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“Taking a nap there, sir?”
The voice, however, comes from my side of the truck, and I startle when I notice an officer here, too. “Uh, yes, sir, Officer. Fell asleep, I guess.” I keep my hands in plain view and try to smile.
“This facility closes at sunset. Well past that now.”
“Oh, right. I’m sorry, Officer. I was just waiting out the storm.”
The officer on my side squints at me, then peers around the inside of my cab. “You been drinking this evening, sir?”
“No, sir,” I answer reflexively—only to remember the earlier beers, the remains of which now litter my truck bed, plus the half-full carton still on the passenger seat. The officer’s gaze sweeps those exact areas. “I mean, I did have a couple earlier today.”
He doesn’t so much as blink. “Do you have any weapons on you, sir?”
“No…uh, yes.” Danged sleep has fogged my brain.
That registers on the cop’s face.
“A Glock, holstered on my right side. But I have a permit.”
He barely nods. “I need you to step out of the vehicle, sir. Hands behind your head, please.
Fantastic.
I comply and am swiftly disarmed and searched. But all this for lingering past sunset?
“Are you aware you have outstanding warrants, sir?”
Heck no I don’t. Unless…
“From October and December of last year. Parking tickets. Warrants issued back in March.”
Sweet relief. “Then those weren’t me, Officer. I only bought this truck in May. From a friend.”
A friend…
He squints at me again. “Is your name Tripp Walker?”
Ha. The high and mighty Tripp Walker has a warrant out on him? Now that really makes my day. “No. I’m not. I’m Marco Gonzalez.” See, this can be sorted out in a friendly way.
“May I see your license and registration, please? Slowly, and keep your hands where I can see them.”
Feeling his and his partner’s hawk eyes on me, I reach for my pocket. If they’ve already run my plates and they came back registered to Tripp…not good, because all of that was taken care of and should have cleared the system by now.
I wonder what else he knows.
I open my mouth to say that I too am law enforcement, then decide, given my current predicament at home, it might be best to sit on that info this go-round.
My hand freezes on my pocket. Pats it. Moving like a turtle, I smile as I try the other side. But, alas, there’s no wallet there either. Well…crap.“Uh, I don’t seem to have my wallet, Officer.”
The lead officer casts a knowing look at his partner—but he doesn’t know anything, only thinks he does, because I amnota drunken, homeless, gun-toting, truck-thieving lowlife.
“I…I must have left my wallet where I had dinner.”
“That’s a shame, sir. Now, turn around, please.”
Hispleasemost literally translates asdon’t-make-me-say-it-twice.
I bite my tongue on my protestations of innocence. I get that I’m coming across sketchy, but there’s really nothing to see here.
