“What’s the problem?” Aunt Iris said, darting out of her car. She was so mad she didn’t have a hat on, and neither did Aunt Camellia, her white curls flowing behind her.

“Evie here has a broken taillight,” Chief Ass Burn said.

“So what? She’ll get it fixed,” Aunt Iris said.

I told them what the ticket cost.

“You gave her a ticket?” Aunt Iris said. “Chief Allroy never would have done that. He would have informed us of the problem and stayed to talk, a reasonable response to a minor problem.”

Aunt Camellia said, “I didn’t know we were going to get robbed by our new police chief. Was that in the monthly newsletter?”

Aunt Iris said, “Your job as the chief is not to shaft the islanders. Were you informed of that?”

Aunt Camellia said, “All I see is blackness around him. It’s like this dark, clingy, slimy aura. I’ve never felt slime before, so this is a curious situation.”

“All I see is a lawsuit if he threatens to run me down to the police station for a broken headlight again,” I said.

It was three against one, and he argued with them, tried to be the tough guy, but finally backed off but not before he said, “Do not interfere in a police matter again, ladies.”

He drove off in a wave of dust.

“That one is trouble,” Aunt Camellia said. “I can feel the evil circling him.”

“What a dick,” Aunt Iris said.

I looked at the ticket. Hundreds of dollars. For a broken taillight.

Aunt Iris took a photo of it and texted it off to friends. By the end of the evening the whole town knew about my outrageous fine for a broken taillight.

* * *

The next day, before work, I fixed my broken taillight. I mailed a check for the full amount to the address on the ticket. I would not, no matter what it cost me, go to the chief and ask him to reduce the amount. Sounds ridiculous, but I would not be in his presence and feed his ego or put myself in a position to plead. It was worth paying more to get my power back.

I did, however, identify Chief Ass Burn’s superior to complain about the amount of the ticket. I made a copy of the ticket and my check at the bookstore and mailed the whole thing in, along with my summation of what happened, down to every last word that the chief said to me.

My question to his superior was, “Is this how a normal traffic stop should occur for a broken taillight?”

* * *

“What is that?”

“It’s a tube. Duh.”

“Gee, thanks, Jules. I was absolutely baffled.” I turned the small tube around in my hands, the packaging from a DNA company around it. “I thought you had handed me a miniature elephant. Or a barbeque. Who knew it was a tube?”