Page 37 of 3rd Tango

Um, yeah.

Except, I can’t exactly tell this cop I’m tailing my mom who thinks a serial killer lives across the street.

When I don’t answer, Matt shifts from the cop and grits his teeth at me.

“No, officer. Not…hiding.”

He finally takes his glasses off and pegs me with laser sharp green eyes. “You know what?”

Uh-oh. I don’t like the sound of that.

He takes two steps backward. “Out of the car, please.”

Matt lets out a sigh. “Officer—”

“Out. Of. The. Car. Now.”

Rookies.

“I’m sorry,” I tell Matt.

He holds up a hand. “Just do what he says.”

We exit and I try to ignore the rubberneckers as they drive by. The pedestrians don’t even bother to keep going. They stop and stare like we’re a circus act.

At this point, we might just be.

A second cop pulls up and directs Matt and I to the rear.

“You mind if I search your car?” The first asks.

“Not at all,” Matt says. “I’m a PI. You’ll see my license in my wallet. Center console.”

The cop nods. “Any weapons? Anything that can hurt me?”

“No, sir.”

The cop peers through the rear driver side window. “What’s this briefcase on the backseat?”

“Work stuff.”

The half second it took Matt to answer brings my gaze to him. I know him. Know the cadence of his voice, his vocal cues and how fast he responds when he’s confident of the answer.

That minute, piddly pause?

Trouble.

While cop number two stands with us, the rookie opens the door, retrieves the briefcase and sets it on the hood.

What’s in there? I look back to Matt, but his chin is up, his eyes forward.

It’s one of those square ones with snapping locks I used to see on old televisions shows from the sixties.

Snap-snap. The cop lifts the lid. “Whoa,” he says.

Whoa?

“Officer,” Matt says, “those are—”