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I pulled over and belatedly realized I was in the exact spot where I’d first met Liz Danger. That seemed like forever ago. I turned off the engine and powered down the windows as the SUV pulled in behind me. It was not Burney cops. Which left county and state. This all seemed a bit extreme for whatever reason I was getting pulled over. A phone call would have worked. Or an email. Even a text. Really.
The doors swung open on both sides of the SUV behind me and two men dressed in full tactical hopped out but stayed behind the doors, assault rifles leveled. I was no longer amused. To be honest, I was a little bit of unnerved. All it took was one twitchy finger by someone who got startled and this could turn into a bloody mess. It was one big reason I wasn’t fond of pulling anyone over.
Except now here I was.
I glanced down at the forty-five held by the magnet bolted to the driver’s door and realized that wasn’t going to look good when I was ordered to step out of the vehicle. But reaching down to move it would make me look like I was reaching for a gun, which I would be doing, even if only to put it in the center console out of sight. Cops watch for those twitches.
A voice came out of a speaker.
“We know you’re armed. Open the driver’s window and throw your weapon out. Far out.”
“I’m a cop,” I yelled back. I held my gold badge out the window.
“Throw your weapon out. Far out.
I looked at the forty-five. The barrel and receiver were smooth steel. Not a mark on it. I powered down the window, pulled the pistol off the magnet and looked to the left. There was some mud to the front side, amidst the gravel. I tossed the gun into the mud.
“Get out of the pickup with your hands up.”
It was a Gladiator, not a pickup, but now was not the time for making that distinction.
I unlatched the door and pushed it wide open. Then exited with my hands held high.
“Step away from the vehicle but not toward the gun.”
I took two steps back and away, toward the edge of the shoulder, where it fell off. Where Liz Danger had fallen after I stopped her, and I’d stood there like a doofus holding the big stuffed bear she’d bought to give to her mother. I glance at the bear lying in the cargo bed and thought it was certainly leading an interesting life for a stuffed animal. How many Big Red Bears can say they’ve been pulled over twice? I really needed to stop thinking about Liz Danger and focus on the current clusterfuck because something was definitely wrong.
The two cops came forward and I recognized the badges: county sheriffs. The first guy was tall with a pockmarked face and a shaved head. I pegged him for an ex-Marine. The other was a younger blond-haired guy. Baldie was screaming at me to get face down. I’d never seen either of them before, but it wasn’t like I hobnobbed with other cops.
And here I was wearing a fresh pair of khakis and my backup COP t-shirt because the Shady Rest had a really nice new washer and dryer.
I sighed, got to my knees, and was getting ready to lie down, when Baldie kicked me in the back, sending me sprawling face down. He put his knee on my back as he grabbed one hand and roughly put a cuff on it. Then he grabbed the other and jerked it back to complete the action and I had to quell my instinct to toss him off and break a bone or two, because such a thing would get me shot. He ratcheted the cuff around my other wrist too tight, digging into the skin.
I remained on the ground, face pressed into the gravel, unable to see, because the asshole who cuffed me stayed on top of me with his knee in the center of my back.
Blondie went over and picked up my wallet with the badge and ID. “He really is a cop. Vincent Cooper. Burney PD. Something’s wrong.”
“I don’t give a fuck,” Baldie said. He leaned over and whispered: “Fucking local cops think you rule the fucking world. Welcome to the big leagues. You fucked up.”
If he was referring to the fact he was county, he had delusions of grandeur referring to the big leagues. The two pulled me to my feet by my elbows, which hurt with my hands twisted behind me.
“Vincent Cooper, you’re under arrest,” Baldie informed me. Blondie was just standing there, looking like an idiot with his tactical gear improperly fitted and the rifle in his hand. I noted that his finger was inside the trigger guard which worried me since I could see the safety was off. The old “my finger is my safety” thing was fine with other Rangers and Special Forces and Delta Force, and occasionally SEALs who knew what they were doing but even then, only when we were expecting contact. Otherwise, it was more “my finger is my potential fuck-up.”
“For what?” I asked.
“Search him,” Baldie ordered his partner, while he stepped back and raised his rifle to cover me. As if I were planning to run away with my hands cuffed behind my back.
Blondie searched me, removing my phone and keys. He already had my wallet.
“I want my lawyer.”
They didn’t reply as they pushed me to their SUV and shoved me in the back seat. They slammed the door shut and went to the Gladiator to search it. It was an odd feeling being in the back. Cuffed. Doors locked. Powerless.
I did not like it.
A few minutes later, they came back and got in the front seats, Blondie behind the wheel and Baldie in the passenger seat. I was separated from them by a grate.
“Why do you have a big stuffed bear in the back of your truck?” Blondie asked.
