Now #2
There aren’t that many cars on this highway, especially at this hour, but I get honked at a bunch, some even flash their headlights at me, and I’m pretty sure two speed cameras get my plates.
But I couldn’t care less. I’m in perfect control of my car, and though those people out there might think I’m putting them in danger, I’m not.
I drive a hundred miles an hour faster for a living. This is child’s play in comparison.
It’s beginning to work. I lose myself in the speed, the thrill. It feels good not to be thinking about her. About the divorce. About what happened the last time we were together.
I’m just starting to relax when red and blue lights flash behind me.
“Fuck,” I mutter, looking into my rearview mirror.
I could lose whoever that is. I’m pretty sure that cruiser doesn’t hold a light to Winnie. It would take barely any effort to get rid of it. But they have my plates thanks to the speed cameras, so they’d find me, regardless.
A couple of speeding tickets are one thing. Evading a cop chase is another. And my skin is too brown to pull this kind of shit and get away with it.
So, resigned, I slow down and wait for a suitable spot to stop.
Once I’m in it, the cruiser parks thirty feet behind me, its lights flashing brightly into the surrounding night.
With my hands on the wheel, I watch in my mirror as the state trooper, a man in his fifties with a thick mustache, gets out of his cruiser.
He eyes my car as he approaches, one hand tucked into his belt by his weapon. He taps on the window on my side, so I open it slowly before returning my hand to the wheel.
“’Evening. Colorado State Police. Do you know how fast you were going, sir?”
“I’m not sure exactly when you clocked me, so no.”
“Hm, I stumbled on a smartass, I see. Can I see your driver’s license, registration, and proof of insurance, please?”
“Sure.”
“Just take your time,” the officer says. “No sudden movements.”
Even though I comply as I shuffle into the glove compartment on the passenger side, I can see how close his hand gets to his weapon. Once I have everything, I give him the papers, then grab the wheel.
He glances at them, still alert, then lets out a snort. “That’s funny. Jackson Reyes. Like the Formula One driver, right?”
“Yep,” I reply between clenched teeth.
“People are crazy about him around here. He grew up an hour down this road, if you’ll believe it.”
“Yeah, that’s crazy.”
He refocuses on my papers and asks, “Are you from around here, Jackson?”
“I grew up an hour down this road, if you’ll believe it,” I explain.
That’s when it clicks for him. Whatever reset button state troopers have, I think I found it because he doesn’t move for a solid ten seconds. Only his eyes do, going from my license to my face, over and over again.
“You’re him,” he eventually concludes.
“I am.”
“The Formula One driver.”
“In the flesh.”
“Didn’t you just win that race in Canada?”
“Montreal, yes.”
He scratches his temple under his hat and returns the papers to me. “You know you can’t drive this fast in the real world, sir. This isn’t a racetrack.”
“I know, I’m sorry.”
For several beats, he’s silent, watching me with intensity. “Would you sign something for my son? He’s a big Formula One fan. I think he even has a picture of you and your car in his bedroom. Or maybe it’s the Belgian guy.”
“If it really is Louis Descamps on his wall, tell your son he needs better idols.”
“Nah, I’m pretty sure it’s you. So, would you sign something?”
“Sure.”
He trots back to his cruiser, bends into it for a moment, and returns with a pen and a piece of paper. He hands them to me and, using the flat center of the wheel, I sign my name on it before returning everything to him.
“Thank you, Mr. Reyes.” He leans forward, resting his forearm on the car’s roof.
“Listen, at the speed you were going, I really should give you a ticket. Hell, I should even suspend your license. But between you and me, if you promise to lift your foot off the pedal a little, I’ll let you go with only a warning. ”
“I appreciate that, officer. I’ll drive slower.”
“Alright. I’ll let it go this time, then. But be careful out there, Mr. Reyes.”
“I will. Sorry for the speeding.”
He shrugs. “Eh, you drive the fastest cars in the world for a living. Honestly, I get it. But not under my watch, Mr. Reyes.”
“And I appreciate you for that. We need more officers with your integrity, sir.”
I really don’t think he catches on to the irony in my voice, since he straightens up, taps the roof twice, and walks back to his car with a proud stride, chest puffed and thumbs in his belt.
I wait until the cruiser does a U-turn to head back to wherever it was posted before pulling into the road. Well, that was close. It’s not the first time I’ve gotten out of a speeding ticket, but I genuinely thought I’d gone too far. I was doing at least forty miles per hour over the speed limit.
Like I promised I would, I’m more reasonable with the speed for the rest of the drive. The night has fully fallen, and the moonless sky means all I can see is what my headlights hit. Slowing down might have been a good idea regardless of the trooper’s warning.