She lights up, squirming in her seat and begins telling me something. I stare at her blankly, thinking that maybe I should of paid more attention in Spanish class.
"Hey," I say stopping her mid-sentence with no regard to what she just said. "Just call me, Papi."
She does and I feel cool.
I see the leprechaun jump down from his patrol car, quickly waddling up to my car on those little knee-less legs of his.
Breathing heavy, hands on his hips and frowning, he stands next to my door and mumbles "Do you know how I pulled you over?"
I can barely hear him from down there. "Did you just ask to borrow a dollar?"
He rubs his chin for a bit. His eyes move from side to side furiously before a smile comes across his face. ".....yes."
"If you promise to turn some straw into gold for me, then we have a deal."
Gloria, my Spanish soap opera star companion, embarrassingly covers her mouth; her ample bosom, still covered with trace amounts of powdered sugar and caramel from earlier bounces from laughter.
"Who's in there?" He barks. "Can they give me the law?"
"Was that a riddle?"
He's jumping up to look into my car. Bless his heart. He can't make it. He makes a big Super Mario leap up to my car window to pull himself up, but his grip isn't strong enough (I smacked his hands) and he lands butt first.
I laugh and offer him a lollipop to quell his crying. No dice.
He rolls up his sleeves to show me two T-Rex arms scribbled with fuzzy tattoos of skulls,barbwire and Disney characters.
"Wanna know who got these? Got four more to go."
Again with his riddles. Is this a gnome-cop mind cleansing technique to get me to admit I'm guilty of something?
"They're not cheap," he adds. " Where's that dollar?"
“Simma' down” I say firmly, motioning him to sit down like an unruly pup.
"That's a salt!" He screams, losing his footing in his oversized baby shoes. “Step out of the car punk!”
I turn to Gloria and ask her to stop nibbling on my neck. “I have to go play nice with the officer” I tell her. She giggles when I use air quotes around ‘officer’.
I open the car door and step out. The door smacks the cop in the head solid and drops him to his back, turtle style; all two and a half feet of him.
While holding back my laughter I try my best to apologize but his gun’s already drawn. It's shaky in those little baby hands like a man-sized man holding a grand piano.
(Cue dramatic Western music) Even with his gun pointing at me I can't take him seriously. On his back with his oversized hat covering his face, mumbling loudly something about doing 400 in a 50, it's like I'm in a direct to DVD movie titled "Baby Cop".
I turn to Gloria suggesting that she put her bra back on which he sees as a great opening to fire a shot. The bullet misses me completely and hits a traffic light. The gun recoils, flying out of his hands and into his forehead. He’s out cold.
I call 911 and tell them a tattooed midget cop has knocked himself out. “Damn not him again” the operator says.
"By the way," I ask. "How does one tattooed midget cop join said police force?"
"He made a threat to become an anesthesiologist if we didn't make him a cop. We figure this way he won't harm as many innocent people. "
A second cop and the ambulance arrive with a baby sized gurney. They wisk him away to the children's hospital.
The new officer thanks me for my help. “You’d be surprised how often this happens,” he says.
I close the Lamborghini door and drive off as Gloria tosses her panties out the window. She cracks open some champagne and pours a glass for herself. I take the bottle in one hand and pour the 'pagne' down her shirt, her seat and onto the floor of our stolen car. I turn up the radio, making sure to play country music. I hate stereotypes and wouldn't want this scenario to look like a rap video.
