The Street Cleaner

What the fuck? Danny thought, looking at the flashing lights in his rearview mirror. He quickly checked his speedometer. He was right on the speed limit and driving like a saint as far as he was concerned. He flipped his blinker on, slowed down, and pulled onto the left shoulder. He knew better than to reach for his registration until the cop asked for it. He kept his hands on the steering wheel and squinted when the cop pulled in behind him and turned his high beams on.

He sat there for ten or fifteen minutes while the cop ran his plates. He wasn’t worried. He had a perfect driving record, not even a speeding ticket. And he definitely didn’t have any warrants. His hands on the steering wheel were starting to fall asleep. He raised them where the cop could see and laced them together to pop his knuckles. He returned them to the wheel and jumped when the cop tapped his flashlight against his window.

He lowered the window and reached for his wallet. “Easy, son,” the cop said, drawing his gun.

“Jesus,” Danny said, quickly returning his hands to the wheel and staring straight ahead. The last thing he wanted to see was the business end of a gun.

“You wanna look at me, son?” the cop said. Danny slowly turned toward him and breathed a sigh of relief to see that the cop had holstered his weapon. He was standing close enough for Danny to smell his sweat. He wore the requisite dark glasses and wide brimmed tan hat of the DPS. It was already 9:00, well past dusk and well past any need for sunglasses. Hell, he thought, these pricks probably wear their sunglasses to bed.

“That must have been a pretty important call back there,” the cop said, shining his flashlight around the interior of the car.