Just as we finished, a police cruiser pulled up and the officer motioned us to come over and be checked out. Jeff and Mike walked over, I waited to gather myself together before facing an Officer of the Law. Before I got up, Jeff came back and stated, “Get your pack, we’re going to the station.” “What for?” I asked. Jeff replied, “Mike got busted for the stash he was carrying in his shirt pocket. We are taken in to be searched.” I gathered my pack and joined the other two in the back of the cop car. I wondered what to do with the small packet of good gold grass I had in my front pants pocket. When we got to the station, our escort put Jeff and I into a waiting room and went to another part of the station to book Mike. He instructed,, “Hold tight, when I get done, I will come back and search you guys.” We were left alone for what seemed a half hour. I came to a solution about the small amount I was holding. I slid open a filing cabinet and placed my stash inside.
Shortly, the Man returned and quickly pat searched our pockets but not our packs. Finding nothing, he informed us we would be taken back to the highway and warned us to be careful about who we traveled with on our journey. To the side, he warned me about my traveling buddy. Jeff was a highly decorated Viet Nam veteran who was awarded a citation for bravery in close quarter hand to hand combat. The policeman's concern was that as a Viet Nam era deserter, I might be at risk to incur Jeff’s wrath. I felt no such concern since Jeff and I had already shared our war stories. Another officer arrived to transport us back to the side of the road. As we got dumped off and settled on the curb, Jeff mentioned, “You can’t imagine the butterflies I feel in my stomach.” I just looked at him quizzically. “Take this pack over behind that sign and twist us up one; I need it,” he motioned to a sign away from the road. I took his pack, walked away and when I felt hidden, opened it up. It was crammed full of marijuana. I quickly rolled up a joint and returned to Jeff. He smiled, adding, “Can you believe, I walked into a police station carrying all that, got searched, then released and given a ride back here? I really need to smoke one now.” We got further blitzed as we sat on the curb watching the late night bar patrons making their way home.
After a few minutes, another police car pulled up. Again we were summoned to come over and be checked out. Feeling cocky and knowing that he would quickly find from our ID’s that we had already been searched in the station, I asked, “What would happen if instead of producing an ID, I told you that I was a secret agent and could not show you any identification?” Before he could answer, his radio crackled, “There is a 10-30 [ or some such number code] at the Holiday Inn.” Before answering my question he slammed his car into gear and zoomed away. Apparently whatever was happening at the Holiday Inn was of more import than two stoned hippies slumming on the side of the road. We quickly came to the conclusion that we may be pressing our luck and should likely get out of sight. Nearby was a bridge and we climbed beneath it and found dry level ground to retire for the night. In the morning when I arose, Jeff had already departed. I headed for the beach.