Honeymoon for Three

kept it because California law required it to be visible. He gave that to the officer, on request.
    The policeman studied the documents. “You Californians think you can come out here and drive any way you like. We got laws here, you know. It’s not just cowboys and Indians.”
    His head was right at the window. Alfred heard him sniff the air. He smelled the vomit. Alfred had driven for a while with the window open, trying to get rid of the smell, even though he froze doing it.
    “Would you step out of the car please?” the officer asked, but it wasn’t really a question.
    Alfred complied. The cop asked him to walk a few steps.
    “Have you been drinking?”
    “No sir.”
    “You don’t look drunk. But that’s a healthy odor in your car. Actually, more of a nauseating odor. I don’t see how you can stand it.”
    “I…I was feeling sick. Something I ate.” Actually, he hadn’t eaten. His hunger pangs had returned.
    “I’m going to have to ask you to follow me to the station. Here are your options. Since you’re from out of state, we can’t just let you go. You can post bail and then leave. Or you can stay the night and go up before the Justice of the Peace in the morning.”
    Alfred knew he’d better be on his best behavior. The officer went back to his car and made a U-turn. Alfred followed him. Five minutes later they were at the police station. Alfred took some of the money from the glove compartment and placed it in his wallet before he got out of the car. The station was located in a small building. Inside, one other officer sat at a desk. The cop who had stopped Alfred explained the situation to the other one.
    The second officer grinned amiably and spoke to Alfred. “Well, son, bail is fifty dollars. You can pay that now and go merrily on your way. Or you can stay with us tonight, courtesy of the Bozeman Police Department, and talk to the JP in the morning. We got a spare cot in the room there.”
    He indicated a small room with an open door. Alfred could see an army cot through the doorway.
    “What will the fine be?”
    “Probably about twenty dollars.”
    So he could save thirty dollars and have a free place to stay tonight. That was tempting. Reality intruded. The man at the store had undoubtedly been found by now. Some kind of a bulletin must have been issued. Didn’t cops trade information with each other? Since he was coming from the direction of the shooting, he would be a natural suspect.
    A teletype machine started clanking next to the seated officer. Alfred could read some of the words that were printing on roll paper from his side of the counter. He saw the word “store” and the word “robbery.” He made out the word “murder.” My God, the man was dead. He had killed him. He had to get out of there. Fortunately, the officer was ignoring the teletype at the moment. But he would be reading it soon enough.
    “Well, I’ve got an appointment in Billings tomorrow.” Alfred tried to look casual and sound important. “I’ve got a deal going. I’ll post bail.”
    He produced his wallet and counted out fifty dollars. That was a good chunk of his take. He chafed while the officer took his time about completing the paperwork, trying not to get sick again. When it was finished, he forced himself to walk, not run, to his car and drive away at a moderate speed.
    ***
    Alfred knew he had to ditch his car and get another one. He hated the thought, but he had to do it. And he had to do it damn fast, before he turned south toward Wyoming and gave away his direction. The cops had recorded his license plate, and the two-tone Ford Fairlane was too distinctive, anyway.
    The car was paid for and it was his. He had a lot of good memories associated with this car. It had always been faithful to him, unlike the people he knew. But now it had to go. It would be a magnet for the cops now that they had his license number and description. He hadn’t meant to kill the man. If only the fellow hadn’t acted so suspiciously…
    Alfred cruised slowly through the next town, wondering how to go about acquiring another car. He wasn’t skilled at breaking into cars, and he didn’t know how to hot-wire one. He drove into a residential area where cars were sitting on streets and driveways in profusion. He parked the Ford. Taking the gun and the rest of the money with him, he strolled along a street.
    Even though it was Friday night, all was quiet. A few of the houses had lights showing through their