Southern Men: Ballad of a Texas Rose by Carla Kane Page B

tight black pants to the hem of his crotch and for just a second she wondered about his other weapon… She blinked tightly. Get a grip Clara, she told herself.
    ‘Little missy I am still waiting over here,’ the sheriff spoke, ‘but I won’t wait much longer.’
    ‘Fine,’ Clara muttered turning around, ‘this is what you good old boys like, isn’t it? To see women humiliated, to see us weak?’
    The sheriff chuckled for a moment, droll and deep, a sound which only annoyed Clara even more as she waited for him to come up behind her and slap on the cuffs. ‘Little missy,’ he said, ‘I’m just following the letter of the law. Hands together.’
    Clara felt his strong presence behind her, smelt his musk, as he took her wrists in his huge suede hands. The metal slapped around her; cold, tight, unbreakable.
    The sheriff placed his hands on her shoulders and turned her back to face his own car. ‘Ok Missy,’ he chuckled, ‘ start walking. We’ll get you cooled down from this tantrum and then you can get back on the road.’
    ‘Oh give me a fucking break,’ Clara muttered, ‘tantrum? You are one backwards yokel asshole, aren’t you?’
    The sheriff did not speak. He was behind her as they walked so she couldn’t see his face, but she wondered had she at last gotten through to him? Hit a nerve perhaps?
    ‘Lady,’ he said, ‘I’m only doing my job.’
    ‘Yeah right…’
    They reached the sheriff’s car and he opened the back-door. ‘After you,’ he said and that faint, infuriating hint of a smile played against his lips again.
    ‘What a gentleman,’ Clara sneered and climbed into the car.
    The back-seat was torn, with bits of the stuffing pulled out, and separated from the front by a rusty metal grille. It was so humiliating, but on the bright side, at least she’d have a conversation piece when she got to the reunion. And surely her mother couldn’t blame this one on her.
    The sheriff opened the front door and climbed into the car. He started the engine and the sound of Hank Williams singing started up on the radio.
    ‘ Hey good looking, what you got cooking…? ’
    Clara shook her head and smiled to herself. This was too much.
    ‘So what’s your name?’ she asked.
    ‘Harvey, ma’am,’ the sheriff replied, ‘but most people round here just call me Boss.’
    ‘Harvey what ?’ Clara asked, ‘I want to know so I can make an official complaint against you when all this is over. I’m a lawyer you know.’
    The sheriff was silent for a moment, but when he spoke he sounded like he was smiling, a fact which only served to further incense his prisoner. ‘A lawyer, huh? Well phewee that must have been hard work to get there. My name’s Harvey Klein Ma’am – Sheriff Harvey Klein…’
    ‘But most people just call you Boss, right?’
    ‘Uh-huh; the Boss of Breslin Springs.’
    ‘What a distinction,’ Clara muttered and looked out the window.
    Well apparently it was a town, but it probably wouldn’t have passed for one anywhere other than out here in the sticks. There was a diner, a store and a police station and not much else. It was outside the police station where the sheriff parked the patrol car. He cleared his throat and then stepped outside.
    ‘Come on now,’ he said, holding the door open , ‘let’s not make any more trouble out of this than we have to.’
    With her hands clamped behind her back and the tight iron chafing her wrists, Clara maneuvered herself out of the car. This situation was so ridiculous it was almost like a dream.
    “Start walking,’ the sheriff said and nudged her towards the steps up to his office.
    Clara stepped up to the porch and waited for the sheriff to open the door. They walked into a cool reception area. The desk was scattered with papers but otherwise empty. Nobody else was around.
    ‘Where is everybody?’ Clara asked.
    ‘You’re talking to them. Ain’t nobody else but me.’
    Clara was silent for a moment. She wasn’t sure how comfortable