom, that was pretty thick of you getting drunk last night and sleeping through court," I stated.

Nodding his head he agreed with a simple, "Yes Sir, it sure was."

"Not quite sure how to tell you this Tom. You might want to sit down," pointing at the recliner with my beer.

"I have some good news and some bad news. Which do you want to hear first?" I asked coily.

Sitting down and putting a gigantic dip of chewing tobacco in his mouth he said, "Well, I guess the bad."

I had counted on this. People always ask for the bad news first. For some reason they think that the good news will cheer them up. I on the other hand have always wanted to know my assets before facing a problem, not that it really changes the outcome either way. The situation is what it is good and bad. Either deal with it or run like hell.

Clearing my throat and trying to keep a straight face I said, "Judges don't look kindly on this sort of thing, especially from officers of the law such as yourself. They tend to hold them to a higher standard. He might just throw the book at you. Especially the way you cussed him on the phone this morning. Tom, you are likely to get fined heavily and have to spend up to six months in jail for contempt."

I saw his face and ears beginning to turn red and the vein in his forehead started to throb. No doubt his ears were ringing.

I continued cautiously, "that is to say nothing concerning the reason that you are appearing before him to begin with. You may as well count that as a lost cause. He'll likely give you the max for that too. I'd say about five years. I'm not sure how this may affect your career, some more progressive departments may actually look on this as good experiance since you will have intimate knowlege of portions of the criminal justice system seldom seen by most of their officers but I doubt it."

He interupted me, "Five years for hitting a parked car? I was in pursuit!"

"Well, wreckless driving is wreckless driving. Just the other day Mad Dog went to court and got a guy off for grand theft auto because he had stolen the car to rush his dying mother-in-law to the hospital. The judge granted clemency because he stole the car to save a life. Unfortunately, he ran up over the curb and hit a bush outside the ER. He got three years for the bush. This judge has a real hard-on for wreckless driving." I added amazed at how quickly I was able to think on my feet and still remain convincing.

"Aw Fuck! That's just not right! Aw Fuck!" he yelled once again on his feet pacing.

"Wait!" I exclaimed.

"What else is there?" he asked shaking.

"Don't you want to hear the good news?" I questioned.

"I guess so," he sobbed.

"I'm just fuckin' with ya!" I said as I burst out laughing.

"Mad Dog called in sick earlier today. They will reschedule it in a couple of months" I explained.

His face contorted from relieved to angry and then back to relieved as he began laughing.

"You really got me partner. You led me right down the garden path. Three years for a damned bush. That is some funny shit. I'll get you back for that one," he promised while laughing hysterically.

This was just the sort of ruse that earns respect from a good natured guy like Tom. He was a good sport and since he could take a joke I knew he wasn't your typical micro-fascist jerk who becomes the bully that they hated in junior high. I could see that Tom and I would be good friends.

Taking in the events I began to wonder how I had gotten myself wrapped up in this sordid business. This whole scene was severly out of character for me; working for a lawyer, hanging out drinking and laughing with a cop. What had I become? What had I gotten myself into? I began to wonder and fear how this twisted bull ride would end. Having some experiance living out surreal scenes like this before I knew that the landing was never graceful and seldom pleasant.

It was certain now how connected Calhoun was. I had better handle him with caution. In places like Kingwood, Texas a freak like me could disapear and never be seen again by anyone but catfish. Being new to the area from California would not be to my advantage in the local 'good ol boy' system. This charmed life could turn ugly on a dime and I knew it.

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