Page 55 of Stone Coast

Maybe I shouldn’t have been operating heavy machinery.

I pulled off the road into the parking lot of a liquor store. I found a place to park and killed the engine. My vision flashed, and I caught a glimpse of memories. Short clips of action. Blurry around the edges. Dreamlike.

Had something happened at this liquor store before?

I pulled off my helmet to get some air.

In my head, I saw a late-model blue muscle car pull into the lot. The passenger hopped out wearing a ball cap, darksunglasses, and a black bandana over his face. He hustled inside the store, drew the pistol, then aimed it at the clerk.

The vision ended, and my headache faded.

I blinked my eyes and rubbed my temples. Was this going to happen every time I unlocked a memory?

When the same blue muscle car drove into the lot and pulled near the entrance, I realized it wasn’t a memory.

Just like my vision, the passenger hopped out, drew his weapon, and stormed inside.

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Ihopped off the bike, drew my pistol, and approached the driver from behind.

The exhaust rumbled, the car still in gear, ready to launch. The tail lights glowed red, his foot on the brake pedal.

Both windows were down, and rap music filtered from the car. The car vibrated with every thump of the subsonic bass.

“Out of the car, now!” I shouted.

That was probably a dumb move.

A pistol emerged through the driver’s side window. Muzzle flash flickered from the barrel, and bullets spewed.

I dashed for cover and returned fire.

The perp stomped the gas, and tires squealed. The engine roared. Exhaust howled as the muscle car sped out of the parking lot, leaving his accomplice behind.

The commotion distracted the accomplice inside. As the thug glanced to the parking lot to see the getaway car vanish, the clerk pulled a baseball bat from behind the counter and cracked the dirtbag in the skull.

He hit the floor, out cold.

By that time, I stormed into the liquor store, keeping my weapon aimed at the scumbag. I kicked his pistol away as I approached and barked at the clerk. “Call 911!”

He didn’t waste any time.

It took a few minutes for the perp to come around. He moaned and groaned and tried to push himself off the floor.

“Stay on the ground, dipshit!” I shouted.

He took one look at the barrel staring him in the face and thought better of it for the moment.

Five minutes went by…

Then ten…

Still no sign of the PBPD.

The clerk had moved from behind the counter and lorded over the perp with the bat cocked back, ready to go.

“Man, you ain’t’ cops,” the perp said. “You can’t keep me here. This is like kidnapping.”