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Since I’d opened the roof of the convertible, he looked at me for a few seconds. I made sure to offer him a silly little timid smile and batted my eyelashes. I wished I had some cleavage, it would have been a great distraction.
“Do you know why I’ve pulled you over, miss?”
I looked down, sighed loudly, and then put on a hopeless look. “I think I was over the speed limit. I’m sorry, I just got caught up in the moment. With the weekend and the holidays coming up…” I looked away from the speedometer.
I thought the character of a nice, young, carefree girl would have done the trick, but judging by what happened next, it appeared I hadn’t managed to convince him.
“Registration, please.”
“Ah…erm…yes, of course.”
Shit.
I rummaged around in the glove box, knowing full well there was a 99% chance it wasn’t there. I’d taken this car for a test drive over an hour ago, and the car salesman earlier was gullible but not completely stupid.
“Hmm… My boyfriend told me it was in here,” I said, feigning surprise.
The police officer frowned. Now he was really scary.
“Can I see your driving license please, miss?”
The emphasis on this last word made me realize that my chances of getting away with everything were disappearing by the second. Megabrows didn’t like absentminded girls, and that was an error in judgment on my part. I had to opt for plan B. Cooperate so I could simply walk away with a slap on the wrist, a lecture, and maybe a fine (which I wouldn’t pay), but free.
“Yes, sir.”
I started looking in the bag I had picked up at the station locker, rummaged around, and then paused for two seconds.
“Do you at least have your license?” he asked, a little impatient.
“Yes, here it is,” I said, holding up the precious document with a friendly smile.
He studied it for a long time, but I wasn’t overly concerned. I had hired an excellent forger to do the job. That permit cost me a small fortune.
“Angelica Rougon,” he read out loud.
“That’s me.”
He raised his eyebrows and they almost disappeared under his flat cap, which was a real feat, considering just how thick they were. I panicked for a moment before remembering one small detail.
“The photo’s from my goth phase. It should be illegal to have a driver’s license photo taken on your eighteenth birthday,” I said jokingly, hoping he would buy it.
To my surprise, I finally saw a smile flash across Groucho Marx’s lips.
“For the registration…” he started.
We were interrupted by the police vehicle’s driver’s-side door opening. As the second officer got out of the car, seeing her bulldog-on-the-verge-of-attack demeanor, I realized I had been dealing with the nicer of the two.
My time was officially up.
I had more than one trick up my sleeve, but now I found myself out of inspiration. Maybe it was because of the shock from the afternoon, or maybe I just didn’t have my mojo that day. I knew I was done for. The only question was how badly?
She called her colleague to her, and although their little chat near the car didn’t last very long, it was nonetheless devastating.
Megabrows came toward me, this time with a determined look on his face, and his colleague gave me such a cold look, I felt like I was being turned to stone.
“Can you get out of the vehicle, please, miss?”
In one final bluff, I feigned surprise. “Huh? Why?”
