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Little Toy Bikers and a Woman on the Run
Chapter 129 Strapped
Hale had been down the street staking out a used car lot that he suspected might be selling hot cars, so when the call came in that there was a single car crash a block away, he had beaten the ambulance to the scene.
He pulled his police cruiser into the parking lot. It was just like dispatch reported. There was Wilda's car smashed into a fire hydrant and she was in a bush with her knees, legs and feet sticking out. Most drunk driving or drunk in public arrests were made at night; Wilda was an exception. She got arrested at all hours of the day and night.
Hale left the cruiser as the fire truck and ambulance both pulled up. The fire department immediately dealt with the fire hydrant by turning the water off. That reduced the noise and some of the chaos at the scene.
"Wilda, could you come out of the bush?" Hale said with surprising gentleness. "You may have hit your head and we need to make sure you are OK."
"I'm hiding," she slurred.
"That's a good idea. Come out of the bush and as soon as we make sure you're head is OK, I'll help you hide," Hale said.
He was treating her with an unusual amount of compassion because he had heard about Wendy's and her newborn granddaughter's deaths. Normally, he had little compassion with people who drive drunk.
Wilda had lost her driver's license years ago, but it didn't stop her from driving, but thanks to California's drunk driving friendly laws, she had never spent more than twenty-four hours in jail. Every time he saw Wilda driving, he arrested her and pressed as many charges as legally possible, but Wilda always escaped serving any jail time. He knew it was only a matter of time before she killed someone.
"Don't want cops to get me," Wilda said.
"I don't blame you," one of the paramedics said. "Come on out of the bush, so I can help you."
Hale was reluctant to drag her out of the bush because he didn't want to injure her and, usually with a little coaxing, Wilda could be talked out of wherever she was hiding. Crashing her car and running were part of Wilda's pattern.
"You a cop?"
"Not me," the paramedic assured her.
Wilda backed out of the bush. The paramedics were on her in a flash, fastening a cervical collar around her neck and loading her onto a gurney. They swiftly strapped her feet and arms down to keep her from fighting. This wasn't the first time they had dealt with Wilda. They had learned she kicked, slapped and bit unless she was strapped down.
"I'll send a unit to meet you at the hospital," Hale told the paramedics.
The ambulance left and Hale began the accident report. Maybe this time, they could lock-up Wilda. It was the only way she was ever going to quit drinking and at least if she were locked up, he wouldn't have to worry about her driving the streets drunk.