Thicker Than Blood - the Complete Andrew Z. Thomas Trilogy - Blake Crouch [235]
"Your gun," Walter said. "You should've put it in the trunk with mine."
As the officer stepped casually out of his car, I dug through my fanny pack for the second clip. I found it, released the empty magazine, and popped the new one into the Glock. I chambered the first round and shoved the gun between the seats.
"What are you doing?" Walter whispered.
I could hear the officer's footsteps in the grass, and in the mirror I watched him approaching cautiously, his hand on his holstered weapon.
"I'm not going to prison," I whispered. "Look at the map, he's here."
There was a soft tapping on the window. I took a deep breath and turned with a smile to face the officer. I pushed the button to lower the window but nothing happened.
"Just a moment," I said, chagrined. The officer's brow wrinkled as I turned the key back. Then I lowered the window and frigid air slipped into the car. "What can I do for you, officer?" I asked, looking into his chiseled, emotionless face. He couldn't have been over thirty. He wore a tight-fitting jacket over his uniform and a toboggan reached down and covered his ears.
"You folks having car trouble?" he asked. He lifted his flashlight and inspected the front and then the backseat, awaiting my reply. I was so thankful we'd put the shovel in the trunk.
"No, sir. Just a little map trouble." Walter made a rustling noise to draw attention to the large map of Vermont spread across his lap.
"Why you parked so far off the road? Trying to avoid being seen?"
"No, sir," I said. "Just trying to avoid getting hit."
The officer nodded but pursed his lips as if he believed otherwise. "I need to see your license and registration," he said.
"No problem. Walter, get your registration for the man," I said, reaching into a pocket for my wallet. "It's his car," I said with a nervous laugh. "I'm on driving duty now."
The man's face didn't even register that he'd heard me. I pulled out my wallet, and as I slid my driver's license from the clear, plastic panel, I realized I still wore the latex gloves. I pretended I was having trouble getting my license out and made a weak attempt to pull a glove off. It wouldn't budge. Sweat had cemented my skin to the rubber.
Walter laid the registration in my lap, and I took it and my driver's license and handed it to the officer, quickly withdrawing my hand the moment he had the papers within his grasp.
"Wait here," he said, and he walked back to his patrol car and climbed inside.
"He suspects something," Walter said. "He asked why we were parked so far off..."
"And I told him why we were parked here." I rolled up the window. "There's no way he suspects what we've actually done. No one would."
"What if he wants to search the car?"
"A very respectful, Bill of Rights-oriented, no fucking way."
"We'd get the chair for this," Walter said, after a moment.
"That really helps." I remembered my gloves again. The officer stepped out of his car and shut the door, so I pulled like hell and squeezed out of them. I put them under my seat and rolled the window back down.
"Your gloves were on?" Walter was incredulous.
The officer returned and handed back my license and registration. "Where you folks coming from?" he asked as I returned my license to my wallet.
"Bristol," I said. "Just up the road."
"I know where it is."
"We came up here for the week to see the countryside, and now we're trying to find Middlebury." I'm talking too much, I thought.
"Oh." The officer smiled. "Well, just get back on the highway and head that way." He pointed down the road. "It'll take you right through downtown. Not more than five miles away."
"Fantastic," I said. "You've been a great help."
"You folks have a safe night," he said. Then he turned