“Drugs. But this looks like meat to me.”
“Oh, no, Clyde,” Morris said. He started laughing, a somewhat forced laugh, and actually slapped his knee. He straightened up from his squat and gave a command to Bertha, who sat down and stayed. “Clyde, I’ve known you for years and I figured you for a smarter officer than that. You know we got a lot of marijuana coming in here to Forks, and you know that’s why we spent all that money on Bertha.”
“I’m with you so far,” Clyde said.
“Well, what you got to remember is that not all criminals are stupid. Some of ’em are pretty damn smart. They know about Bertha. So they hide the goods now, Clyde. They hide the stuff in cans of coffee or anything they think will throw off the scent. Now, if you wanted to throw a dog off the scent, what could be better than hiding a big ol’ head of sinsemilla inside an even bigger hunk of raw meat? Pretty clever, huh?”
“What makes you think he’s got dope to begin with?”
“It’s gotta be coming in from somewhere,” Morris countered.
“Hell, Jim, it’s coming in from ten miles away. Most of the dope in the United States is grown in the corn belt. You know that. Now, why would anyone go to the trouble of importing the stuff all the way from—wherever the hell these people are from—when there’s acres of the stuff growing right here in Forks County?”
Morris broke eye contact. Clyde could see he was defeated. But the conversation was interrupted by more commotion from the opposite side of the Toyota. Clyde ran around to find Ditzel kicking the handcuffed suspect in the ribs. “Fucking sand nigger! That’s all you are! You got that? So don’t be giving me any more of your lip, because we don’t take lip from sand niggers in this town.”
“Officer Ditzel, if you strike that man again, I’ll put your ass in a sling,” Clyde said.
He could not believe he’d said it. Neither could Ditzel. For Clyde to imply that he would rat on a fellow police officer was like announcing that he was going to have a sex-change operation. It left everyone within earshot stunned and forced them to reevaluate everything they had ever known about Clyde Banks.
“Ba ba ba ba ba,” said Maggie from the hood of Ditzel’s unit.
Ditzel looked at Maggie, his astonishment growing even deeper, and then a sneer developed on his face. “Well, what the fuck are you doing here anyway? I don’t remember calling for backup from a deputy—or his partner,” he said, pointing at Maggie.
“Rendering assistance,” Clyde said, “and advice.”
“Advice? Well, thanks very much. This was going fine before you got here.”
“Doesn’t look fine,” Clyde said, nodding at the suspect.
“I stopped him ’cause he wasn’t wearing a seat belt. Maybe they don’t have a seat-belt law where he comes from, but we do here. Then he started acting suspicious. So I asked him to get out of the car, him and his woman, and called for K-9 to check out the car, and that’s when he got surly. Then, when the K-9 showed up, he started actively resisting, so I took him down. So this is a clean bust all the way, and I’m not in need of your advice, Deputy.”
“See this?” Clyde said. He began tapping his nail against a sticker on the Toyota’s window.
Ditzel leaned out to see and opened his mouth as if this would improve the acuity of his vision. “So? Parking sticker.”
“You wouldn’t know this, ’cause you’re Nishnabotna, but I learned how to read the codes on these things working in Wapsie sometimes,” Clyde said. “This one’s for the law-school parking lot.”
“I’ll be darn,” Ditzel said.
A profound silence fell over the scene. Clyde could hear wind rustling in the leaves of the oak trees.
Eastern Iowa University did not even have a law school. The law school was in Iowa City. But Clyde Banks, who had known Ditzel since they had gone to kindergarten together, knew that Ditzel could be relied upon not to know this.
“C’mere,” Clyde said, and jerked his head back toward his truck. He turned his back on Ditzel, plucked Maggie off the unit as he went by, and went around back of his truck. He set Maggie down on the bed of the truck and replaced her pacifier. Ditzel met him there a moment later.
“You know how these lawyers can make a stink,” he said.
“But he’s just a camel jockey,” Ditzel protested, his voice now much higher.
“Even better, given the state of our judicial system. Just think of it. An oppressed minority with a pregnant wife versus a redneck cop.”