She squinted, held up her hand, the hot beam from a flashlight pointing at her face. The figure rapped again, mimed a rolling gesture. Behind her, a black-and-white. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. She crawled to the top of her drug- and alcohol-thick torpor, a long way. She unrolled the window, her heart thudding dully. The cop leaned down. “You got some business here, miss?”She blinked into the light, pressed her rubbery lips together as if she could squeeze some probable excuse from between them. Fuck. “My mother,” she said, finally. “We had a fight.”“Your mother.” She couldn’t see his face behind the beam, only a mustache, but she could hear the smirk in his voice. Smart-ass. “You don’t live up here, girly.”Fucking cops. She never met a cop who didn’t think he was the funniest thing on two legs. Josie pointed at the lit window. “Right there.”He flashed the flashlight along the bench seat, its beam caught the vodka bottle, then pointed back in her face. “Can I see your driver’s license, miss?”This couldn’t be happening.
