Prisoner of the Molepeople

Chapter 40 - Jail. Again.

“To the jail!” I cried.

The tension was thick in the little car. Though our mild chauffeur wasn't about to contend with his fearsome passengers, his beady eyes shone with mutiny.

“Shut up,” Gunhilda ordered.

“I didn't say anything,” the old moleman retorted.

“You were thinking something.”

As an act of defiance, Barry turned on the speakers, which, as usual, were playing Simon and Garfunkel.

Coo, coo, ca-choo, Mrs Robinson,
Jesus loves you more than you will know.

Wo, wo, wo …

The tension increased when sirens began to blare. Red and blue police lights flashed behind us. As if that wasn't enough going on, Barry's phone started ringing, and when he pulled it out, the name “Duthbert” was on the screen.

Before he could answer, I lunged forward and swiped the phone, and in the chaos, I accidentally answered it.

“What's going on?” came the angry voice of Duthbert.

“Oh, hi, honey,” I replied. “Thanks for getting back to me.”

“Who is this?” he demanded.

“I’m sorry, but I really need some fresh air.” Leaning around Gunhilda’s seat, I lowered the window and threw out the phone. “Oops.”

The tension reached a peak when Barry stopped the car at a yellow light.

“What are you doing?” I shouted.

With a heavy frown, the old moleman pointed to the traffic light, which had barely turned red.

“Run the stupid light!” Aside from us (and the police car behind us), not a single car was at the intersection.

When Barry ignored me, I said to Gunhilda, “Threaten him or something.”

Gunhilda replied, “Again you’re labeling me as a dumb brute.”

“I am not. This just happens to be another time when –”

“Look, he’s an old man. Cut him some slack.”

“What's your problem? You were just throwing policemen around!”

“For the record, that didn't happen.”

I looked through the rear window. In the time we’d wasted at the intersection, a black paparazzi van with photographers leaning out the windows, had pulled up behind the police car. To my astonishment, both vehicles started honking at us.

“I know!” I told them. “He insists on stopping.”

Thankfully, the light eventually turned green, and the “high speed” chase commenced. As the ominous compound of the police station drew nearer, a nervous Gunhilda turned back to me and said:

“Think about this, Ann. We’re being chased by the police, and you want to go to the police station?”

I clutched the shard of plastic in my pocket upon which I was gambling the fates of myself and loved ones. But it wasn’t the crystal I trusted, it was Grandma, the one person in Molemania who wasn’t crazy. Or so I believed. “I know it seems ridiculous, but you gotta trust me.”

As Barry began to pull the car into the parking lot of the station, Gunhilda said, “If we go into that building, we’re not coming out.”

I was afraid it would come to this. “All right, Gunhilda, if you don't want to follow me, then I'm afraid this is goodbye. Thanks for all your help.” Unwilling to wait for Barry's gradual stop or Gunhilda's faith, I popped the lever at my feet and forced the passenger seat forward (considering that Gunhilda was in the seat, this wasn't easy). Then I was out the door, sprinting for the entrance of the metal police station.