Stealing Time

The blue-red lights flashed behind him, visible in his rearview and casting colored shadows along the dash. The cop took his license twenty minutes ago, but Mike wasn't worried. Another cop car rolled up, an SUV, instead of a sedan.

“Doesn’t take two cops cars to write a ticket,” Mike said to no one and chuckled.

The driver of the SUV looked at Mike as he rolled past, Mike smiled and waved.

A cop walked up to the window, shining a Maglite in Mike’s eyes. “License and insurance.”

Mike leaned his head out the window and peered to the left to get a look at the three other cops there for support. He shielded his eyes with his right hand to block the glare of the headlights and get a look at the cop’s name tag. “Hey there, Sergeant McCaffery.”

“License and insurance. Now, sir.”

“Can I ask why you pulled me over?”

“For one, your tag is expired.” McCaffery leaned in. He stunk, sweating in the humid night air.

“And for two?” Mike asked.

The cop’s face flushed red. “Excuse me?”

“You said, ‘For one’. People say that when they have a list. So what other reason did you have for pull–”

“License and insurance. Now!”

Mike put his hands up in faux surrender. “Alright, Jesus. Unpucker your ass for a minute so we can talk. Like adults.”

The cop opened his door. “Get out of the car.”

“Hey, who has my license.” Mike stepped out.

McAffrey moved back to allow room and held up Mike’s driver’s license, pinched between his index and middle fingers. “I do, sir, but–” his mouth hung open, mid-sentence.

“But what?” Mike burst into laughter. He snatched his license from the officer’s fingers.

McAffrey stood with his mouth slack, hand still in the air.

“What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?” Mike strolled over to the other officers, three burly guys, arms crossed.

Their mouths were shut, eyes forward, just as they had been when Mike froze time. A trick he learned from his father. 

“I should just leave well enough alone and not screw with them.” Mike thought about it for a moment before shaking his head. “Nah. Never miss an opportunity to screw with cops.”

He walked to the silent SUV, the engine frozen along with the cops, and touched the hood. The engine roared back to life. Mike got into the driver’s seat and drove past frozen cars. A man in a red Nissan turned his head to scream into the back seat. A woman flipped off the car next to her for some unknown grievance. A chicken finger stuck from another driver’s mouth like a cigar, while he held his phone in one hand and the steering wheel in another.

Mike parked the SUV a mile north, walked fifteen minutes back, and then drove the sedan a mile south. He pantsed Sergeant McAffrey and stole his wallet before getting back into his car. He released time twenty miles down the road. They had his license, name, and tag, but he didn’t care. Mike went where he wanted, and did what he wanted. The few times they ran him down he always got himself out of it.

Mike pulled into a hotel a few hours away and paid for the night with one of McCaffery's credit cards. His only luggage was the duffel bag, which didn’t have his clothes. He unzipped the bag, staring at all the cash.

He’d pick up a new outfit tomorrow and toss this one in the trash. He’d live off this money for a few months and pick up more when needed.

Mike zipped the bag and threw it off the bed. He slipped off his shoes and kicked them next to an end table. A glass bowl filled with potpourri smelled of lavender and vanilla. He fell onto the plush mattress and buried himself in the fluffy pillows and comforter. His mind filled with images of the cops as time released. They’d be shocked, embarrassed, even a bit scared.

Serves them right.

Mike drifted off to sleep ready for another carefree day.

#

Mike groaned, the knot in his lower back was excruciating. He stretched his neck, turning it left and right before attempting to sit up. The thin plastic bedroll offered little support, and his tailbone screamed in pain when he sat straight up, which at least provided encouragement to stand.

He filled a plastic cup from the sink built into the side of the cell’s toilet.

“You have a visitor.” The bulls used the room’s intercoms to talk with prisoners, too lazy to get off their asses and walk down anymore.

His cell door opened automatically, and a series of automated doors led him to the visitation area. He sat at a desk and picked up the phone, staring at Ivy through the glass.

She wiped her bloodshot eyes and Mike’s stomach dropped.

“Sorry,” he said, shoulders slumped, head down.

“I’m done.”

“I’ll be here a few years this time.” Mike reached into his pocket and wrapped his hands around a glass pipe, just holding it made him feel better. He told himself he’d clean up inside, but that didn’t last through the first night in the general population. He’d been out two years, but all the same faces were inside. Mike knew who to talk to.

“I can’t do it anymore.”

“I’ll clean up in here. And then they’re full up, so I know I’ll get out early. I’m sure if I talk with–”

“Stop!” Ivy clenched the straps of her purse. “I’m moving to Washington, and I’m–”

“Washington! You can’t. I’ll never be able to afford to get up there.”

“That’s the point, Mike. They can’t go through this anymore. I’m not going to let you break the kids’ hearts anymore. Jack is starting high school next year, and we…I just can’t.”

Mike nodded and they hung up the phones together. He shuffled back to his cell and waited for the intercom to call him to breakfast.