"What the fuck, Tech?" Bones shouted. "You said we were clear."
The screen stayed blank, but Tech's voice came over the speakers. "You're supposed to be. He's off route. I'm calling it in."
"What do I do?" I wondered out loud. It had been years since I'd been stopped by a cop. The family shelled out millions to make sure we stayed well under their radar.
"Just keep driving," Bones said.
"And go where?" We couldn't lead him to the drop point. We could try to lose him, but if we engaged in a high-speed chase that ended badly, the pigs would search my ride, confiscate the goods, and with what we had in the back, we'd rot in the can. Father could only cover up so much, and there wasn't a rug big enough to hide a million dollars worth of modified illegal guns.
"I gotta pull over. Maybe I can reason with him."
"What? No! That's a shitty idea," Bones objected.
"I'm working with my contacts at the station, but a team has been routed to your location just in case. Be careful, Angel," Tech said.
I slowed the vehicle and veered to the outside lane, rolling to a stop just beyond an on-ramp. Bones reached for the gun in his jacket pocket. I also had a gun in my jacket and another under my seat, but didn't reach for either since I had no intention of using them.
"This is a cop. He's just doing his job," I said, eyeing Bones's pocket.
Bones stiffened. "And I'm doing mine. Trade me seats."
"No. I can handle this without violence."
I looked into my rearview mirror, watching as the cop sat in his cruiser, radio in hand.
"He's calling it in," Bones said.
Tech's face materialized on the screen again. "You may have a problem, Angel. The officer has been ordered to return to the station, but refuses."
Damn."Tech, I need information. Who am I dealing with here?"
"I'm pulling his file now. Roger Hill, typical beat cop, no marks in his file, married, two kids, a third on the way. His family just moved here from the Denver area. That's all I've got, but I'm still searching."
The door of the police cruiser swung open and Officer Roger Hill climbed out. He marched toward us, wearing a stern glower with the same efficiency that he wore the signature tan uniform of the Metropolitan Police Force. Lapel mic clipped to his shirt, radio at his hip, clipboard in hand, he tapped on my window like he meant business. I pasted on my friendliest smile and rolled down the window. Hot, dry Nevada air gushed in.
Officer Hill leaned forward and looked me and Bones over. I could almost see the wheels turning in his head as he took in our nice suits and the tricked-out Hummer, weighing it all against the orders from his department to leave us alone. He had to be wondering who we were.
"You boys in a hurry?" he asked.
I nodded. "We're businessmen, Officer, always in a hurry. But I apologize, I didn't mean to speed."
His eyes hardened, telling me I'd get no mercy. "I clocked you at seventy-nine, and your brake lights were on. License and registration."
I glanced at Bones, and we both eyed the glove box. Even if registration paperwork existed, there was no way it was in my name. My father had taught me to officially own nothing, that way the IRS couldn't officially take it away. I hesitated, wondering if I should pretend to search the glove box or just go straight for the fake ID in my wallet.
The officer's radio came to life with a burst of static, followed by a pleading female voice verging on hysterical. "Officer Hill, you are not on radar. Please report."
He frowned. "Excuse me for a moment," he said to us, before stepping back and answering.
"Tech, what's going on?" I asked.
"I'm working on it, sir. Don't worry. The team is almost to you. Sit tight."
The team was why I worried. I needed to diffuse the situation before they showed up.
Officer Hill reappeared in my window. "License and registration," he repeated.
Desperate, I blurted out the first lie that came to mind. "We have this important meeting we're late to and my car broke down. I had to borrow my father's ride, and I can't find his registration. Can you just write me a ticket and we'll be on our way?"
