The death of Lacy Miller at the hands of a police impersonator in Fort Collins, Colorado inspired me to send Justin Graves on the trail of a similar imposter who has been terrorizing the citizens of Deckers, Texas.

The Impersonator

by

Terry Wright

            Andrew Loudon coasted his white 1996 LT-1 Caprice cruiser up to the stoplight on Deckers Boulevard. As usual, he quickly glanced at the vehicles stopped around him: an old lady in a Volvo on his right, a young woman driving a minivan on his left, and in the rearview mirror, a Ford pickup appeared through an array of antennas mounted on the trunk lid. Satisfied he had an audience, he took a moment to admire his reflection in the mirror, his official California Highway Patrol sunglasses and his macho butch haircut. Yes, he looked like a professional, he thought, and he felt powerful driving this retired police car he’d purchased at auction. Impressed with his persona, he reached for the radio mike clipped to the dashboard.

            “Officer Loudon...all clear...ten four.” A tingle skittered up the back of his neck. He knew no one had heard his transmission over the radio. It didn’t work, anyway, but with the mike still pressed to his lips, he glanced again at the young woman in the minivan. He imagined pulling her over, talking to her officially while she cowered in his presence yet wishing he would take her somewhere to be interrogated privately. Just because she was looking straight ahead did nothing to dissuade his fantasy. He knew what the whore wanted.

            The cowboy in the pickup behind him was lighting a cigarette, and the old lady on his right was looking the other way. Nobody was paying attention. This called for extreme measures, he thought. Activating the blue and red flashing lights on his dashboard, he lurched the Caprice into the intersection. Cross traffic honked at him, so he switched on the siren he’d wired under the hood. The sudden wail caused drivers to brake and swerve as the Caprice continued forward in simulated urgency. After clearing the intersection and peeling away, Andrew whooped and hollered. “That got their attention,” he shouted, his heart pounding like a crazed drummer. “Man, was that cool!”

            Two blocks later, he shut off the lights and siren, slowed down, and made a right turn onto Bradley, a tree-lined street between Texas Mall and the Baptist church. There, a Deckers police car idled in the parking lot. With nerves of steel, Andrew pulled in alongside the patrol car and rolled down the window. “Evening, Darren.”

            The officer looked up. “What are you up to, Andrew?”

            “Making the rounds, you know how it is.”

            “When are you going to get a real job?”

            “I’m just trying to help.”

            “You shouldn’t be wearing that shirt.”

            “It was my dad’s.” Andrew knew it wasn’t illegal to wear black slacks and an old police shirt. Besides, the patches had been removed from the sleeves. “What are you doing?”

            “The part of this job your daddy hated most, paperwork.”

            “Was there a burglary?” Andrew picked up a hand-held receiver lying on the seat and displayed it to the officer. “I didn’t hear anything on my police scanner.”

            “Nothin’ that exciting. How’s your momma?”

            “The same.” She hadn’t said two words since the shooting.

            “You be careful, yah hear?”

            Andrew nodded and tore off, the LT-1 Caprice now roaring down Bradley. Tires squealing, he turned into the alley behind Texas Mall and slowed the cruiser to a crawl. Though it wasn’t yet dark, he turned on the post-mounted spotlight anyway and shot the beam across a row of dumpsters. Heart racing, he knew his father had felt the same excitement patrolling the streets back then. After he was killed, the other officers took young Andrew under their wings, let him go on “ride-alongs” and taught him the lingo. Now, at 22, as he crept down the alley, he was satisfied to be this close to real police work.

            At the end of the alley, he spotted a vacant Ford Escort illegally parked in a loading zone. He was about to call the station on his cell phone to report the infraction when he saw the car moving, rocking on its springs, and he had a good idea what was going on. Yes, this was something every cop dreamed of encountering.

            Heart rate climbing in anticipation of what he might see, he rolled the Caprice up to the Escort’s front bumper, shined the spotlight on its windshield, and emerged, Colt .45 in hand. “You in the car,” he shouted with authority. “Show me your hands.”

            Wide-eyed teenagers leaped up. The boy’s shirt was off; the girl’s blouse was unbuttoned. He couldn’t see anything else from this vantage point. “Let me see your hands!” Man this was good, he thought; he was scaring the hell out of them.

            The kids winced from the bright spotlight and used their hands to shield their eyes. Andrew moved to the driver’s window and tapped it with the butt of his gun. The girl was frantically pulling up her panties when Andrew got a brief glimpse of white thighs. Finally, the boy rolled down the window. “We aren’t doing anything, officer.”

            Pleased with the salutation, he said, “Let’s see some IDs.”

            “You are a police officer, aren’t you?” the boy questioned as he scrutinized Andrew’s apparel.

            The girl swatted his arm. “Don’t argue with him, Jimmy.”

            Andrew flashed his father’s old badge and bent to the window so he could better see the girl. “How old are you, young lady?”

            “Fifteen.”

            And a nasty whore, Andrew thought. “Jimmy Norton,” he read from the boy’s driver’s license and handed it back to him. “You want to go to jail tonight?”

            “We were just making out!”

            “Give me your phone numbers.”

            “What for?”

            “I’m calling your parents.”

            “No please, I’ll do anything,” the girl said.

            Andrew wrote down their phone numbers and retreated to his car. When he sat behind the wheel, his heart was beating a hundred miles an hour, but he was cool. Now he had to make them sweat for a few minutes. While waiting, visions of the nasty whore’s white thighs kept him company. I’ll do anything...I’ll do anything reverberated through his mind. Anything! His imagination was running wild when a cold rush of fear came over him. The boy. He was a witness. Andrew’s fantasies came unwound. He threw the Caprice into reverse and sped away.

            “What’s the matter with you?” he berated himself, pounding the steering wheel with his fists. “You’re a chicken!”

            “No I’m not!” He wanted to arrest that nasty little whore, put her in the back seat, and take her someplace private for interrogation. He was the law around here. She had to obey him. Those were the rules. He’d rehearsed it a hundred times in his mind. It was easy.

            “Officer Loudon is a chicken, a chicken.”

            “I’m not a chicken.” He floored the accelerator and headed down Deckers Boulevard. “Next time...next time I’ll show you I’m no chicken.”

            It was going on closing time at Deckers Bar and Grill when Tracy Farrow tossed back her auburn hair and threw the last dart. “Ten!”

            “Yes!”

            All her friends gathered around, patted her back, and shrieked with joy. Martin, her worthy opponent, offered up the prize. “One more beer for Tracy,” he shouted to the waitress. “It’s on me.”

            “Last call,” she announced.

            Tracy really didn’t want another beer; she’d had two already, and her kidneys were floating, but it was Friday night, what the heck, she thought and sat at the bar. The pep rally wasn’t until noon tomorrow; she could sleep in.

            “You’re a lucky girl,” Martin said and sat next to her. “Pretty and bright, and wicked with the darts.”

            “And a damn sexy cheerleader,” another guy put in.

            One of her girlfriends added, “She worked hard to make the squad.”

            “She’s got the moves,” another injected.

            “You guys are the best friends a girl could have.” She offered up a toast with her newly-delivered beer. “I’m looking forward to the pep rally.”

            “Deckers University is lucky to have you,” a perky blond said.

            “What’s your major?” Martin asked and sipped his beer.

            “Elementary education.”

            “Why do you want to be a teacher? There isn’t any money in it.”

            “Everything isn’t about money, Martin. Kids need...”

            The bartender broke in. “You kids need to go home. I’m closin’ up.”

            “Yeah, yeah.” Martin set down his unfinished glass of beer. “How about a ride?” he asked Tracy. “I know it’s out of your way, but...”

            “No problem.”

            It was six miles out of her way, but the drive helped her clear her head of the smoky, noisy bar. She knew she wasn’t drunk; she hadn’t been drunk since she was sixteen, but nonetheless, with the window down, she felt refreshed by the time she dropped Martin off at his apartment. “See you tomorrow.” He waved, and she drove away.

            This time of night in Deckers, the streets were deserted. Thoughts of tomorrow’s pep rally and her acceptance speech occupied her mind. It wasn’t long before she turned left onto Bradley and drove past Texas Mall. She lived with her parents about a half-mile from the Baptist Church, on a tree-lined suburban road.

            Suddenly, a siren wailed behind her. Startled, she glanced at her speedometer, and convinced she wasn’t speeding, she shot her attention to the rearview mirror. Red and blue lights flashed from the dashboard of the car behind her, and a blinding spotlight came on. Her throat clutched. It was obvious that a police officer in an unmarked car wanted her to stop, but for what reason she didn’t know. Had she accidentally ran a red light, she wondered? Did she make an unsafe left turn? Surely this was a mistake, she assured herself and pulled to the shoulder and stopped.

            Driver’s license in hand, she watched the outside mirror and waited for the policeman to approach. Minutes passed in tense silence. She figured he was running her license plate number through the system. He wouldn’t find anything, she knew, but whatever she’d done to warrant this stop, she hoped he wouldn’t give her a ticket. Finally, the car door opened, and silhouetted by the bright spotlight, a dark form approached her window and tapped on the glass. “Step out of the car, ma’am.”

            “What have I done?”

            “Get out of the car.” He stepped back, and now in the spotlight’s glow she could see his hand hovering over a holstered gun. He was wearing dark glasses, dark pants and a dark shirt with a badge pinned to the pocket, but there were no patches on his sleeves to identify his department.

            “Who are you with?” she shouted through the closed window.

            “Undercover DUI Enforcement,” he replied. “Now get out of the car.”

            “I’m not drunk.”

            “Then you have nothing to worry about.”

            Of course she didn’t. She opened the door and got out. “I’ll prove it to you. What do you want me to do, walk the line? There isn’t one around here. How about I recite the alphabet. A-B-C...”

            “That won’t be necessary, miss. I can smell beer on your breath from here.” He displayed a pair of handcuffs. “Turn around. Put your hands behind your back. You’re under arrest.”

            “This isn’t necessary,” she said but complied with the officer’s order. She was sure everything would be straightened out at the police station.

            He administered the handcuffs somewhat clumsily, she thought, and being this close to him now, she sensed his inexperience and nervousness. Confused, she watched him rifle through her car and take her purse. He was sweating profusely and talking to himself, saying something under his breath about a chicken. Panic began to set in. “What’s your name, officer?”

            Mute, he muscled her to his unmarked police car and shoved her into the back seat.

            “Who are you?”

            “I’m the law around here.”

            In the afterlife, the light brightened. “I have disturbing news for you, Justice,” a low and hollow voice said.

            Justin tipped his hat to shade his eyes. “What else is new?” He’d just gotten comfortable in his favorite hammock, and he didn’t welcome the interruption.

            “Look.” The light parted, revealing a scene in the land of the living: an abandoned car on a deserted road and a driver’s license that had fallen to the pavement. “It belongs to Tracy Farrow,” the light said. “She dropped it when she was abducted.”

            That got Justin to his feet. “What happened?”

            “It was a police impersonator,” the light replied. “And he has just made his first arrest.”

            Justin felt a jolt of anger. He knew the dedication and training that went into his profession, and he took it personally when someone pretended to be of the same caliber. Some imposters were just punks trying to be tough guys, he knew, but others were criminals who’d chosen this MO to perpetrate their crimes.

            “Police impersonators are dangerous in many ways,” the light said. “By counting on their victims’ unquestioning cooperation, they gain entry to homes, rob motorists on the open highway, abduct children from playgrounds, and rape and murder women who trusted and respected them as bona fide police officers.”

            “And now an impersonator is prowling the streets of Deckers.”

            “His fascination for the excitement of law enforcement has taken a fatal turn.”

            “Oh, no.”

            A mist seeped from the light and swirled around Justin’s feet. Moments later, a young woman rose up from the mist, her auburn hair dancing on her shoulders. “Is this the pep rally?” Her eyes were filled with confusion.

            “I’m sorry,” Justin said. “It’s...”

            “I have to get to the pep rally,” she insisted. “All my friends will be there.”

            Justin stepped forward, offering his hand. “We have nothing like that here.”

            “Who are you?”

            “Don’t worry. I’m a police officer.”

            Her eyes went wide with fear. Backing up she cried out, “You don’t look like a police officer. You’re a cowboy.”

            “I’m a Texas Ranger, ma’am.”

            “You’re an imposter.”

            “I assure you...”

            “Get away from me!”

            The mist rose up and took her away. “She’ll never cross over in that state of mind,” the light said. “You have to help her.”

            Justin felt sick inside, being shunned by someone he wanted to help. “She doesn’t trust the police anymore.”

            “Do you blame her?”

            “I blame the impersonator.”

            “There he is!” The light revealed an LT-1 Caprice cruiser pulling up behind a car on an isolated stretch of Texas road. “Go get him, Justice!”

            “Oh dear. Dad is going to kill me.” Cindy was returning home from a bible study group. She’d promised her father she wouldn’t get in trouble if he let her use his Z28 Camaro. Now, an unmarked car was pulling her over. So okay, she was going ten miles an hour over the speed limit, but she could have been doing a hundred and forty if she wanted. There weren’t many cars that could keep up with a Z28.

            With red and blue lights flashing behind her, she turned on her signals and looked for a safe place to pull over on the dark shoulder. Suddenly, there was a bump, and a sickening smell exploded inside the car. At first, she thought she’d run over a skunk, or worse, a whole family of skunks. The smell stung her eyes to tears, and bile burned the back of her throat. Retching, she was trying to swallow when a grating voice said, “Don’t pull over, ma’am.”

            She couldn’t believe her eyes. A disgusting old man was sitting in the passenger seat, his muddy clothes making a mess of the upholstery. Gray hair dangled from under his dirty cowboy hat, and worms wriggled from holes in his filthy long coat. His leathery facial skin was shriveled, revealing rotted molars and white bone. The sight and smell of him sent waves of terror roiling in her stomach. “Get out of my car!”

             A spark of light shined from each of his eye sockets. “Keep going, ma’am!” His breath reeked of decayed flesh.

            “I’m warning you, there’s a cop behind me.”

            “Just punch it!”

            “Who are you?”

            Suddenly, the gas pedal went to the floor as if it had a will of its own. Cindy gripped the steering wheel with both hands. “What are you doing?”

            “I don’t mean to frighten you, ma’am,” the ghoul said. “I’m trying to save your life.”

            Fighting tears of panic, she couldn’t understand why the old cowboy wanted her to run from the police. She’d only seen high-speed chases on TV, and in her worse nightmares, she never believed she’d ever be in one. The Z28 accelerated over 100 miles per hour, and the unmarked police car was still on her tail. “Why are you doing this to me?”

            The ghoul tipped his cowboy hat, and dirt rained down around him. “I’m a police officer,” he said hoarsely. “Justin Graves, Texas Rangers.” He pulled back the lapel of his coat revealing a silver star, rib bones, and rotted flesh. “The man in the car behind you is a police impersonator.”

            “How was I to know that?”

            The Z28 took a right hand curve with ease, a siren now wailing in hot pursuit.

            “You have the right to know who is pulling you over,” Justin replied. “Remember, you don’t have to stop for an unmarked car on a dark and isolated road.”

            “I was just about to pull over for that creep. What should I have done?”

            “You could’ve driven to the nearest lighted area: a shopping center, a gas station, or a convenience store, anyplace where there are other people around. Once you’ve stopped, you shouldn’t roll down your window, but ask for identification loud enough to be heard through the glass.”

            “Can I call 911 on my cell phone?”

            “If you do, ask the dispatcher to verify that a legitimate traffic stop is in progress. You can also request a marked police car be sent to your location.”

            “But what if he’s not an impersonator? He’ll think I’m not cooperating.”

            Justin nodded. “Real police officers wearing plain clothes and driving unmarked cars understand your concerns, and they know your rights.”

            “Then why am I driving a hundred and twenty miles an hour?”

            “The impersonator may think he’s a police officer, but he hasn’t had the training to handle that Caprice in a high-speed pursuit.”

            “But I’ve never driven this fast before either.”

            “Leave the driving to me.”

            She took her hands off the steering wheel. “If this car gets a scratch...”

            The ghoul disintegrated right before her eyes.

            “Oh, so you’re going to run,” Andrew said, accelerating after the Camaro with siren blaring. “Well you don’t know who you’re dealing with, whore. I’m the law in these parts.” His heart was pumping hard as he reached for his phony radio mike. “Attention all cars. I’m in hot pursuit of a red Camaro. Female suspect wanted for intensive interrogation.” He was thrilled by his demeanor and impressed with his professionalism.

            By now, the LT-1 Caprice’s 5.7 liter fuel injected engine was cranking out 205 horsepower and tearing up the highway at 130 miles an hour, but unbelievably, the Camaro was staying two and three car lengths ahead. “How dare she run like this? It’s contempt of cop!”

            “You’re no cop. You’re a chicken.”

            “Shut up, Dad.”

            “You’re a disgrace to my name.”

            “You’re the one who got killed.”

            “I was doing my job.”

            “You were shot by a hooker, for Christ’s sake. Now they’re all going to pay.”

            Suddenly, a stench exploded inside the car. A cowboy was stinking up the Caprice cruiser. “Give it up, Andrew!” he said in a sandpaper voice.

            “Who the hell are you?”

            “Name’s Justin Graves.” He tipped his hat. “But you can call me Justice.”

            “You smell awful, mister.”

            “I’m fine, really.”

            “Shouldn’t you be in the morgue?”

            “I was.”

            Tires screeched through a curve in the highway. The Camaro was getting farther ahead. “You’re messing up my concentration, old man.”

            “You don’t deserve to wear your father’s badge.”

            “I’m going to finish what he started.”

            “Your father never murdered anyone.”

            “You don’t understand. This town is full of whores. One killed my father. She destroyed my mother and ruined our lives.”

            Justice shook his head. “Officers die in this business; families get hurt. But what you’re doing disgraces us all.”

            “I’m only trying to help,” Andrew shouted, but his outburst caused him to lose control of the powerful Caprice cruiser. It shot over the centerline, crossed the oncoming traffic lane, careened onto to the shoulder, and then magically fishtailed back across the road to the lane where it belonged.

            “How about pulling over, Andrew, before I let you wreck this car?”

            “Screw you.” He drew his Colt .45 and shot Justice pointblank.

            Justin gritted his teeth. “I take that as a no.”

            Andrew fired again and again until the gun was empty, but the ghoul didn’t slump over in the seat. “Die, damnit, die!”

            “I’ve already done that,” Justin said. “Now it’s your turn.”

            The police scanner lying on the seat came alive. “All units converge.” From every direction, patrol cars appeared, overheads flashing, sirens wailing, tires smoking.

            “Where did they come from?”

            “Now the hunter becomes the hunted,” said Justice.

            Deckers Police cars surrounded the Caprice and worked in unison to box in the impersonator. It was an incredible show of driving skill that gave Andrew the chills, but seeing the Camaro’s taillights way down the road filled him with rage. “She’s getting away!”

            “Watch the road!”

            He crashed the Caprice into the police car in front of him. The car beside him fishtailed, and the car behind him rammed his rear bumper. In the mayhem, Andrew lost control of the speeding cruiser again. It careened into the guardrail with tremendous force. Sparks flew from the fenders, a tire blew, and the Caprice catapulted high into the air.

            “You’re gonna wreck my police car, Justice!”

            “You should’ve given up when you had the chance,” Justin said and disappeared in a brilliant flash of light.

            “Justice!”

            The Caprice came down sideways, slammed into the pavement and flipped and rolled and crashed end over end. Parts flew everywhere.

            Sitting on the guardrail, Justin watched the police officers handcuff the impersonator and place him in a squad car. Blood trickled from a gash in his forehead. “I tell you there was some kind of ghost in my car.”

            “Shut up!” The arresting officer ripped the badge from Andrew’s shirt pocket. “You’re a disgrace to your father.” He slammed the car door.

            “You’ve got nothing on me!”

            Rummaging through the wrecked Caprice for evidence, the officers found a hand-held police scanner, handcuffs, an empty Colt .45, red and blue flashing lights, and a siren. “Where did he get all this stuff?” an officer asked.

            “Police equipment is easy to purchase,” another replied, “through mail-order catalogues and over the Internet.”

            “Perfect for nut-cases like that guy.”

            Tracy materialized beside Justin. “Will they find my body now? It’s so cold in that shallow grave.”

            “Soon,” Justin replied. “They have to connect Andrew to your murder.”

            “I’m glad Cindy made it home all right.”

            “And there wasn’t a single scratch on her father’s Camaro,” he noted.

            “Thank you, Justice.” She touched his rotting arm. “I’m glad they got him.” 

            “Police impersonators are not common,” Justin assured her. “But there are enough of them around to warrant a few precautions.”

            “I wish I’d known that,” Tracy said and sighed. “I’m going to miss my friends.”

            Justin smiled. “You’ll make new friends when you cross over.”

            Suddenly, an officer held up a purse. “Look what I found!”

            “Hey! That’s mine,” Tracy shouted.

            “That’s the nail in Andrew’s coffin,” Justin said. “It puts you in his car and a needle in his arm.”

            “I’d rather see him get life in prison for what he did to me.”

            “This is Texas, ma’am.”

            Tracy shivered. 

            With a gust of wind, the ghoul was gone.