Page 84 of The Bright Lands
Joel struggled to breathe. He heard the roar of Troy’s engine when it returned to the highway, its eager rattle as Troy climbed from second gear to third to fourth. Joel thought of Troy’s hand falling from the truck’s stick and coming to rest on his thigh.
The engine fading, endlessly fading.
“I was actually about to leave, Officer.”
Joel took a step forward. Grissom held up a pale, fleshy palm. “You’re in quite a hurry.”
“It’s cold, sir.”
“Hence my confusion as to why you’re down here.” The man’s nose flared. “Are you familiar with the concept of loitering with intent?”
“No, sir.”
“It’s an arrestable offense.”
“But I haven’t hurt anyone.”
“Well, you’ve certainly inconvenienced me.” Grissom sucked spit between his teeth, deliberated. He lowered his voice. “Perhaps we could come to an understanding, you and me. An exchange. Would you like that, son?”
“I—I left my wallet in the car.” Leaving aside the fact he was broke, Joel wasn’t sure if this was how adults negotiated a bribe. Was there some sort of signal, something he should be doing with his eyes?
But Grissom only shook his head. “I don’t want yourmoney, son.”
Time thickened and stopped and started sluggishly again.
The deputy stood there a long time, blocking the stairs, muttering something to himself, a whole little conversation Joel couldn’t catch. Finally Grissom straightened his uniform, nodded to Joel and said very calmly, “If you move one step they’ll find you in five pieces.”
Grissom hustled up the steps. When he reached the top, Joel heard the sound of a car’s trunk opening, a distant rustle of fabric, a zipper unfastening. Joel stared across the gully at the thorns that blocked the path out of there. They whispered in the dark.
Like a tape rewinding, all the sounds from above played back in reverse. The fat deputy returned to where he’d stood a moment before. He held a boxy camera in one hand. His other hand was draped over the gun on his hip.
“I think we might have a solution here for all parties involved.” Grissom adjusted the camera, raised it to his eye, clicked the shutter. Joel was blinded, briefly, by the flash. “Take off your shirt.”
Joel was certain he’d misheard him. “Sir?”
“I said take off your fucking shirt.”
So, Joel thought: this was how they happened, the stories you always hear about on the news. He fumbled at the hem of his shirt. His fingers had gone numb.
Flash.
Grissom shook his head. “No, no. Look like you want it.”
Joel didn’t have to ask the man what he meant. He didn’t hesitate. Joel thought, at that moment, that he would do anything he was asked if it meant he could make it out of this gully alive. He swallowed a retch, poked out his mouth in a pout. He made the face that would later fall out of newspapers all over town.
Flash.
“Better. Now your belt.”
Flash.
“Now the pants. All the way. Over the shoes, goddammit.”
Flash.
“Give me that face again. Perfect.”
Flash.
