Lizzy turned off the Wagner.
The trooper looked like he?d been sent from central casting. Mirror sunglasses, a toothpick in the corner of his mouth. ?What?s the hurry, girl??
?Sorry, Officer.?
The trooper bent down, got a good look at her. ?Jesus H. Christ. What in the hell are you supposed to be??
?Why don?t you just write my ticket, and we can dispense with the chitchat??
He frowned. ?You want this to be hard? It can be hard. Come on out of the car, smart-ass, and bring your license with you.?
She got out of the Mustang, and the trooper motioned her around the other side so that the car was between them and the highway. She handed him her license. He looked at it while he picked his teeth.
?Assume the position,? he said.
?What??
?Hands on the car,? the trooper said. ?Spread your legs.?
She put her hands on the hood of the car, spread her legs. She wore a denim skirt and fishnet stockings. A white silk blouse. The cop stood close behind her, hands frisking. He groped. One thick hand went under her skirt, brushed her mound with a finger.
?You enjoying your free feel??
He stepped in close, pressed his body against hers. His chin stubble scratched her neck, his hot breath on her ear. ?Better watch that mouth. This ain?t New Orleans. Decent people live around here, and we don?t want no pink- haired freaks driving through at a hundred miles per hour. Maybe you?re some kind of queer. Huh? On your way to meet your queer pals??
She bit her tongue.
?You got any drugs in the car??
?No.?
?Don?t move.?
The trooper searched the car, popped the trunk and looked in there too. Then he dumped her bag out on the backseat. Through the windshield, Lizzy watched him paw her underwear, toss her other clothes around the interior of the vehicle. Her face went red with rage, but she held it in, didn?t say a word.
He came back around, stood next to her, tossed her license onto the hood. ?I don?t know where you?re headed to so fast, but keep going until you get there. We don?t want no troublemakers around here.? He got back in his cruiser and sped away.
He hadn?t even given her a ticket.
She got back behind the wheel, but didn?t immediately start the Mustang. Her hands shook. Rage and frustration. If she could have gotten away with it, she would have killed the trooper, fully believed that he deserved to die. The indignity. So she had pink hair. So she had a pierced nose. So fucking what? Why wouldn?t people leave her the fuck alone? All she wanted to do was live her life.
She started the Mustang, drove to the next exit, and pulled off. There was a truck stop and an Arby?s and a little gray shack with a dirty sign that said BEER & POOL. She parked in front of the shack and went inside. There were two guys in jeans and T-shirts shooting pool, a fat woman behind the bar restocking a potato chip rack.
Lizzy slumped at the bar, took out her cigarettes, and lit one. She needed a smoke, needed to calm down before getting on the road again. She felt eyes on her back, knew the two dudes shooting pool were taking a look at her. She didn?t care. Fuck them.
The fat woman said, ?You got ID??
?I just want a Diet Coke.?
