THE TICKET
Jack took a long look at his speedometer before slowing down: 73 in a 55 zone. Theflashing red in his rear view mirror insisted he pull over quickly, but Jack let the carcoast.
Fourth time in as many months. How could a guy get caught so often? When his car hadslowed to 10 miles an hour, Jack pulled over, but only partially. Let the cop worry aboutthe potential traffic hazard. Maybe some other car will tweak his backside with a mirror.
He slumped into his seat, the collar of his trench coat covering his ears. He tappedthe steering wheel, doing his best to look bored, his eyes on the mirror. The cop wasstepping out of his car, the big pad in hand.
Bob? Bob from church? Jack sunk farther into his trench coat. This was worse than thecoming ticket. A Christian cop catching a guy from his own church. A guy who happened tobe a little eager to get home after a long day at the office. A guy he was about to playgolf with tomorrow.
Jack was tempted to leave the window shut long enough to gain the psychological edgebut decided on a different tack. Jumping out of the car, he approached a man he saw everySunday, a man he'd never seen in uniform.
"Hi, Bob. Fancy meeting you like this."
"Hello, Jack." No smile.
"Guess you caught me red-handed in a rush to see my wife and kids."
'Yeah, I guess." Bob seemed uncertain. Good.
"I've seen some long days at the office lately. I'm afraid I bent the rules abit-just this once." Jack toed at a pebble on the pavement. "Diane saidsomething about roast beef and potatoes tonight. Know what I mean?"
"I know what you mean. I also know that you have a reputation in ourprecinct."
Ouch. This was not going in the right direction. Time to change tactics.
"What'd you clock me at?"
"Seventy-one. Would you sit back in your car, please?"
"Now wait a minute here, Bob. I checked as soon as I saw you. I was barely nudging65."
The lie seemed to come easier with every ticket.
"Please, Jack, in the car."
Flustered, Jack hunched himself through the still-open door. Slamming it shut, hestared at the dashboard. He was in no rush to open the window. The minutes ticked by. Bobscribbled away on the pad. Why hadn't he asked for a driver's license?
Whatever the reason, it would be a month of Sundays before Jack ever sat near this copagain. A tap on the door jerked his head to the left. There was Bob, a folded paper inhand. Jack rolled down the window a mere two inches, just enough room for Bob to pass himthe slip.
"Thanks." Jack could not quite keep the sneer out of his voice. Bob returnedto his car without a word.
Jack watched his retreat in the mirror, bottom teeth scratching his upper lip. When Bobvanished inside his car, Jack unfolded the sheet of paper. How much was this one going tocost?
Wait a minute. What was this? Some kind of joke? Certainly not a ticket. Jack began toread:
Dear Jack,
Once upon a time I had a daughter. She was six when killed by a car. You guessed it - a speeding driver. A fine and three months in jail, and the man was free. Free to hug his daughters. All three of them.
I only had one, and I'm going to have to wait until heaven before I can ever hug her again.
A thousand times I've tried to forgive that man. A thousand times I thought I had, Maybe I did, but I need to do it again. Even now. Pray for me. And be careful. My son is all I have left.
BobJack shifted uncomfortably in his trench coat. Then he twisted around in time to seeBob's car pull away and head down the road. Jack watched until it disappeared. A full 15minutes later, he, too, pulled away and drove slowly home, praying for forgiveness andhugging a surprised wife and kids when he arrived.