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“Fuck me if that isn’t a cop car. Shit, shit, shit…” Jet whispered. I could barely hear him- the crickets were so loud.  And the cop car rumbled ever closer. Perched up in a tree, I glanced around at everyone. John would be right in the way.

“Move, slut! I’m comin’ down.”

John glanced up, acknowledging me, and rolled like six inches to the side. Shaking my head, I muttered, “Your fault if I crush your spinal cord.” I lunged forward, gripping a tree branch with the motion of a trapeze artist, and swung forward, back, and dropped lightly. At that second, John took off, into the darkness. I started after him- asshole didn’t wait for me!- and was suddenly arrested by a spotlight hitting the fleeing John, a few feet ahead of me. I threw myself down on the ground, army crawling behind a bush. The cop pulled to the curb, using the spotlight to survey our roll-job. My stomach lurched. I only had two options: give myself up, or take off.

I decided on neither. Casually walking, I strolled up the street. Farther and farther. 15, 20, 50, 75. A hundred yards. Hope.

“Hey, kid! Get yer ass over here!”

My bubble oh hope bursts, but I obey. See, I have two cousins in law enforcement, and although I know Dad’s not gonna be pissed I rolled someone, he’d beat the shit outta me if I disobey the policemen. The cop- a 35-year-old doughnut-sucking monstrosity- affixes me with a decidedly derisive stare. “So, what’s a fine young man like you doin’ out here at this time o’ night?”

Am I really supposed to fuckin’ answer that? I do, for the sake of politeness.

“Rolling the house, sir.”

“Oh, really,” he drawled. I wanted nothing more than to punch him in the mouth. But, I refrained. He spent the next five minutes lecturing me on the heinous act of ‘destruction of private property’ I had just committed and taunting me, noting several times that ‘owners weren’t sure yet if they wanted to press charges.’ Bullshit-spewing cop. I knew these people. I remained mute, with the exception of a few affirmative grunts.

Then, through my boredom-induced stupor, I heard a familiar name. I sat up, rubbing my eyes in the back of the cop car. “Who, sir?” I inquired.

The cop squinted at me in the rear-view mirror. “I said Rory,” he growled.

“That’s my cousin!” I said.

He gave me the ugliest look yet. “That fella’s my partner, and my best friend in law enforcement,” he spat. “I don’t appreciate you invokin’ his name like that.”

“No, really,” I hastened to assure him. I was talking too fast, but I knew there was no way he could blast me. I knew Rory. Finally, I seemed to have almost convinced him. He changed tactics so fast I’m suprised he didn’t succumb to mental whiplash.

“Rory would be so dissapointed in you, son,” he growled. “Any cousin of mine who did something like this… (Rolling? Really?) I’d be- you know what, son? Why don’t you give him a call.”

So the bastard made me call my cousin, at three in the morning, for no good reason. Luckily, it wasn’t a very painful call. The next was worse.

The cop took my phone, to make a few comments to Rory, and then hung it up. Holding it, he began to lecture again. My phone rang. The cop, still sneering, picked it up. “Hey man, where are you?” he said, quickly. A second of silence. “Ok, be right there.” He hung up the phone, and turned to me.

“Take me to Stan’s car.”

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