Arresting the Sheriff’s Wife
September 8, 2022 – Childress, Texas, USA
Inside his parked patrol car, Broderick Smalls slowly swiveled his head left and right. Nothing moved along Highway 164. It was one of those stretches of road his fellow deputies referred to as “arrow pancakes” – as straight as an arrow and flat as a pancake. Broderick’s car sat next to a low bush but there was not much else on the grassy roadside to keep him hidden.
Deputy Smalls was new to Childress County. Since he was at the bottom of the pecking order at the Sheriff’s office, he expected mindless assignments like hunting for speeders on nearly abandoned roads. He was determined to make a good impression and not complain. He was still getting to know most of his coworkers. They were a quiet bunch without an obvious sense of humor. Broderick could not recall hearing any of them laugh.
The serious tone was set by Sheriff Williams. He was at least six foot five inches tall and barrel chested. When he spoke, it was in a deep, wall-rattling bellow. He usually showed up at the Sheriff’s station growling and red-faced, as if he had just been in a fistfight. After frowning his way through an inspection of the desks in the open office bullpen, he disappeared into his own private office and slammed the door.
“What does he do all day?” Broderick asked one of his fellow deputies.
“Beats me,” answered the deputy.
“Where did he come from? How did he get to be Sheriff?”
“I have no idea. All I know about him is he’s got a wife who drives too fast.”
As Broderick sat in his patrol car sipping a bottle of Dr. Pepper, he suddenly saw a red speck on the horizon. It grew bigger and bigger until Broderick could see it was traveling too fast to be under the 70 mile-per-hour speed limit. He grabbed his radar gun. The now clearly identifiable red Mustang registered 105 and showed no signs of slowing down as it blew past Broderick. He flipped on his lights and gave chase.
The Mustang kept flying for another half mile until pulling over to the highway’s shoulder. Broderick exited his patrol car and cautiously approached. With one hand near his gun holster, he got a first clear view of the driver. She had big, dyed-blonde hair and wore buckets of makeup. She chewed gum in rhythm to the lights flashing behind her.
“Ma’am, do you know how fast you were going?” asked Broderick.
“Yes, I do,” replied the woman, checking her eyeliner in the rearview mirror.
“Then you know it was way over the speed limit.”
“Probably.”
“I’m going to need to see your license and registration.”
The woman reached to the purse sitting on the passenger’s seat and fished out her driver’s license. “Here you go,” she said sharply. “You must be new in town.”
“Uh, yeah I am.”
“Then you probably don’t recognize me. I’m the Sheriff’s wife. Check the license.”
Broderick read the name on the license. Marcia Williams. He looked over to see the woman smiling smugly back at him. What might happen if he gave the Sheriff’s wife a ticket? When the Sheriff found out, Broderick could get fired on the spot. Or the Sheriff might choose more painful ways to make his life miserable. He did not want to imagine how loud the Sheriff would get when Broderick was called into his office to explain the ticket.
Then again, Broderick did not want to get caught in a scandal. Marcia Williams clearly deserved a ticket. What if the public found out the entire Sheriff’s Department was showing her favoritism? It might be on the news. Someone could record Marcia speeding and put it up on YouTube.
Broderick quickly weighed the consequences. Since he was new in town, he decided it was best for him to show a little leniency and try to educate Marcia. A little lecture might help change her driving habits.
“You realize, Mrs. Williams, that we all have to obey the law,” Broderick said sternly. “Your speed isn’t safe for yourself or anyone else on the road.”
“You’re probably right,” said Marcia, without much conviction in her voice.
“I’m going to give you a warning this time, but I don’t want to pull you over again.”
“I’ve learned my lesson,” said Marcia, reaching for her license.
A few moments later, she drove off in the Mustang and Broderick returned to his police cruiser. He drove back to his spot next to the bush and wondered if he had handled Marcia the right way. He did not wonder long. Ten minutes later, a red spot appeared on the horizon. He grabbed his radar gun. Marcia Williams’ red Mustang clocked 100 miles-per-hour as she rocketed past, traveling in the opposite direction of her original flyby.
Broderick flipped on his lights and gunned the engine of the patrol car. The Mustang pulled over and Broderick marched up to the driver’s window.
“You again,” said Marcia Williams.
“You told me you learned your lesson.”
“Sure, I did. I learned you knew better than to give me any tickets.”
Broderick glared at her. What an insult! She was deliberately flouting the law. She was taunting him and questioning his bravery.
“License and registration, please,” demanded Broderick.
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“Oh yes, I would.”
Broderick’s hand shook as he wrote out the speeding ticket. By the time he was done, his temper had calmed and he was not so confident as he passed Marcia her copy of the ticket along with her license.
“You sure about this?” she asked him with a nasty hiss. “It will be the last thing you ever do in this town.”
“I’m sure,” replied Broderick with a nervous gulp. “It’s the right thing to do.”
Broderick second guessed himself for the rest of the day. He was so worried that he barely had the will to watch the lonely highway or hold up his radar gun. He turned down the volume of the police radio because he was afraid he might hear the Sheriff’s angry voice yelling for him to return to the station immediately.
Broderick did not show his face in the station when his shift was over. He drove his patrol car home and left his civilian car in the station’s parking lot. He nervously flipped through streaming channels all night on his couch and could not fall asleep.
Broderick looked like a zombie when he arrived for work the next morning, but he decided he had to confront the Sheriff about the ticket. He did not want to wait anxiously for the consequences. If he saw an opening for forgiveness, he would beg for mercy and claim temporary insanity.
A few of Broderick’s fellow deputies were trying to look busy by staring at computers in the office bullpen. Broderick walked numbly past them and knocked on the thick door of the Sheriff’s office.
“What do you need?” shouted a gruff voice.
“It’s Broderick Smalls. I need to speak with you.”
“Come in.”
Broderick found the Sheriff staring at a file on his messy desk. Broderick shuffled forward, holding out his copy of the speeding ticket.
“You must have already heard about this from your wife. I don’t know what I was thinking. I can tear it up.”
“What are you talking about?” mumbled the Sheriff, ripping the paper from Broderick’s hand. He studied the writing and asked, “So what is this? Who’s Marcia Williams?”
“Your wife.”
“My wife? I don’t have a wife.”
“She said she was your wife. Everyone in the office said you had a wife who drove fast.”
“They did, huh? So you thought she was my wife and you gave her a ticket anyway?”
“It seemed like the right thing to do at the time, but now that I think about it . . .”
“Stop talking.” The Sheriff got up from his desk and opened his office door. He looked around at his deputies. “How many of you have pulled over a woman for speeding who claimed to be my wife?”
Everyone in the room sheepishly raised their hands.
“And how many of you gave her a ticket?”
The hands dropped.
“Well, I don’t have a wife. That woman’s been fooling you this whole time. And none of you but Smalls had the guts to call her on it.” The Sheriff gestured toward Broderick who was standing behind him.
“Just so you know, my supposed wife is named Marcia Williams. She drives a red Mustang. I consider it open season on her. Understand?”
The deputies nodded their heads.
The Sheriff turned around toward Broderick. “As for you, I barely got off the phone with the F.B.I. They need help with an investigation. Something about kidnapping and buried oil money. A lot more interesting than writing tickets. You want the job?” Broderick wiped his relieved forehead. “Oh, yes sir.”
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