“Not with those headlights. All my guys drive Suburbans.”

I check their lights in the rearview mirror. They’ve got their brights on, so it’s hard to see, but the shape and the height tell me it’s definitely not a Suburban. “Get down,” I say to Nora. Whoever they are, I’m not taking any chances.

“That’s not Simon’s car, is it?” she asks.

We get our answer in the form of red and blue swirling lights that engulf our back window. “Pull over,” a deep voice blares from a bullhorn mounted to the roof.

I don’t believe it. Cops. Smiling, I slap Nora’s shoulder. “It’s okay. They’re cops.”

As I pull over, I notice Nora isn’t nearly as relieved. Unable to sit still and in full frenzy, she checks the sideview mirror, then looks over her shoulder, then back to the mirror. Her eyes are dancing in every direction as she anxiously claws her way out of her seatbelt.

“What’s wrong?” I ask as we come to a stop.

She doesn’t respond. Instead, she reaches down for her clunky black purse, which is on the floor in front of her. When she starts rummaging through it, a cold chill runs down my back. This isn’t the time to hold back. “Do you have drugs?” I ask.

“No!” she insists. In my rearview mirror, I see a uniformed D.C. police officer approaching my side of the Jeep.

“Nora, don’t lie to me. This is-” The police officer taps on my window. Just as I turn around, I hear my glove compartment slam shut.

I lower my window with a forced smile on my face. “Good evening, Officer. Did I do something wrong?” He holds a flashlight above his shoulder and shines it right at Nora. She’s still wearing her baseball cap and doing her best to remain unrecognizable. She won’t look the cop in the face.

“Is everything okay?” I ask, hoping to divert his attention.

The officer is a thick black man with a crooked nose that gives him the look of a former middleweight boxer. When he leans into the window, all I see are his huge hairless forearms. He uses his chin to motion toward the glove compartment. “What’re you hiding there?” he asks Nora.

Damn. He saw her.

“Nothing,” Nora whispers.

The cop studies her answer. “Please step out of the car,” he says.

I jump in. “Can you tell me wh-”

“Step out of the car. Both of you.”

I look at Nora and know we’re in trouble. When we were in the woods, she was nervous. But now… now Nora has a look I’ve never seen before. Her eyes are wide and her lips are slightly open. She tries to tuck a stray piece of hair between her ear and the edge of the baseball cap, but her hands are shaking. My world comes to an instant halt.

“Let’s go!” the officer barks. “Out of the car.”

Nora slowly follows his instructions. As she walks around to the driver’s side, the officer’s partner approaches the three of us. He’s a short black man with an arrogant cop stride. “Everything okay?” he asks.

“Not sure yet.” The first cop turns back to me. “Let’s see ’em spread.”

“Spread? What’d I do?”

He grabs me by the back of the neck and whips me against the side of the Jeep. “Open up!”

I do as he says, but not without protest. “You’ve got no probable cause to-”

“You a lawyer?” he asks.

I shouldn’t have picked this fight. “Yeah,” I say hesitantly.

“Then sue me.” As he pats me down, he jabs a sharp thumb into my ribs. “Should’ve told her to calm down,” he says. “Now she’s going to have to miss work tomorrow.”

I don’t believe it. He doesn’t recognize her. Keeping her head as low as possible, Nora stands next to me and spreads her arms across the side of the Jeep. The second officer pats Nora down, but she’s not paying much attention. Like me, she’s too busy watching the first officer head for the glove compartment.

From where I’m standing, I see him open the passenger door. As he climbs inside, there’s a jingle of handcuffs and keys. Then a quiet click near the dashboard. My mouth goes dry and it’s getting harder to breathe. I look over at Nora, but she’s decided to look away. Her eyes are glued to the ground. It’s not going to be much longer.

“Oh, baby,” the officer announces. His voice is filled with shove-it-in-your-face glee. He slams the door shut and strides around to our side of the car. As he approaches, he’s holding one hand behind his back.

“What is it?” the second officer asks.

“See for yourself.”

I look up, expecting to see Nora’s brown prescription vial. Maybe even a stash of cocaine. Instead, the cop is holding a single stack of hundred dollar bills.

Son of a bitch. She took the money.

“Now either of you want to tell me what you’re doing driving around with this kinda cash?”

Neither of us says a word.

I look at Nora, and she’s paste white. Gone is the cocky and wild vitality that led us through the stop signs, out of the bar, and up the embankment. In its place is that look she’s had since we got pulled out of the car. Fear. It’s all over her face and it’s still making her hands shake. She simply can’t be caught with this money. Even if it’s not against the law to have it, even if they can’t arrest her, this isn’t something that’s going to be easy to explain. In this neighborhood. With this amount of cash. The drug stories alone will shred what’s left of her reputation. Rolling Stone will be the least of her problems.

She turns to me and once again opens her soft side. Her usually tough eyes are welled up with tears. She’s begging for help. And like it or not, I’m the only one who can save her. With a few simple words, I can spare her all that pain and embarrassment. Then she and the President… I catch myself. No. No, it’s not about that. It’s like I said before. It’s not for her father. Or her title. It’s for her. Nora. Nora needs me.

“I asked you a question,” the officer says as he waves the pile of cash. “Whose is this?”

I take one last look at Nora. That’s all I need. Shoving confidence back into my voice, I turn to the officer and say two words: “It’s mine.”

Like a judge with a gavel, the officer slowly taps the wad of money in his right hand against the open palm of his left. “Where’d you get it?” he asks, annoyed.

“Excuse me?” I reply. Time to stall.

“Don’t yank my chain, boy. Where’s someone like you get ten grand in cash?”

“Someone like me? What’s that supposed to mean?”

He kicks the rusty bumper on the back of my Jeep. “No offense, but you’re not exactly traveling in style.”

I shake my head. “You don’t know anything about me.”

He smirks at my response and knows he’s hit a sore spot. “You can’t hide who you are-it’s written all over your face. And your forehead.”

Self-consciously, I touch the cut on my head. The blood’s starting to dry. I’m tempted to fight back, but instead let it pass. “Why don’t you give me my speeding ticket and I’ll be out of your way.”

“Listen, Smallville, I don’t need to hear your attitude.”

“And I don’t need to hear your insults. So unless you have some reasonable suspicion of a crime taking place, you have no right to harass me.”

“You have no idea what you’re-”

“Actually, I have a really good idea. Far more than you’re giving me credit for. And since there’s no law against carrying money, I’d appreciate it if you’d give me my stuff and write up my ticket. Otherwise, you’re risking a harassment suit and a letter to your sergeant that’ll be a bitch to explain when you’re up for promotion.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Nora smile. The cop just stands there. The way he scratches his cheek, I can tell he’s plenty pissed off. “Vate, do me a favor?” he eventually says to his partner. “They’re doing a drug sweep on 14th and M. See if they’ve broadcasted any lookouts yet. Maybe we’ll get lucky.”

“It’s not like that,” I tell him.