Making the Man

Red and blue flashing lights brought me to consciousness. I remembered slipping off to dreamland in my own bed. So either I had developed a case of sleep driving or some weird shit was going down. I had a couple seconds to assess my situation while I pulled over.

I was driving a Model T… not my car.

I was wearing a finely tailored zoot suit… not my clothes.

In the passenger seat was a crumpled paper bag filled with blood stained bills… not my money.

If the copper sees the money from the bank job I’ll pull the Thompson from under the blanket in back and resolve him. …Not my thought.

You prefer to use the twenty two in the shoulder holster? It’s a harder shot and you’re not a gangster… yet. Still not my thought, what the hell?

I slipped the bag onto the floorboard as nonchalantly as I could. To cover the action I plucked a smoke from the pack sitting next to the sack. Not my brand, actually, I didn’t even smoke. My lungs took to it like an old friend though, and that thing inside my head let out an audible sigh.

A nightstick tapped insistently on the window and I rolled it down.

“Do you know why I pulled you over?”

Because you’re a pig who knows what I did. It will be your last mistake copper!

“Honestly officer, I have no idea.”

“You were weaving back there, son.”

Get the goddamn gun! Riddle him with holes. He’s stalling; I can see how he’s looking at the passenger compartment.

“Sorry officer, I think I was trying to doze off there.”

“You been drinking tonight?”

Yes! Out of your mother’s navel. That whore will give it up to anyone, including your father you bastard whoreson!

“N-no, officer! Just tired.” My arms had started to reach for the back seat. I forced them still by clutching the wheel. My muscles strained and my neck creaked with the effort.

“You okay son? Anything you want to tell me?”

I’m fine officer, but you’re about to have a very bad day.

“I’m just not feeling like myself.”

“We all have days like that.” The cop laughed. “Get home safe.”

Part of me heard it right, but that other thing in my head, well it heard, ‘step out of the car.’ The cop was part of the real world though. He was from a place where people did rational things.  Pulling out the Thompson and firing it empty was pretty far from rational.

Put on his clothes.

The sports car flying by at over a hundred miles an hour brought me back to consciousness. I had a couple of seconds to assess my situation as I pulled in behind the maniac.

I was driving a police charger… not my car.

I was wearing a peace officer uniform… not my clothes.

Make sure the strap is off the sidearm, this punk has to pay! …Not my thought.

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