Cucked by a Cop

2

They sat motionless in the car for a few seconds. The engine ticked like a clock as it cooled. The air felt like a heavy blanket again. Veronica checked to make sure she was wearing her seatbelt and put her hands on the wheel.

"Gonna be three hundred bucks."

She saw the police cruiser's door fling open.

"It might be a warning if you shut up."

Richard smiled. "Show him your tits."

"Fuck you."

"Why not? They're great tits." He yawned. "Give him a show."

The cop was at her window. She jumped a little. He was tall and broad-shouldered. Late twenties. His short brown hair was parted perfectly to one side and his clean-shaven jaw was square.

"License and registration," he said. His voice was deep and profound, like a king.

Veronica swallowed hard. "Shuh-sure."

She pointed to the glovebox and stared at Richard. "Get the."

He squinted. She leaned over his lap. "The registration," she hissed, and tried to pop the latch.

"Oh," he said and swiped her hands away and fished around, pulling out the beat-up card. Veronica snatched it from him, turned to the cop, and smiled.

"Here it is," she said.

He was stone-faced. "License?"

"Right." She let him take the registration and opened the center console to grab her...purse...Shit.

Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! SHIT!

"Um..."

The cop raised an eyebrow.

"I uh. I think I left my purse. Um." Veronica swallowed again. "See, we were just at a wedding, and, uh..."

"Have you been drinking, ma'am?"

A cattle prod licked her bowels. "Wha?"

"I smell alcohol." He snapped his flashlight off his belt and shined it in her face.

"No. Sir. Um." She put a hand in front of her eyes. "My husband had a few drinks at the venue. Uh, they had an open bar."

The officer shined the flashlight at Richard who shriveled like a roach. "Look," he said. "I mean, yeah. I had some drinks. But my wife didn't have any. I mean. Maybe some champagne during the toast. That's it."

"Step out of the car, please."

This can't be happening. The cop tilted up his flashlight and stepped back from her door. Colored streaks from the flashlight's glare made it hard to see. Trembling, Veronica reached for the handle and popped it open, placed first one, then her second high heel on the asphalt.

"Go to the back of your car," the cop said. She searched his face for any sign of sympathy, good humor, regret at what he was about to do. Nothing. Literally nothing. He could have been watching TV or eating dinner. This might turn out to be the worst night of her life, but for him, it was Saturday.