Burning coals
That cop had dumb luck.
The man was clutching the radio control in his hand. After trying several times, he had given up on blowing up the Ford when he saw the detective drive away. If that switch had done its job, with the amount of explosives he had planted, he would have been able to kill him even at ten paces from the car. He had wanted to play, like a child with an ant, and he had made a mistake.
But it would never happen again. At that moment the detective was sitting on the coals of a sleeping fire.
