The Hike Part 3

"Is there a problem, sheriff? He replied.

"I'm not the sheriff, just a deputy, and I still need to see your license and registration."

He fumbled through his wallet and produced a license and then found the registration and handed them to me. The last name on the registration matched the address on the license, but the picture on the license was that of a young teen and the license, which was also expired, was only good as a learner's permit.

"Please step out of the car, Mr. Porter, and keep your hands where I can see them." I told the nervous young man. "Fine, now lean up against the car and spread your legs."

I patted him down and found no weapons or drugs, so I placed him in the back seat of the cruiser and ran his name through dispatch.

"No wants or warrants, no current driver's license, and no reports of the car having been stolen." The flat tone of the dispatcher announced through the radio.

"Is the car being used with the permission of the owner?" I asked.

"It's my car." The young man stated, and then explained. "It was my mom's, and she left everything to me when she died."

"Why didn't you get the registration renewed and the title changed?"

"I've been away."

"Why are you running around on a learner's permit that was issued six years ago, when you were fifteen."

"I've been away."

"Away where?" I was starting to lose patience with his evasive answers.

"It's a long story."

"Well, you can tell it to me here or I'll have the car towed and you can tell it to me at the jail." I'd had enough of this guy's skating around.

"Okay then, I'll tell you. I've been in prison." The man said.

"Since you were fifteen?" I asked, mystified.

"No. I was in a reformatory for two years, and then in prison. My sentence was commuted last week, and my uncle in Spokane offered me a job. I wanted to get out of Nevada as soon as I could, and I wasn't planning on coming back so I decided to wait and get a Washington license."

I was watching the young man as he explained this, as policemen always look for clues to see if the suspect is lying. This guy appeared to be telling the truth, but something was wrong. His picture had been taken six years ago when he was fifteen, but he still looked like a teen. He was thin and reedy, he had no beard, and he had kind of a fluttery, adolescent voice, so I decided to question him some more to determine if he was who he said he was.

"What were you sent up for?" I asked.

"Rape." He said.

It was at least eighty degrees, but with that word my blood ran cold. Every cop detests rapists and child abusers, and we would prefer that they were never captured alive. Nevada, however, was a different state. The casinos are all controlled by organized crime and those guys don't like amateur compitition. With that in mind they had campaigned a ultra-conservitive candidate for governor about ten years ago, and after he won they railroaded through some draconian laws designed to keep the profits up in their brothels and casinos. One of these laws enabled paid-off local officials to sentence kids to long sentences, and there were even rumors that some kids had been stripped of their family jewels. The next administration had eliminated most of those laws and had pardoned or commuted the sentences of all but the worst offenders.

"Want to tell me about it?" I offered, even though it was none of my business.

"My mom was gone for the evening, so this chick came over to watch TV with me and we started making out. She got pretty hot, and she dagged me to my bedroom and stripped, both herself and me. She wanted it real bad, and even took the comdom away from me and slid it onto me like she'd done it a hundred times. I was a klutz, and once I was on top I couldn't get it in, so she grabbed my rod and guided it into her, and then afterwards claimed that I had raped her."

All guys remember the first time they got laid, and also the last time they got any. I would have bet that this guy only had one day to remember. "That shouldn't have gotten you sent away."

I had gotten into a little trouble before, and worst of all her dad was the same juvenile officer that had sent me on a desert hike and to a work camp for my other screw-ups."

I had just about decided to let the guy continue on to Spokane, but I was still curious about something. "I've heard rumors about, uh, sometimes, uh, they...."

:yeah, they're true." He then lowered his pants and spread his legs to show me the proof. "As soon as I got to the reformatory they gave me a shot. They gave me another every week, and pretty soon my balls started to shrink and my boobs started to grow a little. They did that to all of the guys there, and when then just before I turned eighteen they took me to a hospital, strapped me to a table, and castrated me. No Pain killer, anesthetic, or anything, a guy just grabbed my balls and started cutting, and that guy was the same juvenile officer that I had crossed."

"Prison must have been hell, after that." I commented.

His eyes glossed over a little, and he replied. "Yes, it was."

I wrote him out a temporary trip permit for his car window, and then gave him a receipt for his learner's permit that would work as a temporary driver's license.

"If that Juvenile officer had done to me what he did to you I don't think I would be leaving Nevada just yet." I said, cleaning my fingernails with my pocketknife.

"He retired and moved to Spokane a year ago." The man said with a sky smile. "I might just drop in and say hello to him."