He's a young guy, no older than me, and tall, though hunched down, maybe self-conscious like me about his height, or maybe because he has a bad back. But I don't care either way because he is an officer of the law, and here I am on Mount Coot-tha, my house a smoking pile of wood, having stolen a car (well, borrowed a car, and only for a little while) and my own car having exploded. Oh, and I'm not happy to see him, that is a gun in my pocket. Shit, I'd forgotten about that. I consider my options.
"Just why do you need me to come with you?" Maybe I can talk my way out of this.
"I think you know why."
Honesty seems the best policy. At least the one most likely to end without bloodshed.
"I have a gun in my pocket," I blurt out. His face immediately tenses. "I'm going to lie down on the ground. You can take it from me, I'm not going to put up a fight."
"Just pass it to me," the officer says. "Handle first. Slowly."
I do what he says, I'm in enough trouble already. It's all I can do to stop my hand from shaking.
"Do you want to handcuff me or something?"
"Do I need to?" He's got a no-bullshit sort of expression. I shake my head.
Well, this is about the worst thing that could have happened. At least I don't have to wait for a bus. Every cloud, right?
I'm bundled into the back of the police sedan. It smells like pine disinfectant. The seat is immaculately clean, though someone has still managed to scrawl phalluses deeply into the headrest.
The car starts up.
"Hell of a day, eh," he says, passing me back the gun. I hold it uncertainly. This is not how I expected it to go down. "I put the safety on your pistol, Mr. de Selby, I'm amazed you didn't blow off your foot. Do you even know how to shoot that thing?"