Page 3 of I Can't Even

“Whoa,” I said as I watched the cop in front try to do that thing where they spin the back of your vehicle around. I’d only recently learned what a PIT maneuver was by watching my favorite TV drama, SWAT. “Almost.”

The 4-Runner went sideways momentarily but corrected itself before taking a right onto a very familiar street.

That’s when I looked up to see where I was.

Five blocks away from what I knew to be my street that the 4-Runner was on.

My apartment building whizzed past, and I gasped.

Looking up now, crispito momentarily forgotten, I started to calculate how long…

The 4-Runner came barreling around the corner, directly at me.

He’d hit a dead end.

Then the cop came around the corner, much more cautiously, yet still managed to not only keep up, but gain ground without putting anyone in danger.

That is until the 4-Runner twisted my way, seeing a gap in the barriers directly in front of me.

But before I could gasp, the cop read the situation, saw the stopped cars, and reacted with a swiftness I would’ve never thought possible.

One second, the 4-Runner was there, heading directly toward me. The next the cop directly behind him did a PIT maneuver right in front of me. The back end of the 4-Runner went spinning.

The 4-Runner promptly crashed into a light pole, and the entire thing shook directly above my head.

4-Runner guy, seeing his demise, started to get out of the car.

However, who I suspected was Hot Cop, rammed directly into the side of the 4-Runner, pinning the door closed with his cruiser.

That’s when the guy realized he was screwed.

Hot Cop got out of his cruiser, did a sliding maneuver across the hood of it, then stood up. Seconds later, he was bodily dragging 4-Runner guy out of his vehicle and slamming him to the hood of the cruiser with barely contained violence.

“You have the right to remain silent…” the cop started to read him his rights.

That’s when I caught my breath.

It’d all happened to fast.

And sweet Mary, mother of God.

The commentators on the DPD’s page were right.

The cop was hot.

Really, really, really hot.

As in, I have a fuckin’ stutter and I’m not even talking, hot.

The cop was in uniform.

He had on the cargo pants I’d seen some of them wear, but not the uniform that patrol wore.

Black tactical pants, a black t-shirt that read ‘Dallas Police’ on it, and a thick black belt that held a big gun, shiny silver cuffs, a flashlight, a taser, a cannister of mace, and a baton. And that bright gold badge.

The man’s knee went into 4-Runner’s backside, and he pinned him there using only the strength in his legs.

With his hands, he expertly cuffed the guy who was likely going to see significant time in a jail cell.

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