Pulled Over
Red and blue streaks fluttered across the rain-soaked rear window. The wipers to my ’78 Buick waved furiously as they sent great swaths of water either side of my car. The sirens had died now, replaced by the pitter-patter of rain, the squeak of wipers, and my own rapid breathing. I felt the slam of a car door and without looking, knew the cop was walking to my window. It was at this point I began running through the different paths this encounter might take.
The cop, face blank, knocked on the driver side window with his flashlight. His eyes swivelled in his skull, searching the visible contents of the Buick. But he saw nothing. I rolled down the window, and said: “Hello, officer. Is there a problem?” The problem was my speed. Fifteen over. He gave me a ticket, 300 bucks, and then I was on my way. The four kilos of coke poorly covered by a jacket in the back seat went undiscovered. So too did the bullet-riddled body of a drug dealer in the trunk.
The cop, face blank, knocked on the driver side window with his flashlight. Immediately, he caught sight of the coke, whipped out his pistol, and pointed it at me. “Sir I’m gonna need you to get out of the car right now!” I got out and he shoved me against the wet, rusted metal of my Buick as he clipped a pair of handcuffs around my wrists and told me my rights.
The cop, face blank, knocked on the driver side window with his flashlight. His eyes widened as he glimpsed the white bricks in the back seat and before he could do or say anything, I pulled the trigger to the .44 Magnum that had been pressed discretely against the car door. Metal and plastic ripped outward as the bullet shot through the door and smacked into the cop’s kneecap. Bone and muscle and ligament were obliterated and the cop buckled to the black pavement with an agonized grunt. I kicked the door open and shot him through the eye, watching with grim satisfaction as blood bubbled and streaked into the water.
The cop, face blank, knocked on the driver side window with his flashlight...