Page 159 of Lars


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I slowly reached for the car door handle and opened it even slower, careful not to spook him.

He backed up three feet as I did so.

I might have been able to lunge at him and grab his gun, but not before the other cop shot me.

And even if I somehow disarmed them both, I would have two witnesses – unless I killed them.

And I wasn’t going to kill a cop.

Not to mention the motorists behind me – more witnesses.

And I would be on the run in a foreign country where I didn’t speak the language –

“Mettiti a terra con le mani in testa!” the cop screamed.

Terra –

Earth?

“DOWN!” the second cop yelled.

Ah – get on the ground…

I slowly got to my knees and lay on the asphalt with my face turned to the side.

While the second cop covered me with his gun, the first cop came over, savagely yanked my hands behind my back, and cuffed me.

Shit.

I had no idea what the fuck was happening –

But I knew my only chance at getting out of this was if they didn’t search the Fiat.

They searched the Fiat.

And they found the guns.

Five minutes later, I was in the backseat of one of the cruisers as it raced through the tunnel back towards Milan.

My heart sank in my chest as I realized I wasn’t going to make it back to Rachel.

Not in the next three weeks…

And maybe not for a lot longer than that.

84

We only drove 15 minutes, which wasn’t nearly long enough to get us back to Milan.

From the street signs, I deduced that the town we wound up in was Como – hence the name of the lake.

The policeman parked near a four-story building with the word ‘Questura’ on it. The place was ugly as could be. It looked like it had been built in the 1970s, with a red brick façade framed by pale stone columns. Small glass windows dotted the upper stories, and the glass entrance looked like it had once been a post office.

The officer pulled me out of the cruiser with my hands still cuffed behind me and marched me into the building. He took me to the back of the building, amongst a bunch of wooden desks and ancient computers, and pushed me forcefully down into a chair. Another cop kept watch over me while the first went back outside, then returned with the Glock and rifle.

The second cop whistled when he saw the guns – like Daaamn! Then the two of them jabbered back and forth in Italian. I couldn’t understand any of it.

“I need to make a phone call,” I said.

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