It was pretty near sundown when the report came in; the orange light of late afternoon was spilling down the Sangre de Cristos foothills, and some of the streetlights had started flickering on. It was Bauxman took the report, because it was his night on dispatch. He had just settled in, with his Starbucks carefully located to his right hand, and the headset carefully installed around his impeccable haircut. The radio call was from Flynn, a reliable veteran of some fifteen years, a man who had no envy or ambition in him, but the salt of the earth, and a good cop.

Fxxzzzzzht.....dffffszzzzzzhtt...Yeah, Flynn, here, howahya? Say, I'm over on Interstate 15 about ten miles east of Pont Neuf. I just got my doors blown off by a hot-rod Zxxxhhtt... bfff...dfff..zzzhhhhxxttt..

Bauxman : Yer breaking up, big boy. Did you say a hot-rod Lincoln???

zzcssggtt...bzzzxxx...Hell, no, it was no goddam Lincoln. It was a goddamn hot-rodded out Book mobile....

Bauxman : Jaysus, Flynn, did you say a goddamn Bookmobile??? Are you nuts????

Yeah, assright!! Damn thing musta been breaking a hunnert when it went by me. I started hot pursuit and it just ran over thehorizon, couldn't catch it.

Bauxman : I readja, Flynn. Didja catch a look at the driver? Over.

Bzzzxszzz...You ain't gonna believe this, man. I swear I am sober....but I did, yeah. It was being driven by some kinda giant worm...

Bauxman : ...Jaysus, it sounded like you said the guy was a giant worm!!!

Yeah, that's what I'm tellin' ya, gawdammit!! Big horn-rimmed spectacles, a scarf around his, um, neck, and stubby little hands, but I am telling you, man, he was a worm!!!

Bauxman :Flynn, you ()&**%'in' juice-head!! I am NOT putting out no APB for no worm. Some of the guys out there are fishing buddies of mine, fer cry-i!!!

Bzsghhhtt...fzzxxxxxx... uckyew too buddy. It wasn't that kind of worm, anyway...more like one of those bookworms you see in cartoons at thuh Liberry....

And so the legend of the Pocatello Bookworm, highwayman of the 21st century, began.