The Possum Cop Halloween Special
I don’t remember what his name was, but for purposes of this story, we’ll call him “Javier” on account of I think it’s as good a name as any to use. It was in the fall of 1994 when Javier had his “encounter”, and he was probably around 25 years old at the time.
Javier liked to fish and didn’t care if anybody went along with him or not. Truth be told, he preferred to go alone, somewhere way out in the boonies, so if there were any fish to be caught, he’d have them all to himself. He liked fishing for alligator gar the most.
It was a dark and stormy night – just kidding – it was more of a cool, crisp, moonlit autumn’s eve. Javier drove to a spot on a floodway canal in Willacy County that not many people knew about.
To get there, he had to navigate about a mile of tree-lined dirt road atop a levy before being forced to stop at a fence. F rom the parking spot, he walked down a little trail that weaved through some huisache and mesquite trees for about 15 yards before arriving at the water’s edge.
He got there right at dark and planned on fishing till dawn.
Javier cracked open a beer and built a small fire before getting out his cast net, walking down the bank and catching some nice golden shiners that he put in a bait bucket.
Then, he rigged up a couple of poles and casted them out before sitting down on the sloped bank of the levy close enough to the fire to be comfortable.
A couple of hours into it, he hadn’t caught anything. Unperturbed, he re-baited his poles, sat back down, and got another beer. SNAP! What was that??? He listened. Nothing.
Javier had heard that some shady characters would sometimes use the spot he was in to trespass onto the ranch and set out gill nets. Javier got the heebie-geebies for a bit but shrugged them off. I would’ve seen headlights coming down the levy, he thought. Two more beers got him feeling right, and he began singing songs a Capela.
By the time he started singing “Hotel California”, and though he didn’t know, Javier had company (this is where that creepy, “Che… che. Ha… ha” from the “Friday the 13th movies or maybe the piano theme from “Halloween” would be inserted if we had sound).
Anyway, Javier sang all six verses of the song, and right before what would’ve been the guitar solo at the end, SNAP!
He spun around and saw a hulking figure backlit by the moon towering above him not five yards away; then, a blinding light. Javier jumped up, wild-eyed, and reeled back, almost falling into the water.
“State Game Warden,” I said, “are you having any luck?” It was a question I knew the answer to because I had been watching him for a good 30 minutes thinking he might be a gill-netter. He was unable to speak.
Trying to lighten things up a bit, I quipped, “Man, you nailed that song!” I continued, “Well, I just need to take a quick look at your fishing license…” As he fumbled for it in his wallet, he said, “MAN, that was NOT cool!” “Yeah, well, I’m sorry about that. At least I’m not some crazed serial killer.” He didn’t think that was funny, but he faked a laugh anyhow.
I looked around some before saying goodbye and good luck. I then walked back up the hill to may patrol vehicle and drove out the way I had driven in, quietly without lights. Darkness is a friend.
I guess, like serial killers, game wardens can be kinda scary sometimes. Who knew? Happy Halloween!
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