Aloha from Hell (Sandman Slim) by Kadrey Richard

Author:Kadrey, Richard [Kadrey, Richard]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Harper Voyager
Published: 2011-10-17T16:00:00+00:00

IT HAPPENS ON West Adams as I’m closing in on the crossroads underpass at I-10 and Crenshaw.

The light bar on top of a cop car flashes in my rearview mirror.

Maybe he’s looking for someone else.

His siren bleeps twice.

“Pull over.”

The cop’s voice comes out of the car’s bullhorn sounding like a bigger and angrier version of the robot in Candy’s glasses.

“Pull over.”

The one time I don’t steal a car this is what happens. That’s the lesson for tonight. Anytime I try to do something like a regular person, I get fucked for it. Never again.

I slow down, but I don’t pull over. Every nerve in my body is vibrating, telling me to jam the accelerator and leave these shitbirds in my dust. But I can stomp this accelerator from now until the sun burns out and there still won’t be any dust. This three-speed rowboat would lose a drag race to a crippled monkey on a Big Wheel.

I pull over and cut the engine. The patrol car stops behind me. The driver aims the car’s outside spotlight at my side mirror, blinding me. I unclamp the angel a little and its eyes cut right through the glare.

Two cops in the car. Both male. One is young and wiry with a close-cropped flattop. He’s more excited than he should be at a simple traffic stop. Probably a recent cop school graduate.

The driver, the one getting out, is heavier. A bit of a donut gut, but he’s got at least fifty pounds of muscle over his partner. The older cop showing a young pup the ropes. Shit. I’m probably one of his life lessons. Any other night, this Romper Room scene would be playing out somewhere else. I should have pulled over when I saw the lights go on.

I roll down the window. The cop comes up on me sticking close to the car. Smart. If he came in wide, I could reach for a weapon and shoot before he had a chance to get his gun out. Sidling up like he is, I’d have to turn around in my seat to get a shot off and he’d put six slugs in the back of my head before I could say, “Ouch.”

The cop has his flashlight out, held in an underhand grip so he can swing it like a club. He shines the light in my face then lowers it a few inches, leaving me temporarily night-blind.

“Evening, sir. Did you know that your left taillight is out?”

“No, I didn’t. Thank you. I’ll get it fixed first thing tomorrow.”

He’s unmoved by my diplomacy.

“May I see your license and registration, please?”

“This isn’t my car.”

“Whose is it?”

“A friend’s. He’s a priest.”

“Is he? May I see your license, then?”

Here it comes.

“I don’t have a license.”

The light goes back into my eyes. I turn my head this time so I won’t go blind. When I look back, the cop has backed away a little from the car. He’s lowered the flashlight and his other hand is resting lightly on the grip of his gun.

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