PART EIGHT

Pooh had no choice but to confess to Sveta and Shostakovich about who Roo really was. It didn't seem like Sveta understood one word he said and in the commotion Shostakovich's translating skills went down the toilet. Other people who noticed the overturned car in the ditch phoned the police and paramedics.

"What's a bear like you doing with a Maserati?" One of the cops barked at Pooh.

"It's not my car," Pooh said once again.

"Well then what are you doing with it?" The cop asked. "Did you steal it?"

"Oh no," Pooh replied. "The car belongs to a defense attorney. His son Roo is my friend, and Roo said I could borrow the car for the day."

"Well then we are going to have to speak to him and his son about this," said the cop. We have his home and cell phone number here on his insurance slip."

"Oh bother," Pooh cried. "Geoff is going to be upset that his son Roo was playing around with Russian mail order brides."

"I think he'll be more upset over his $80,000.00 dollar car being totaled," said the cop.

"Oh that wasn't my fault," said Pooh. "Sveta was driving."

"Why was the Russian broad driving?" The cop demanded. "She has no Michigan driver's license."

"Well you see sir," Pooh said. "She wanted to be an American woman. So I let her drive. Do you have anything to eat? I have a rumbly in my tummy."

"The only thing you're going to be eating is prison food once we speak to the owner, and find out if you did have permission to be driving his car," the cop spat.

"Pooh bear! Pooh bear!" Just then Pooh spotted little Roo running down the hospital corridor. "I heard about the accident," he said. "Oh god! Dad doesn't know about Sveta does he?"

"Now I know how Eeyore feels," Pooh muttered. "I've just been in a horrifying automobile accident and instead of asking me about the twenty stitches I have on my forehead you're more concerned about covering your ass."

"We'll tell Dad that the Marserati was high jacked by Russians," Roo schemed.

"I almost had her in the sack too," Pooh moped.

"Roo! Roo!" Kanga yelled as she and Geoff appeared in the corridor. "Is my baby okay?" Kanga gathered Roo up into her arms. "I'm so glad you weren't in that car."

"You bastard," Geoff hissed a Pooh. "How dare you steal my car! My beautiful Maserati, a symbol of my wealth! How dare you take my things and pass them off as your own just to impress some cheap, gold digging, Russian, mail-order-bride of yours."

"Oh Sveta wasn't my mail-order-bride," Pooh replied. "Geoff, you don't perhaps have anything for me to eat? I have rumbly in my tummy."

"I'm going to shove a rumbly tummy up your rectum!" Geoff snapped.

"Whoa cool Dad said rectum," Roo cried.

"Shut up Roo! Geoff snapped. "Officer, this bear stole my car. I want him arrested immediately."

"Yes sir," the cop said.

"Roo," Pooh said. "I know I'm a bear of minute brain, but I didn't steal your dad's car. You told me to take it so Sveta would think that I was a rich neurosurgeon."

To Pooh's horror Roo just buried his face in Kanga's lap, and didn't utter a word of defense. The cop held out handcuffs and began to handcuff Pooh.

"You have the right to remain silent," he bellowed for all of Ford Hospital to hear.

"Roo! Roo! Tell them! Tell them that it was you who wrote to Sveta over the internet. Tell them that you met her through the Russian Romance Agency! You chose to write to her because she had nice legs! You told her you were a thirty-five year old neurosurgeon." Pooh screamed desperately.

"Anything you say could be held against you in court," the officer went on. Pooh sighed helplessly.

"Oh bother."

That night on the way home from the hospital Kanga and Geoffrey stopped at Bennigan's because it was Roo's favorite restaurant. After Roo scoffed down a burger, fries, platter of mozzarella sticks, and a virgin daiquiri, he was taken home, given a warm shower, and tucked into bed with a mug of warm organic spiced apple cider with a cinnamon stick.

"There you go honey," Kanga gushed as she pulled the quilt around Roo. "Now you are no longer going to hang around with Winnie the Pooh. I'm so thankful you weren't in the car with that psychotic horn dog and his Russian mail order tramp!"

"Uh yeah Mom," Roo mumbled. He wanted to be left alone. Even though his ass was covered he still didn't enjoy seeing his friend taken away to prison. Maybe locked in a cell next to Charles Manson or Scott Peterson. Left with nothing but a glorified coffee can to piss in and stale moldy gruel for nourishment. Maybe he could have a care package of a ham and some cheese sent to Pooh's cell.

Things weren't as bad for Pooh as Roo thought. Pooh made bail because Shawsey Sanders was rich and had eight hundred dollars sitting in his bank account. Shawsey paid the bail, and took Pooh back home.

"That little smart ass is lying to everyone," Shawsey declared as they were driving in his SUV. "I'm not going to let some little spoiled punk throw you in the slammer. I can testify for you. I saw his desperate begging and pleading for your help this morning. I bet Tigger also knows."

"Oh bother," Pooh muttered. "Do you think Tigger will help me?"

"Of course," said Shawsey. "If not, I'm friends with Randy Moss. I can put an end to his partying with Pete real fast. Come on!"