“There was no other traffic, so the brown-and-white vehicle moved at his walking pace for a moment. Bremen glanced once at the lone officer in the car—a square, sun-leathered face, oversized mirrored sunglasses—and then he looked back at his feet, careful not to step on any of the yucca plants or small cacti on the desert floor. The police car pulled ahead fifty feet, turned onto the shoulder of the asphalt road with a small cloud of dust, and braked to a stop. The officer stepped out, unbuckled... a strap over his revolver, and stood by the driver’s side of the car, his mirrored glasses reflecting Bremen’s slow approach. Bremen decided that the man was not a state highway patrolman, but some sort of county mountie. “Come here,” ordered the officer. Bremen stopped, still six feet out into the desert. “Why?” “Get your ass over here,” said the cop, his voice still flat and low. His hand was on the grip of the revolver now. Bremen held his own hands out, palms visible in a gesture of both acquiescence and conciliation.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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