Sunken Graves by Alan Lee (life books to read txt) 📗

dribbled down his chin. He started the engine

Lynch didn’t know it at the time but two other men sat nearby, watching Daisy and Daniel through the coffee shop’s big windows. They were inside an unmarked Dodge police cruiser, in the Buffalo Wild Wings lot near the exit.

Leaving, Lynch laid down a rubber slick with his tires. Too much horsepower, too much rage. He lost control, jumped the curb, bulldozed through a shrub patch, and snapped the wooden sign post before getting his foot off the pedal.

The two officers watched the angry red brake lights turn onto Starkey, and they shared a glance—hopefully no one witnessed that.

They didn’t pursue the 1970 Ford Mustang.

They waited.

20

Jennings loaded their school supplies into the Altima’s trunk and they left the coffee shop.

The air inside the rental felt electric. A seismic shift had occurred in their relationship, unseen forces crashing and producing energy.

His admission:

My opinion of you is higher than of other women.

Hers:

Think risqué thoughts, Daniel, you’ll be irresistible.

Not professions of love but something higher than platonic compliments.

Now what? Jennings didn’t know. He wouldn’t pursue a woman engaged to another man. And he didn’t think she’d offer. Tantalizing silence stretched.

Behind them, blue police lights flared to life. He hadn’t noticed the trailing car.

“Are we speeding?”

“No.” Jennings signaled a turn and aimed for the Jiffy Lube, closed for the evening. They were less than a mile from Mill Mountain Coffee. “And this is a rental, so it can’t be the registration.”

He braked in the vacant lot and shifted into park, the door locks auto-disengaging. The cruiser stopped catty-corner behind, blocking escape. Blue lights blasted his vision in the mirror.

Jennings got his wallet. “This makes no sense.”

“Maybe you rolled through a light?”

He buzzed down the window. Cold snuck in and they heard footsteps.

Officer Hudson put one hand on the top of the Altima and one hand on his belt, and he leaned down, limned in bright light.

“Evening. License and registration please.” His breath carried a faint tang of whisky.

Jennings had his driver’s license ready. Hathaway fished out paperwork from the glove compartment.

“It’s a rental, officer. I assume the registration and inspection are fine,” he said.

The license and registration were placed on top of the car after he verified the name Daniel Grant Jennings.

“You know why I pulled you over, Mr. Jennings?”

“I don’t.” In the sideview, Jennings watched the second officer take a position behind the first, not on the passenger side. A trickle of fear crept down his spine like a centipede.

“I got a call on the radio and we’re checking it out. No big deal, Mr. Jennings. Hop outside and chat with us.”

“What was the call?”

“I’ll explain.” Officer Hudson moved back and indicated Jennings open the door. “Come on up, bud.”

“Am I suspected of a crime?”

“Step out of your vehicle.”

Hathaway leaned down and forward so she could look Officer Hudson in the face. “You need a valid reason to pull us over, Officer. Otherwise it’s his right to remain in the car.”

“He was speeding, ma’am.”

“No I wasn’t and you said this was about a radio call.”

“Mr. Jennings, this is a standard traffic stop and there’s no need for defiance. Am I hearing defiance?” said Hudson.

“Why do I need to get out of the car for a traffic stop?”

“Because I’m asking nicely.”

Hathaway whispered, “Something’s wrong, Daniel. Don’t get out.”

He said, “I wasn’t speeding, sir. Is it something else?”

“I got a call that the driver of this car was speeding and might be intoxicated,” said Hudson.

“We left a coffee shop sixty-seconds ago. Can’t be us. You got the wrong car.”

“You’re probably right, Mr. Jennings. Come out and pass a standard sobriety test and be on your way.”

“All due respect, Officer, my driving was perfect and I’m not taking that test.”

“That, bud, ain’t within your rights.”

“Yes it is. You have no reason to suspect me. I’ll submit to a blood test at the station.” Surrounded by other witnesses.

“Something you’re hiding in there, Jennings?”

“Not a thing.”

“Sir. Get out the car. Now.”

Hathaway’s voice began to shake. “No, he’s staying.”

Hudson took a half step back. Jennings saw it about to happen. Saw the minute details of everything sharpen like under a magnifying glass—Hudson tensing, Hathaway fumbling in her bag, the other cop growing in the sideview.

Corrupt cops.

Jennings went for the locks. The second cop got the handle first. Jennings grabbing at the door and it swung wide open. Hathaway screaming. Hudson came in and wrapped muscular arms around Jennings’ neck as he tried to drop the car into gear. The shifting lever refusing to budge because the brake pedal wasn’t pressed.

Jennings was dragged out by his head. He tried to get his feet under him but the prosthesis felt like an anchor. Hudson reeking of sweat. A sudden fist to Jennings’ gut doubled him over. A solid body shot, bruising organs, and Jennings tasted vomit.

“NO! Stop it! Let him go!”

The second cop maneuvered behind and put Jennings into a rear choke. Jennings was bent backwards and his windpipe pinched shut. Hudson hit him in the side at the floating ribs. The electric blue lights disoriented him, felt like pain.

“Daniel!”

Hudson leaned close to whisper.

“Mother fucker, consider this a friendly warning. Let the thing with Lynch go. Follow that shit? Nod if you understand me.”

Jennings’ oxygen supply was too low to dwell on shock. He strained against the powerful arm around his throat. Coughed, “Lynch?”

“I won’t say it again, bud.”

“Lynch sent you?”

“I sent myself. Some friendly advice, Jennings? You ain’t the first poor jackass to regret bowing up against him. You get it? That’s as polite as I’m gonna be.”

“Let him GO! Please!”

Jennings couldn’t recall a single thing he’d ever learned from combat training. Between his ears there was only flailing panic. But his body remembered, instincts taking over. He brought his right knee up hard—Hudson was close and the knee was a battering ram to his testicles.

Hudson felt the eruption of pain from kneecaps to navel. His legs gave out like he’d tripped and the subitaneous nausea drenched him in sweat before he