“Keep your fucking mouth shut unless I tell you to talk.”
Still holding the weapon with a finger and thumb, she inspected it in the headlights. “I’ve never seen a weapon anything like this, or this kind of red dot scope. Looks a little like a Vortex Razor, but it’s not. It’s different. And this gun is some kind of high-end shit, here.”
“It’s just a twenty-two.”
“Yeah? Well I wish I could afford something like this.”
After looking over the weapon, she removed the magazine, emptied the chamber, and then set the gun on the hood of her car. “And with a matching suppressor, no less. What are you—an assassin for a drug lord?”
“I don’t have anything to do with drugs,” Angela said.
“Yeah, sure.”
The woman leaned down. “Seems I remember you also carry a knife in your boot. Why, here it is, and after I told you that it was illegal to carry it. Illegal gun, suppressor, and knife. You are in a whole hell of a lot of trouble, young lady.”
Angela didn’t say anything.
“Anything dangerous in your pockets that’s going to hurt me? Needles? Rocket launchers?”
“No, nothing.”
The woman gave Angela a little slap on the tattoo on her shoulder. “Looks like you got yourself a new tattoo of the moon since the last time I saw you. What are you now? The girl in the moon? Is that it?”
Angela smiled. “That’s right.”
Officer Denton wormed a hand down into the small right front pocket of Angela’s shorts, where she kept her tips. She pulled out fat wad of bills and put them on the hood of the car.
“Lots of small bills. Looks like you’ve been selling drugs at that trailer park. That means we can confiscate your truck.”
Angela rolled her eyes. “I don’t live there anymore, and I don’t sell drugs.”
“Uh-huh. Then why would you be carrying a gun illegally?”
“It’s not illegal. I have a permit. It’s in my back left pocket.”
“Yeah, sure. I haven’t seen a dealer yet who had a gun that wasn’t stolen or being carried illegally.”
Angela knew that it was useless to argue, so she kept her mouth shut.
“What the fuck is this?” Officer Denton asked as she frowned at the weapons permit, turning it to look at the back.
“It’s a federal weapons permit,” Angela said as patiently as possible.
The woman snorted a laugh. “Yeah, right. A federal permit.” She shook her head. “Fucking drug dealers,” she muttered to herself.
“That’s my photo, isn’t it? There’s a number on the back to call if you have any questions.”
“You can call it from jail,” she said as she slammed Angela facedown on the hood of the cop car. “I gave you a warning before. This time you’re going to be charged with carrying a concealed weapon—and not just a knife. Carrying gun with a suppressor is a felony weapons charge.”
“Just call the number on the back, would you? It will save you a lot of embarrassment later when you find out it’s legal.”
Officer Denton stood over her, looking at the card, considering. “Never heard of a fucking federal permit.”
“Just call the number? Please?”
“All right. You stay right there where I can see you. If you run I’ll break those long legs of yours. Got it?”
Angela nodded as she straightened. She watched Officer Denton in the front seat talking on the radio.
“Call the number, would you?” Angela yelled.
Officer Denton looked up, not at all pleased. She finally ended the radio conversation and pulled out her phone.
Angela watched as she held the card out, dialing the number. When there was an answer, she told them who she was. Angela couldn’t hear much of anything other than a brief account of the stop and the weapons she found.
Angela didn’t know what was being said—she’d never called the number and didn’t really know what would happen if she did. She had only been told to call the number if there was ever any problem. She hoped it would get her out of trouble.
After a few minutes of listening to someone on the other end of the line, a nodding Officer Denton ended the call. She sat in her car for a moment, then put on her hat and got out. She rushed around to the front of the car.
“I’m so very sorry, Miss Constantine. This has been a terrible mistake.”
The woman fumbled at unlocking the handcuffs but finally got them off. Angela rubbed her wrists once they were off.
Officer Denton bent down with the knife and returned it to Angela’s boot. When she stood, she picked up the gun, loaded in the magazine, and held the gun out in both hands.
“Here you go. Again, I’m so sorry. This was a big mistake. I don’t know what got into me. I hope you can forgive me.”
Angela replaced the gun in the holster at the small of her back. “Of course.”
Officer Denton reached into a shirt pocket, pulled out a card, and handed it to Angela along with her federal weapons permit. “Here is your permit back, and my personal business card. If you ever need anything—anything at all—or have any kind of problem, you call me and I would be more than happy to help in any way I can.”
Angela slipped them into the back pocket of her cutoffs, but she didn’t say anything. She didn’t know what to say.
Officer Denton tipped her hat. “Again, sorry to have bothered you, ma’am. It won’t happen again.”
Angela stood beside her truck and watched as the cop car spun its wheels, throwing gravel as it roared away.
Angela took out her federal permit and looked at it a moment. “Huh. I guess it works.”
She put it back in her pocket along with Officer Denton’s business card and got back in her truck, no longer feeling quite so tired.
She knew now that she wasn’t a freak or born broken.
She was the girl in the moon.