Park was cruising in his aunt’s BMW, relishing the feel and control of the car. It was like the rules of language, rewarded proper usage. He headed out toward the bay and, as he cleared the promenade, opened her up, letting the speed rise to eighty.
Chirp . . . the beep of the siren and he saw the Guard car in his mirror. Considered giving them a run but sighed and slowed, pulled into the verge.
Waited.
Watched as Sergeant Ridge sauntered toward him, arrogance in all her bearing. This woman was becoming a serious nuisance, like an apostrophe in all the wrong places. She signaled for him to roll down the window, said,
“License and registration.”
He took a deep breath, letters spun and whirled before his eyes. He had to push down the compulsion to grab her and smash her head against the
