Metro Girl (Alex Barnaby 1)

I got out of the car. Someone yelled for me to put my hands on my head. I did as I was told, and I walked back to the first cop car.

“I need help,” I said. “I was following the black Lincoln Town Car. It belongs to Luis Salzar, and he’s kidnapped my brother.”

“That’s pretty original,” the cop said. “Usually we just get PMS stories.”

“It’s true!”

“Radio for a female,” he said to his partner. “We’re going to need to search her for drugs.” He snapped a cuff on my wrist. He brought it to my back and snapped the second cuff on my other wrist.

“You’re making a big mistake,” I said. A tear trickled down my cheek. I’d totally screwed up.

“Oh man,” the cop said. “I hate this part.” He swiped the tear away with his finger. “Lady, you shouldn’t be doing drugs. You’re real cute in your little pink skirt and hat. You don’t need drugs.”

“Thanks,” I said. I was obviously a loser, but at least I looked cute. I tried to tell myself that was worth something, but I wasn’t convinced.

One of the cop cars left. Two stayed. The two that remained had their lights flashing, and I suspected there would be a big rush at the hospital for strobe-induced seizures. Traffic slowly moved around the police circus, gawking at me in cuffs, gawking at the cops who were standing, hands on gun belts, in case I made a run for it.

After a couple minutes I realized there was one more cop car involved. It was an unmarked car parked behind the two cop cars to my rear. It had blue grille lights flashing. I couldn’t see inside the car. Too far away and too much glare on the windshield. One of the uniforms had walked back and was talking to the driver. The uniform turned his head and looked over at me. He turned back to the driver and shook his head. More discussion. The uniform went to his car and got on the radio. After a five-minute radio conversation the uniform returned to the unmarked cop car. The uniform didn’t look happy.

“What’s going on?” I asked one of the cops.

“Looks like a fed pulling rank,” the cop said.

After a short conversation between the uniform and the government car, the driver’s door to the unmarked car opened and a guy got out and walked over to me. It was Slick.

I instinctively edged closer to the cops.

“You’re being released into my custody,” Slick said.

“No way!” I pressed myself against a uniform. “I don’t want to be released. I demand that I stay arrested.”

“Not my call,” the uniform said, uncuffing me.

Slick wrapped his hand around my arm and tugged me toward his car. “Just shut up and come with me,” he said. “The last thing we need is for you to get arrested. Although it wouldn’t bother me much to see you behind bars. You’ve been a real pain in the ass.”

“Who are you?”

“Federal agent. One of those three-letter organizations. I’d tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.”

The only thing more frightening than thinking this buffoon was working for Salzar was knowing he was on my side. “You’re not exactly competent.”

“You’re not exactly a model citizen.”

“Are you kidding? I’m a good citizen. And I’m thinking I might report you to somebody. You shot Hooker.”

“I tranked him. And just for the record, your friend Felicia shot me when I didn’t have a weapon drawn. That’s a little illegal.”

“I thought you were trying to kill me.”

“I asked you to step aside so I could talk to you. How does that translate to kill?”

“When you came up to me at Monty’s you said you’d kill me.”

“I’m supposed to be undercover. Don’t you ever go to the movies? Don’t you watch television?”

“You shot real bullets at my car last night.”

“Okay, I admit it. I got carried away. Hell, you ran over me. What did you expect me to do, yell thank you?”