Black Diaries

33. The Fast and the Fabulous

The cops! The damn cops! And your face on wanted posters in every police station of the US!

That should have been my first thought, right? I mean, if you're a wanted serial killer, that's the way you're supposed to think. But oh no. Not me. My first thought was: I hope I didn't drink too much wine at dinner...

Pathetic, I know. But rest assured, the larger picture hit home only moments later. For the first time I realized—this might be it! I could be thrown into jail! Maybe I would never see the light of day again. And even worse: maybe I would never see Elliot again!

The pain that tore through my heart at the thought was frightening. How was this possible? I thought I would never feel this feeling again! Never even think the L-word! But there it was, clear in my thoughts.

I had to get back to him.

Uncertainly, I threw a glance in the rearview mirror. Should I step on it? Try to outrun them?

Keep cool, I told myself. If you try to run, they'll know you have something to hide. If you stop and be nice to the nice policemen, you might just get away. You've got a pretty average face. Just act natural. He's never going to recognize you.

Slowly, I pulled over and waited. The police car stopped behind me and the siren cut off. Only moments later, I heard steps and a lanky young man in police uniform appeared in my field of vision, yawning.

"Good evening, ma'am," he mumbled.

I pressed a button, and the window slid down. "Good evening, officer," I chirped, putting on my best charming smile. He didn't even glance at me. So far, so good! "I hope I didn't drive too fast, officer?"

"No, no." He yawned again. "Just a routine breath control."

And then he looked at me.

He stood there for a moment, blinking—then his eyes went wide, and he stumbled back with a scream. In a flash, his gun was out of its holster and pointing at me, trembling.

"G-get out of the c-car!"

I eyed him, considering. "You're not mistaking me for anyone, by chance?"

"Get out of the car, turn around and put your hands above your head! Now!"

I sighed. "I guess it was too much to hope for. Okay. I'll come out. Let me just—"

And I floored the gas pedal.

Let me just say that I had never really understood why guys who are into cars are so wild about acceleration. I mean, you speed up in two seconds instead of twenty. So what? Not a big deal, right?

Wrong. It was a big deal.

"Yaaargh!"

That scream might have come from me, or from the cop who jumped out of the way just in time to not be turned into highway pancake. I don't know. All I knew was, I was suddenly shooting down the road at a pace that should be reserved for rockets and Science Fiction vehicles. Through the open window, I could hear the cop shouting: "Officer needs assistance! Repeat, officer needs immediate assistance! Interstate 78, fifteen miles from New Jersey! I have a Ten-ten, ten-ninety-nine! Repeat, I have a ten-ten, and a ten-ninety-nine! Request immediate..."

Then, his voice was cut off by the roaring of the wind and the engine.

I pressed a button, and the window slid up again.

Wow. One police code isn't enough? They need two for sweet little me?

I had to say, I was impressed with myself. What, I wondered, was a ten ninety-nine? And a ten-ten?