He saw the flashing blue lights behind him, and swore under his breath as he pulled over to the side of the road and parked his car. Everything had been going well in his life for once and he regretted the silly impulse that had made him speed through a solid red light.
‘Stupid policemen’ he thought. ‘Don’t they have better things to do than to harass people like me?’
He glanced at the tax disc on his windscreen, and hoped the officer would not notice it.
‘Licence and registration please’ asked the police officer who was now standing beside his lowered window.
He handed the documents over, and the policeman stepped away from the side of the car and began to talk into the radio strapped to his shoulder. He came back a few minutes later and said ‘Sir, could you step out of the car please?’
Bosun kicked himself mentally as he slowly complied. The police officer walked around to the front of his car, then bent forward slightly to take a closer look at his road tax disc. ‘Is this your car sir?’ he asked.
‘Yes it is’ Bosun replied shortly.
‘Are you aware that the disc displayed on your car does not match the registration of this vehicle?’
‘Ehm yes I am. I was only stepping out for a short while, so I thought it would be okay to remove the disc from my company car and use it on my car since mine has expired. We are not allowed to use company cars for personal runnings, and I was only going up the road.’
‘Ah, I see’ came the sardonic reply.
‘Are you aware sir, that there are outstanding warrants for your arrest issued by police forces in Manchester and Wales?’
Bosun’s heart sank as he realised Baba Sheri’s potions hadn’t worked. On his last visit to Nigeria a few months ago, a close friend had introduced him to Baba Sheri, a medicine man, after extolling his virtues to the high heavens. He had gone to consult him, and had come away feeling invincible.
Baba Sheri had given him some potions to ingest, and use as body cream respectively, and had told him a crucial action he was to perform once he returned to England.
‘You say there are court cases against you?’ he had asked. ‘Don’t worry. Once any official letters come through your door, don’t bother opening them. Just stamp on the letters repeatedly with your feet, and all the charges against you will be dropped. They will forget about you, they will not remember your case.’
Bosun had taken his words as gospel truth, and the small pile of unopened letters on the floor just inside his front door bore silent testimony to how diligently he had carried out Baba Sheri’s advice, as they all displayed evidence of different shoe prints.
As he sat in the police cruiser on his way to the police station for processing, Bosun rained down silent curses on Baba Sheri’s head, and on that of his descendants too.