Checkpoint
Raphael Mirabaud
Our first child.
What a thought.
Ourfirstchild.
Raphael steered the car through the night, its headlights reaching through the cold air and flitting snowflakes to the long ribbon of asphalt in front of him. Inky mountains loomed on both sides of the road in the obsidian night. Clouds blocked out even the moon and stars.
Flicka slept inthe passenger seat, her slim form just visible in the moonlight streaming in through the windshield.
The night weighed heavily around them. Raphael was more exhausted than he had let on. He hadn’t slept more than a few hours for a week or longer. The little rest he’d gotten on Geneva Trust’s plane to the States had been fitful at best, and it had been a long time ago.
He wanted to stop for afew hours and maybe sleep, but it was four in the morning, before sunrise.
Early mornings are the hardest when you’re homeless. Earlier at night, some places stay open late, like bars, where you can go in and get warm for a while, but even bars in big cities or college towns don’t stay open much later than two in the morning. Even the earliest of breakfast diners don’t open until six, and thenyou’d better have money for at least coffee so they’ll let you sit in there for a while.
Only the most desperate people roamed those dark hours before the dawn.
Ahead, red pinpoints twinkled in the darkness.
It might be a fire, or it might be Christmas lights, or it might be a police checkpoint.
Should he wake Flicka up?
Not if he was just going to drive past some Christmas lights. Raphaelhad never seen her so tired.
He smiled as he drove because he realized why she was sleeping so much.
As he neared the red lights, it became apparent that a police checkpoint crossed the road in front of them.
Shit.
Waking Flicka wouldn’t help matters. Indeed, letting her sleep might look even less suspicious to an officer than if Raphael roused her and they were both awake.
He couldn’t turnaround, either. Running from a police checkpoint never worked.
Raphael preferred not to discuss how he had learned that fact.
He drove smoothly and calmly, coasting to a stop where the police officer had placed a frail, wooden barricade across the road.
Raphael rolled down his window and whispered,“Bonjour,officer.”
The French policeman flicked a flashlight beam around the car, noting thatFlicka was sleeping in the passenger seat.
When the police officer shone his flashlight on Flicka, her head was turned away, and her chest rose and fell as she breathed deeply in sleep.
The police officer consulted something on his phone, maybe a picture, but he shrugged and stuffed his phone in his pocket. “Cold, tonight.”
“Very cold,” Raphael said.
The officer asked, “Have you been drinkingtonight, sir?”
“No.”
“Why not? Aren’t you French?” the police officer asked.
