The Wrong Way In

By Eli A. Susman

“Aw fuck...fuck fuck fuck.”

On his way to California from Florida, Jamie Jax found himself pulled over on the side of an Arizona country road, with a cop walking up to his window, and pounds of cocaine hidden in his car. The stocky highway patrol officer approached the driver’s window. Jaime instantly regretted going above the speed limit. The first rule of drug trafficking, as his dad always used to tell him, “Don’t attract any attention to yourself that you don’t need.”

“License and registration please.” The officer looked straight at Jaime. He twisted to reach for the glove compartment, but stopped himself. Not only did he have three pounds of coke stashed inside, but a fully loaded revolver

Jaime turned to the officer, to try his best to sound innocent, and spoke in a monotone voice. “I don’t have those, unfortunately.” He said. The air conditioning blasted, but the desert heat still seeped through the open window. Jaime started to sweat. He tried to convince himself it was the heat, and not his nerves. But not even Jaime, someone long primed to rise to the top of the drug game, could handle the pressure of being pulled over by a cop.

“Sir, please step out of your vehicle.”

Jaime’s heart clenched up. His boss’s voice echoed in his head. “If you’re caught by anyone, do anything and everything to get yourself, and the drugs out of there. Any means necessary.” Jaime couldn’t help but glance back over at the glove compartment where his revolver sat--loaded. He opened the door and got out of the car, his mind spinning, thoughts of his dad, the shootout, the death. Was he going to end the same way?

“Not if I have anything to say about it.” He thought. “This narc isn’t going to ruin this opportunity for me.”

“Do you know why I pulled you over?”

Jaime heard a bit of suspicion in the officer's voice, and he looked down at the floor. Could he know Jaime had drugs? The sleeves of Jaime’s long sleeved cotton shirt stuck to his arms, and he started to fidget. He tried to breathe and compose himself, but he couldn’t calm his breath. “You pulled me over because...”

“Because I was speeding!” But the words couldn’t leave his throat. The officer could tell Jaime was nervous. If the sweat drenching his face didn’t give it away, the fidgeting and stuttering did.

“Because you were going 20 over. Christ, is there something else I should know?”

Something else....” Gulp. “No, nothing else, nothing else in the car.”

“Sir, I never asked about your car. Do you have something dangerous in your car that I should be made aware of?” His tone changed from suspicious to accusatory.

Jaime shook his head violently from side to side.

“I’m going to have to search your vehicle. Get down on the floor and keep your hands out to the side where I can see them.”

Trying his best to not look worried, Jaime got down on the floor, his cheek burning from the heat of the pavement. The officer walked over to the trunk, and opened it. Jaime knew that he couldn’t just lay there and wait to be caught--not like his father. He heard the officer dislodge the flooring of the trunk, exposing the cocaine. It was time, no more hesitation. “It’s now or never.” He thought. “If I want to be let into my family's drug empire, if I don’t want to be a failure, I need to complete this delivery. Any means necessary.”

Jaime jumped up from the ground, kept his head low, and dove into the car, reaching for the glove compartment. The officer ran around the car, unholstering his gun.

“Get out of the car and get on the floor!” Jaime didn’t stop. “I will shoot you!”

Using his leg, Jaime kicked upwards, making contact with the officer’s gun, and sending his arm flailing upwards. His pistol fell out of his hand and smashed onto the floor. Jaime finally found the revolver in the glove compartment. He grabbed its cold handle and turned around.

When he did, the officer grabbed his hands and pointed the barrel of the revolver towards the sky.

They both struggled to keep hold of the gun and take control of it. They swung their arms back and forth. Then, the gun came free and Jaime took full control of the large and heavy revolver. They both stumbled backwards, winded. Jaime lifted and pointed the gun directly at the highway patrol officer.

“Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot!.”

Jaime stood his ground, legs shaking. Despite him being in control of the gun, he still felt threatened. The officer started lowering his hands towards his waist. Jaime’s eyes locked onto the taser gun attached to his belt.

“Stop that! Keep your hands in the air!” Jaime shouted, his voice cracking and his body shaking. His sweat was overbearing, dripping from his nose, and brow. His curly black hair stuck to his forehead. As commanded, the officer stopped lowering his hands. Jaime's hands started to shake, and his wet palms made it difficult to keep a good grip on the revolver. He took one hand off the gun and wiped it on his pants, trying to dry it off. When he did, the officer dropped his right hand to the taser gun on his hip, and pulled it up to point at Jaime.

Time froze. Jaime’s entire life flashed before his eyes. Everything he’d ever done, ever worked for, ever wanted. Everyone he ever loved. His father, dead at the hand of a cop’s pistol three months prior. His mother, waiting nervously for him back in Florida, praying for him to make it cross country safely. His boss, Carlo, who half expected Jaime to fail, “Just like his pops.” He would tell people. “I knew he wasn’t ready.” He would say to Jaime’s crying mother.

Jaime looked at the taser gun pointed directly at him. “Is this it?” He thought. “Is this where I fail?”

No.

“Any means necessary.”

Without hesitation, Jaimed squeezed the gun and pulled the trigger. The revolver jumped in the air. The officer’s body went limp, and he jerked backwards headfirst. He collapsed to the ground. Jaime stood on the desert highway, the sun setting over the dry mountains, holding a revolver, and looking at the dead cop on the road in front of him. He had only one thought on his mind.

“No going back. I’m in this now. And I’m in it for real.”