Clair took my arm, said nothing. We looked at the cop. The ball seemed to be in his court.
“Why did you try to hit him?” the cop asked the girl. “I saw you do that.”
“Look what he’s done to my car,” she stormed. “Call this a Service Station! My God! I’ll sue this crummy bastard out of business.”
The cop eyed her disapprovingly, walked to the Cadillac, looked at it.
“Tsk, tsk.” He clicked with his tongue, glanced inside the car, spotted the gear lever, gave me an old-fashioned look. “What have you gotta say about this, pal?” he asked.
“My man saw what happened,” I said. “I just tried to smooth things over.” I turned, waved to Bones, who was watching with enormous eyes in the background. “Tell the officer what happended,” I said as he shuffled up.
“If you’re going to take that lousy nigger’s word against mine, I’ll have the coat off your back!” the girl stormed.
“Will you?” the cop said, raising his eyebrows. “You and who else? Come on,” he went on to Bones, “spill it.”
Bones told how the Cadillac had driven into the driveway very fast, and had pulled up dead, narrowly missing the air tower. He had asked the girl to reverse back to the gas pump as she had wanted gas, and she had promptly driven slap into the wall.
“Yeah, I guess that’s about how it did happen,” the cop said. He eyed the girl over. “What’s your name, sister?”