The First Councel

I don’t believe it. He doesn’t recognize her. Keeping her head as low as possible, Nora stands next to me and spreads her arms across the side of the Jeep. The second officer pats Nora down, but she’s not paying much attention. Like me, she’s too busy watching the first officer head for the glove compartment.

From where I’m standing, I see him open the passenger door. As he climbs inside, there’s a jingle of handcuffs and keys. Then a quiet click near the dashboard. My mouth goes dry and it’s getting harder to breathe. I look over at Nora, but she’s decided to look away. Her eyes are glued to the ground. It’s not going to be much longer.

“Oh, baby,” the officer announces. His voice is filled with shove-it-in-your-face glee. He slams the door shut and strides around to our side of the car. As he approaches, he’s holding one hand behind his back.

“What is it?” the second officer asks.

“See for yourself.”

I look up, expecting to see Nora’s brown prescription vial. Maybe even a stash of cocaine. Instead, the cop is holding a single stack of hundred dollar bills.

Son of a bitch. She took the money.

“Now either of you want to tell me what you’re doing driving around with this kinda cash?”

Neither of us says a word.

I look at Nora, and she’s paste white. Gone is the cocky and wild vitality that led us through the stop signs, out of the bar, and up the embankment. In its place is that look she’s had since we got pulled out of the car. Fear. It’s all over her face and it’s still making her hands shake. She simply can’t be caught with this money. Even if it’s not against the law to have it, even if they can’t arrest her, this isn’t something that’s going to be easy to explain. In this neighborhood. With this amount of cash. The drug stories alone will shred what’s left of her reputation. Rolling Stone will be the least of her problems.

She turns to me and once again opens her soft side. Her usually tough eyes are welled up with tears. She’s begging for help. And like it or not, I’m the only one who can save her. With a few simple words, I can spare her all that pain and embarrassment. Then she and the President… I catch myself. No. No, it’s not about that. It’s like I said before. It’s not for her father. Or her title. It’s for her. Nora. Nora needs me.

“I asked you a question,” the officer says as he waves the pile of cash. “Whose is this?”

I take one last look at Nora. That’s all I need. Shoving confidence back into my voice, I turn to the officer and say two words: “It’s mine.”

CHAPTER 3

Like a judge with a gavel, the officer slowly taps the wad of money in his right hand against the open palm of his left. “Where’d you get it?” he asks, annoyed.

“Excuse me?” I reply. Time to stall.

“Don’t yank my chain, boy. Where’s someone like you get ten grand in cash?”

“Someone like me? What’s that supposed to mean?”

He kicks the rusty bumper on the back of my Jeep. “No offense, but you’re not exactly traveling in style.”

I shake my head. “You don’t know anything about me.”

He smirks at my response and knows he’s hit a sore spot. “You can’t hide who you are-it’s written all over your face. And your forehead.”

Self-consciously, I touch the cut on my head. The blood’s starting to dry. I’m tempted to fight back, but instead let it pass. “Why don’t you give me my speeding ticket and I’ll be out of your way.”

“Listen, Smallville, I don’t need to hear your attitude.”

“And I don’t need to hear your insults. So unless you have some reasonable suspicion of a crime taking place, you have no right to harass me.”

“You have no idea what you’re-”

“Actually, I have a really good idea. Far more than you’re giving me credit for. And since there’s no law against carrying money, I’d appreciate it if you’d give me my stuff and write up my ticket. Otherwise, you’re risking a harassment suit and a letter to your sergeant that’ll be a bitch to explain when you’re up for promotion.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Nora smile. The cop just stands there. The way he scratches his cheek, I can tell he’s plenty pissed off. “Vate, do me a favor?” he eventually says to his partner. “They’re doing a drug sweep on 14th and M. See if they’ve broadcasted any lookouts yet. Maybe we’ll get lucky.”

“It’s not like that,” I tell him.

He looks at me skeptically. “Let me tell you something, Smallville-pretty-boy, clean-cut white boys like you only come to this neighborhood for two reasons: drugs and whores. Now let’s see that license and registration.” I hand them over and he turns back to his partner. “Any word yet, Vate?”

“Nothing.”