With the wail of a siren and flashing lights, two cars pulled off the road in the middle of the night, in the middle of Kansas.

In the driver's seat of the first car, twenty year old Tommy Hofsteader squinted his eyes into the high beam glare of the patrol car headlights that pierced the window behind him. The sound of two car doors could be heard opening, then slamming shut. The smaller beams of two flashlights moved up and down to the rhythm of the slow, deliberate steps of Officers Lou Herald and Roger LaShelle of the State Highway Patrol.

It seemed to the passengers of the first car, a blue 1978 Chevy Malibu, that the two officers would never reach their vehicle. It seemed that the scuffing sounds of heavy cop boots would just keep growing in intensity, torturing the nerves of Tommy and the other two passengers; eighteen year old Terry Wooden and Art McGuire, 19.

The troopers slow descent upon the Malibu gave Tommy time to contemplate the possible reasons for why they had been pulled over. He knew he wasn't speeding. The speedometer was broken, he had figured that out, the needle never moved off thirty-five miles per hour, but he had set the cruise control to match the speed of the last car that had passed them ten miles back. There hadn't been any need to touch the brake pedal since then. There hadn't even been any real reason to touch the steering wheel, the road was so straight and flat. Tommy looked out across the hood of the Malibu into the dark Kansas night as far as the car's headlight could shine.

Headlight, Tommy thought, realizing for the first time that one had burned out.

"Damn," Tommy said, turning around to face Art who was sitting slumped in the backseat. "This car's only got one headlight, man."

Art shrugged. "That's a chance you take, I guess. They were both working when I check them in Topeka."

Terry was also turned around in his seat, but he looked past Art and out the rear window. "What's taking so long?"

Tommy tried to make out the forms of the approaching troopers but could not for the glare of their high beams.

"They're gonna fuck with us." Tommy wasn't a stranger to the subtle torture involved in proper police procedure. "They're fucking with us."

The smaller beams of the two flashlights now bounced around the interior of the car as the troopers drew closer. The beams darted across the back of Art's head, then the floor of the back seat, across Tommy and Terry to the floor of the front seat, then up and across the dashboard.

The two officers reached the car at the same time, one on each side. It was a humid night and all four of the Malibu's windows were rolled down. Officer Herald leaned into the driver's side window and rested his elbows on the doors, arms folded. He smiled a big, friendly, Midwest smile from behind his mirrored sunglasses.

The officers' sun glasses struck Tommy as being odd and they disturbed him. The moon was covered by clouds and gave no light, it made him uneasy how his own blurred reflection glared back at him. Tommy imagined he could see the nervousness in his own face from the reflection of Lou Herald's mirrored sunglasses.

On the opposite side, Officer Roger LaShelle, continued to shine his large, billy club flashlight into the vehicle. He gave Terry a friendly wink as he leaned into the passenger's side window.

"Hi," LaShelle said, as a drop of sweat rolled down his face and dripped onto the sky blue vinyl of the car door. Terry responded with a weak smile.

"Gentlemen," said Officer Herald surveying all three passengers. "Would you be so kind as to step out of the vehicle."

Officer Herald unlocked Tommy's door and opened it for him as he stepped back onto the asphalt of the two lane highway. Officer LaShelle did the same for Terry.

Tommy slid out from behind the wheel of the Malibu and stood facing Herald, awaiting further instructions. The polite mocking tone in Officer Herald's voice further unsettled Tommy's stomach. He tried to remain stone faced; he did not want to give the officers any reason to single him out.

Once Terry was out of the car, Officer LaShelle brought him around to the driver's side where there was more light provided by the headlights of the troopers car.

Art remained in the back seat, waiting for his door to be opened for him by one of the officers.

"Excuse me, son," Officer Herald said to Tommy. "Is your friend in there stupid?

"No sir," Tommy replied quickly hoping to get off on the right foot with the trooper.

Officer Herald smile his big hospitable grin and pushed his state-issue hat back off his head just and inch. Tommy could see even in the dim light how pale and smooth the troopers forehead was in contrast to the wrinkles that lined his reddened cheeks.

"Son." Officer Herald took a couple of steps towards Art's window. Art looked up at the officer. Herald smiled at him. "Yes you, sweetheart. C'mon out here and join us. It's a beautiful night."

Herald opened the door and Art removed himself from the car.

The three boys were now lined up in a row facing the highway and the two troopers. Officer Herald began pacing in front of them, hands on his hips.

"Now gentlemen," Herald said, "and I am going to assume that you boys are gentlemen until you prove me wrong—if at this point you would please turn around, face your vehicle, place your hands against the vehicle and spread your legs. You've seen the movies, gentlemen, don't make me show you how it's done." Lou's voice was deep, almost relaxing to listen to, but there was a hint of menace not far beneath the surface of the slow Midwestern drawl.

The three boys complied with the officers and the position was assumed. Officer LaShelle stood smiling on the highway, arms folded. He chewed on a toothpick as Officer Herald paced down the line of spread-eagled men.

Tommy was at the hood of the Malibu, his hands placed flat on the engine-heated metal. He could feel hot air blowing up from the crack of the hood and down from under the wheel well near his calves. Terry was next to him, leaning against the hood above the driver's side window, trying not to make eye contact with either of his two cohorts for fear of what childish giggling reaction that a look from his buddies might trigger. Art was next to him, not worried about finding anything funny about the situation.

"Roger," Officer Herald called to LaShelle when he was finished with his inspection.

"Yeah, Lou?" Roger LaShelle asked, arms still folded.

"Would you be so kind as to frisk these three gentlemen?"

Roger unfolded his arms and took a step towards the three boys.

"And Roger," Officer Herald said, stopping his partner in his tracks.

"Yeah, Lou."

"They look like they like it rough."

"Gotcha, Lou," Roger said winking at Lou.

Terry's eyes shot over to Tommy, then to Art, just to assure himself that they were still there and that this was actually happening.

Roger began his search with Tommy and was none too gentle as he patted down Tommy's body with his rough calloused hands. He started under Tommy's armpit and moved down his chest to his stomach, his waist and then up from his ankles to his knees, then to his crotch.

"You're not out there to give anyone a hard-on," he remembered hearing from his instructors back in training. Roger was even less gentle as he squeezed Tommy's testicles. Tommy's eyes clenched shut as the delayed wave of pain shot to his gut. I bet this guy gets a real rise out of this shit, Tommy thought.

Roger padded Tommy's pockets.

"What's this?" Roger asked, indicating a bulge in one of Tommy's pockets.

"I don't know," Tommy said, not thinking.

"Well, it your pocket, Cowboy, you should know what's in it."

It's—it's just a bunch of waded up snot rags, man." Tommy said, not able to disguise the fear in his voice.

"Let's see 'em." Roger demanded. Tommy reached into his pocket, slowly, as Roger reminded him to do. He pulled out the tissues that were in his pocket. He moved his arm from behind his back and showed them to Roger.

Roger was satisfied and moved down the line to Terry.

With an index finger Officer Herald lowered his sunglasses on his nose and appeared to be studying some object that no one else could see off in the pitch black Kansas landscape.

"All right, you're next," Roger informed Terry. He was equally rough with him as he had been with Tommy. Tommy watched the procedure from the corner of his eye. He could see Terry's face, teeth grinding, eyes tightly closed.

"What's this? Roger asked, slapping Terry's right front pocket.

"My keys," Tommy could hear the nervousness in Terry's voice when he said this. He had heard it in his own voice not more than three minutes ago.

"Your keys are in the ignition," Roger turned and smiled at Lou, looking for some sort of acknowledgment for his deduction. Lou continued to stare off into the distance.

"Tommy's keys are in the ignition," Terry said. "Mine are in my pocket."

"Let's see 'em, cowboy."

Terry reached into his pocket with his right hand. He showed Roger the keys. Roger was satisfied.

"Okay, you." Roger moved on to Art who looked very pale in the light of the high beams. Roger padded down Art's arm pits, then his chest, then his protruding stomach, then his waist. He slapped Arts ankles with his hands, moved to his knees, to his thighs, to his crotch, where he stopped. He squeezed Art's crotch with the hopes of registering a jolt of pain. Art did not wince. Roger squeezed again. Art swallowed nervously, sweat beading on his forehead and thick neck.

"What the hell is this?" Roger asked squeezing Art's crotch a third time.

"It's my dick, sir," Art replied weakly.

"It's my dick, sir," Roger mimicked. He turned to Lou. "This asshole says he's got his dick in his pants."

Both Tommy and Terry risked turning their heads slightly to the right to witness what would happen next. Lou did not move. He appeared indifferent, but his hand was resting on the butt of his holstered revolver, finger dangling near its trigger.

"Well, Roger," he said. "Where do you keep your dick?"

"Yeah, but Lou," Roger objected. "I think it's drugs."

Officer Herald took three slow strides over to Art who was still in position against the car roof. Roger stepped back out of Lou's way. Lou placed his right hand on the car roof, leaned down and put his face next to Art's.

"Excuse me, son, I hate to bother you, but if I may ask, what is in your pants besides your penis? And if you answer your testicles . . . you lose them."

Art could feel Lou's warm breath against his cheek and he could smell the stench of chewed cigars.

"It's just my dick, sir, I swear."

Lou straightened himself and began to pace down the line again, hands on his hips. "He says it is simply his penis. The question is, do we believe him?"

The question was addressed to no one in particular and no one answered. Lou spun around on his heals and paced back in the direction of Art. Once he was behind Art, he stopped.

"Son, I'm terribly sorry, but I'm going to have to request that you slowly unzip your trousers and pull them down to your ankles."

Roger started to chuckle but a quick cold glance from Lou forced him to stifle it. Art swallowed hard, but made no motion of doing what Lou had asked him.

"Now, sweetheart," Lou commanded, but not unkindly.

Both Terry and Tommy kept their heads tilted towards Art to see what he would do. Without turning around to face Lou, Art slowly began unbuckling his belt.

"Turn around, please."

Art turned, but would not look at Lou. He kept his eyes fixed on his shaking hands, working at the buttons of his jeans. Bending slightly, Art pulled his pants down, past his knees to his ankles. When Art straightened himself, a bulge could be seen in Art's underwear that did not look natural to the troopers. Lou and Roger stood next to each other observing Art. Roger looked to Lou and Lou nodded his head. Roger advanced towards Art who was studying the white line on the edge of the highway and wondering how far it stretched until it stopped, if it ever stopped.

Roger took a step towards Art, smiling. "This won't hurt a bit," he said winking as he reached into Art's briefs.

Both Tommy and Terry were watching the look on Art's face as Roger reached into Art's underwear.

"Hey Lou," Roger called out laughing. "This guy's got a sock in his underdrawers." Roger turned around and held the rolled up sock for Lou to see.

ommy craned his neck to watch Lou. He could decipher no sense of humor in anything about Lou's face, even in his smile. Lou remained where he was standing.

"What's your name, son?" Lou asked Art.

Art looked up at Lou for the first time since he had been asked to pull down his pants.

"Art, sir."

"Art, my name is Lou, Lou Herald. I bet the ladies really get turned on by the artificial bulge you keep in your briefs, don't they?"

"Not especially, sir," Art replied, looking down again at the white highway line.

"Art, I told you my name and it wasn't, sir. You aren't from around here are you, Art?"

"No, Lou. We're from Illinois."

"I didn't ask you where you were from, Art, or why you are going west when Illinois is east. My concentration right now is the sock that was just now discovered in your underpants."

Roger stood grinning and chewing on his toothpick. Lou continued, "My point is that you shouldn't be ashamed of God's gifts, no matter how meager they may be. There is a purpose for everything, but for future reference, may I make one suggestion, Art?"

"Please do, sir."

"Try two socks."

"I'll keep it in mind."

"Please do."

Lou resumed his pacing once again flashing his wide smile. He seemed to be enjoying himself now with the way things were proceeding. Tommy had settled on a theory that Lou and Roger were insane.

"Gentlemen," Lou said. "You do realize that we have a small problem here and I wasn't referring to you young man, but you may pull your pants up anyway."

Tommy strained his neck again to view Art. He could see, even in the diffused light, how beet red Art's face had become. Art bent over and pulled his pants up.

"And you two," Herald had stopped pacing directly behind where Terry stood, still in position. "At ease."

No one moved. He's still fucking with us, Tommy thought.

"Please, guys," Lou said. "Turn around, you're making me uncomfortable."

Tommy slowly straightened himself and turned around to face Lou. Terry, following Tommy's lead, did the same. Once Art had finished buttoning and buckling his pants, he joined his two friends in line. Roger stood several feet behind Lou, with his arms folded. He spat occasionally onto the black pavement and removed a fresh, cellophane wrapped toothpick from his pocket.
Lou smiled at Tommy. "What's your name, son?"

"Tommy."

"Hmmm," Lou scratched his head thoughtfully, looking off into the distance. "Tommy," he repeated. "Tommy what?"

"Tommy, sir."

"Thank you, I appreciate that, but do you have a last name, Tommy?"

"Tommy Hofsteader."

"Tommy Hofsteader," Lou said, his voice changing to a loud whisper. "Hofsteader. Roger, isn't there a Hofsteader on the patrol?"

"I don't think so, Lou." Roger answered. "Not unless you're thinking of Hal Hofsteader."

"Is he an officer on the patrol?" asked Lou.

"Yeah, he's got a locker next to mine back at HQ."

Lou turned his attention back to Tommy.

"Tommy," Lou asked. "Do you think that Roger is an idiot?"

Tommy wasn't sure how to answer Lou's question so he chose not to. "I don't think it would be fair of me to make that kind of a judgment, Lou."

A serious expression seized Lou's face. "Tommy," Lou asked sternly. "Has anyone ever asked you if you thought life was fair?"

"Quite frequently, Lou."

"And what was answer?"

"Seldom."

"And so . . . ?"

Tommy felt confident of his answer. "Yes, Lou, I think Roger is sort of an idiot—from what I know of him, which is very little."

If Roger had been listening to this exchange between Tommy Hofsteader and Officer Lou Herald, he gave no indication.

"Very diplomatic." Lou gave a hardy laugh and placed a big hand on Tommy's should. "I like you, son." Tommy was pleased with himself. The knot in his stomach began to loosen.

Lou sidestepped over to Terry. Terry tried to smile at Lou, but could not hid his nervousness.

"And what is your name?" Lou asked.

"Terry Weirden." Terry Weirden replied.

"And Terry, do you have a sock in your underwear?"

Tommy could not hold back a chuckle. Art laughed as well, even though he was laughing at himself. Lou looked over to Tommy and gave him a wink, then looked back to Terry. Terry managed a half-hearted smile and wondered what Tommy and Art had found so funny.

"No, sir." Terry replied.

"Well, I hope you're not too conceited about it, there is a small chance that you could benefit from a sock or two in your underdrawers."

"Yeah, Lou, maybe I could use a sock or to in my underdrawers."

The smile quickly disappeared from Lou's face, his voice shifted back to its previous rigid tone. "Don't patronize me, boy."
vTerry's head nodded in comprehension. Lou resumed his pacing and Roger continued to gnaw on his new toothpick.

"Now gentlemen," Lou began once again. "Roger and myself pulled you three over for a reason. Do any of you know what that reason might have been?"

There could be any number of reasons, Tommy thought, some with grave consequences.

A hand was raised by Art.

"Yes, Art?"

"Is is because I've got a sock in my underwear?" Art tried not to laugh at his own joke, but could not control himself, nor could anyone else. The laughter of the five men on the highway in Shawnee County that night could be heard from quite a distance as it floated up into the warm summer air.

Lou regained his composure. "Ok, Art, that's enough about the goddamn sock, is that clear?"

"Yes, Lou," Art replied, slightly embarrassed.

"It's the headlight," Tommy interjected, hoping that was the one and only reason for the troopers routine traffic stop.
Lou's index finger shot into the air. "Exactly right. It is illegal to operate any motorized vehicle at night with only one working headlight."

Tommy was relieved but dare not show it outwardly. Terry and Art seemed not to react.

"However," Lou continued. "I am willing to overlook this minor traffic violation and let you boys get on to wherever it is you are going. I like you boys," Lou said smiling at the three of them. "And I hope that Roger and myself haven't been too hard on you."

Roger took a couple of steps closer to the group. "Yeah, sorry for the hassle guys."

Terry gave Roger a mock salute. "No problem, Roger."

"You know, Lou," Tommy said. "You guys are alright."

"Thanks, Tommy."

Lou clapped his hands together abruptly. "Okay, enough then gentlemen, you may leave now."

The boys paused for a moment, not sure if Herald could possibly be serious. Roger made a motion of heading back toward the patrol car. Tommy was the first one to make a move. He opened the driver's side door and slid in behind the wheel. Terry followed his lead and walked around the passenger side to reclaim his seat.

Before Art could follow suit and open the rear driver's side door, Lou grabbed the handle and opened it for him.

"You know, "Lou said to Art. "There are doctors who can help, you know, the sock?" Lou winked.

Art winked back and smiled. "Gotcha Lou," he said.

Officers Herald and LaShelle headed back into the high beam glare of the patrol car headlights. Tommy watched in the rearview mirror as they disappeared into the light.

"You boys be careful drivin' now, ya hear?" Roger called out.

Tommy stuck his arm out his window and gave a wave of acknowledgement. "Thanks, Roger," he yelled.
The Kansas State Highway Patrol car pulled out into the two lane highway and headed off into the dark Kansas night. The Chevy Malibu did the same only in a different direction and with only one headlight.

Tommy smiled to himself as he navigated the Malibu down the flat highway. "You know," he said to his two traveling companions, "we oughta go to Topeka more often."