Read Online Man of Wax by Robert Swartwood - Free Book Online

thinking to myself come on come on come on think . Then, all of a sudden, I said, “It’s just that I popped a tire about a quarter mile back. Tried to ride it out to the next gas station but I got too nervous. I wanted to change it now. You know, better safe than sorry.”  
    The cop had stopped walking about five yards away. He still stood in the same position, with his right hand on his nightstick, his left hand holding the flashlight, but instead of the flashlight’s beam striking me right in the face, it was doing an entire sweep of my body. Shirt, jeans, shoes, back to jeans ... and then back to shoes.  
    “What’s that?”  
    The beam was centered right on the few spots of bile that had splattered there.  
    “It’s vomit,” I said, as casually as possible. “Had some fast food earlier today. Wasn’t settling too good with me, and got even worse in the past hour. I would have taken some Tums or something had I had some on me, but as it was I just wanted to keep going. Then after I changed the tire, it really hit me and I ... well, you know.”  
    And I pointed, almost as an afterthought, to the side, where the bile had begun to dry together with the grass, looking like some poor kid’s failed science experiment.  
    The beam swung over there, only briefly, then came back, this time at my face. I raised my hand again to shield my eyes.  
    “Look, officer,” I said, really feeling the part I’d created for myself now, “I’m sorry if I shouldn’t have pulled over here. I kind of figured there wasn’t much room, but the tire that blew was on the passenger side, so I knew my ass wasn’t going to be sticking out in traffic. If you need to give me a citation or something, I completely understand.”  
    Traffic continued to rush by on the highway, this time a tractor-trailer that sounded like it was shifting gears. The dog, which had been barking this entire time, was now silent.  
    The cop stood there for a moment, considering, then clicked off the flashlight. From the light of the oncoming cars, I saw him shake his head. “No,” he said, “I’m not going to give you a citation. But just be more careful next time, okay?”  
    I nodded. “Thank you, officer.”  
    He stood there, as if waiting on something, and it didn’t occur to me until a second or two later that he was waiting on me. And so I nodded once more, told the cop to have a good night, turned and waited for a break in traffic before I started toward the front. As I did I wiped my hands on my jeans, as if wiping away grease, something that had been absent on my hands but which I hoped the cop had missed. A moment later I was inside the Dodge, turned on the engine, and waited for another break in traffic before pulling out. In the rearview mirror the unmarked car had turned its flashing lights off. But it just sat there, waiting, until the car was nothing more than a dot in the mirror, and then gone.

 
     
     
    14

    I didn’t recognize the noise at first. I’d been driving for almost five minutes, having already smoked one cigarette. I had passed through Doyle, which wasn’t much of a town, and now it was just me and the road. This noise had started the moment I first pulled back on the highway, but I figured it was just the Dodge. Then the noise stopped, just to start again a minute later. I was now working on my second cigarette, relishing it even more than the first, when I looked down at the foot well on the passenger side and saw the cell phone lit up.  
    My left hand on the wheel, I kept the cigarette stuck in my mouth to reach down and grab the phone. INCOMING CALL , the screen said. I pressed the green send button.  
    Simon said, “I’m not sure which was stupider. Your reaction to what was in the trunk or how you handled the cop. Though, I must admit, both were quite entertaining.”  
    “My reaction? You said it was my daughter in there.”  
    “Oh, Ben, now you’re putting words in my mouth. I never said it