One Day in a Small-Town Desert, chapter 2, page 8

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Zhíno Zhudıro slammed his handgun against the window behind the driver’s door. The glass cracked. Zhíno hit it again and it shattered, sprinkling tiny cubes of glass over the interior.

No alarm. Zhíno smirked and reached through the broken window to unlock the door. It was already unlocked.

“Koro-brained hicks don’t even know how to lock their Pétíso-damned automobiles.”

He threw open the door and crouched to look under the steering wheel. It was dark. He guessed he had to pull of that panel there, before he could jumpstart it.

Kneeling on the rough asphalt, Zhíno tugged at the edge of the panel with his left hand. It didn’t budge. He tried to use his right, but pain from the gunshot overcame his concentration. Biting his lip, Zhíno grimaced and shoved his left fingers into the gap again. That panel wasn’t going anywhere.

“Plagued motion pictures always make it look so easy.”

What did he have that he could pry it with? Keys. Zhíno patted his pocket. Empty. They were still in the auto with that Vítí-twin, Fírí.

Maybe his handgun? Zhíno wiggled the gun’s hammer into the crack, careful to keep his fingers away from the trigger.

A siren whooped. Green and red lights flashed. A spotlight lit up the RZ-7 and the surrounding parking lot. A voice boomed, “This is the Colonial Enforcers. Step away from the vehicle.”

“Aw, plague of Rívorí.” How’d he not hear the police drive up? Had he gone deaf? He deserved to get arrested, if this was how incompetent he was. Zhíno’s other arrests had been gooseshit straight from Rékaré, but this time he’d earned it.

The Enforcers’ auto was on the road, directly in front of the RZ-7 racer, just the other side of the sidewalk. The racer’s open door hid Zhíno from the Enforcers’ view, so that the spotlight lit up only his boots and knees.

Over the auto’s loudspeaker, the policeman ordered, “Stand up and step away from the vehicle. Now.”

No. He wasn’t going to prison again. Never again.

But how was he going to get out of this? Was it a single Enforcer or a pair of the Voro-fuckers? If there were two, one would be probably out of their cruiser by now, towering over him, kicking him to the ground. There wasn’t, so it must just be one. Zhíno smiled. He could handle one Enforcer, as long as he kept the element of surprise on his side.

If he ran, he’d get shot in the back. No, much better to take the offensive. Strike before the Voro-fucker knows what’s going on.

Zhíno slipped the semiautomatic into his pants pocket and held up his hands into the bright light above the door. Smiling innocently, he stood up and began walking slowly around the autos towards the Enforcer. The policeman was alone. Zhíno furrowed his eyebrows in a question, still smiling like this was all some huge mistake they’d get cleared up in a moment.

“Stop right there,” the Enforcer commanded over the loudspeaker. He opened his door and started to get out.

A chill wind sent a shiver down Zhíno’s spine. He kept walking around the front of the cruiser, lowering his hands slightly, pretending to almost laugh.

This Enforcer Zhéporé-spawn probably didn’t even know about the smuggling, but that didn’t mean Zhíno could let him arrest him. It didn’t mean Zhíno could let him report his whereabouts. The Enforcer was a Voro-fucking policeman; Zhíno didn’t really need any other reason.

“Stop!” The Enforcer, still seated, scrambled with something--his gun, probably.

A meter from the open cruiser door, Zhíno smiled big. “What’s the problem?” And pulled out his gun and shot the Enforcer in the face.

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