1
I was about to give up for the night and go
home when I clocked her. Early thirties, ash blonde hair,
good figure in a well-fitting business suit. I could hear her kissing
and saying her goodbyes to the people she was with, colleagues I guessed from
the fact that they were all in suits. She swayed a bit as she walked out into
the pub car park, nothing too obvious but enough for me to spot it. I finished
my orange juice quickly and walked out of the pub, following her at a discreet
distance. As usual I'd kept my car in a dark corner of the car park, out of
sight of any cctv , and I
quickly took out my false number plates from my bag and tacked them over the
real ones, pretending I was just checking the tyres.
She got into her car, a nice shiny new BMW,
and pulled out slowly and a bit too carefully. I got into my car and got behind
her just as she drove out onto the main road and turned right. That was just
what I wanted - if she'd gone left she would have gone into town and there
would have been too many people about, even at this time of night. Pretty soon
she was out onto the stretch of road that I'd used before and knew well. Going
a bit too fast as well; up to 50 in a 40mph zone long before the derestriction signs.
I checked my mirrors and saw nothing behind;
just as she passed the sign for the layby I realised
it was now or never so I put on my cap. Section 163, Road Traffic Act 1988,
a person driving a mechanically propelled vehicle on a road must stop on being
required to do so by a constable in uniform - and that meant I had to have my hat on. I was doing
everything by the book, just to make sure.
I flicked on the blue light and gave her a
quick blast on the siren, just enough for her to hear but not enough to attract
unwanted attention in case some copper was having a piss or a kip somewhere
nearby. I then flicked the fog lights at her rapidly so that all she would see
in her mirror was a blaze of blue and white light. At first I thought she
wasn't going to stop but then I realised, of course, she'd seen the sign for
the layby and was heading for it; sure enough she
indicated left and pulled in. With a quick check in the mirror I reassured
myself that nobody else was on the road for a long way back. I kept my lights
on and slipped on my tie, stab vest, equipment belt and fluorescent vest with
practiced ease; as usual I'd been wearing my uniform trousers and shirt in the
pub so it didn't take long to complete the picture.
Quickly checking again for anything coming
along the road, I got out and sauntered slowly to her car, talking into my
radio while looking at her licence plate with exaggerated interest. I pulled
the peak of my cap down to cover my eyes a little then took a deep breath; this
was the bit where there was no going back and I felt the familiar adrenaline
rush which then gave way to a feeling of calmness, almost like being on
autopilot. Stage fright, the nerves that actors get just before they go on
stage, is the same, so I'm told. I leant down to the passenger window as it
whirred down.
I got my first good close up look at her; I'd
made a good choice. She was a bit older than I'd thought in the pub; about 35 I
guessed. I've noticed there's a sweet spot with women around that age. Before
30 or so most good looking women act like their shit doesn't stink and they're
used to men falling at their feet. Come early thirties, and definitely by 35,
they've still got their looks but they've noticed they're starting to go a bit
and the attention from men isn't there so much, yet at the same time their
appetite's reaching its peak. That's where I come in.
I saw the woman looking at me with slight
disdain, pushing her hair back and pouting.
'What's this all about? Have I done something
wrong?' Her voice was a bit posh, though I could tell she was putting it on a
bit.
I kept quiet, letting the pressure on her
nerves build a bit, while I pretended to look at her front
Similar Books
