the lair opposite the CCC before
visiting Dexter Tate.
The car in front of him was waved over to the hard
shoulder by two motorcycle cops, and for a second the
Dragon thought he would be allowed to drive on. But
then he too was asked to pull over. A cop went to each
car. One of them stood by the door of the Toyota and
signalled to the Dragon to lower the window, then asked
for his license. Without a word, he handed over the piece
of plastic.
'Could you step out of the vehicle, please, sir?'
The Dragon complied. The cop frisked him.
'Pop the trunk, please.'
The Dragon leaned into the car and pushed the button.
The trunk lock opened and the lid swung up. The cop walked
round and glanced into the empty compartment.
'Are you carrying a weapon, sir?' the cop asked and stared
straight into The Dragon's eyes.
The Dragon met his stare with just the right measure of
nervousness. 'Er . . . no, officer.'
The cop went to search the inside of the car. As he ducked
inside, he flicked a glance at the streams of traffic. 'What
the –' He took a step back and saw his colleague running
towards him, yelling into his radio as he went.
Passing the checkpoint, weaving between the cars, were
two elderly people on mountain bikes. Each of them had
signs attached to the backs of their saddles. One said '2
Wheels Good, 4 Wheels Bad', and the other 'Dump The Car
– Take The Bike'.
In a moment, both cops were on their motorcycles,
revving them up and pulling into the lines of traffic. The
Dragon was as stunned as the policemen, but he found it
much funnier. Beaming, he lowered himself into the Toyota
and nosed back into the traffic.
27
6.24 pm, Pacific Standard Time (Incident time minus
53 minutes)
Simon Gardiner was silent as he walked a pace ahead of his
parents. They reached the bottom of the stairs leading out
of the police station as the last rays of the setting sun broke
through the distant palms lining the freeway. They could see
the black silhouettes of cars and the haze of headlights.
'Your lack of smugness is irritating, son,' Marty said, half-seriously.
Nancy nudged her husband and gave him a withering
look.
'Oh, don't worry, Dad, I feel very smug. Let's just view my
callout fee as a down payment to cover putting me through
Law School.'
'I suppose it had to come in useful some day!' his father
retorted.
Simon led them to his Mercedes saloon.
'I'm pissed they won't let us have our bikes,' Marty
snapped. 'Really pissed.'
'Oh, come on, Pa! What did you expect?'
'It's an infringement of our civil liberties. Why didn't you
do something about it?'
'You forfeited your civil liberties when you decided to
take your protest onto the city's freeways,' Simon replied
tartly. 'You can have the bikes tomorrow. Now let's get home.
Maureen's making a blackberry pie, apparently.'
Marty and Nancy looked at each other. 'We're going on,'
Nancy Gardiner said.
Simon gave them both a frosty look. 'So what are you
going to do this time? Walk along the freeway?' He suddenly
felt furious. He loathed all this green nonsense. It was for
hippies and layabouts. Somehow, though, his parents – of
all people – had been corrupted by the 'pinkos' and troublemakers.
Marty was about to snap back when Nancy raised a hand
to stop him. 'It's not far, Simon. There'll be a bus on 6th
Avenue.'
'Oh, for Christ's sake! Why? Why are you being so, so . . .
pig-headed? What's gotten into you two?'
The elderly couple said nothing as their son glared at them,
pulled the keys from his pocket and pushed the remote to
unlock the car. 'Fine! Catch a freakin' bus. Have fun.' And
he spun on his heel.
Simon Gardiner sat in his car for several minutes, trying to
calm himself. His doc had told him not to get overexcited, to
watch his blood pressure. Ever since his parents had turned
up he'd done the exact opposite. He hit the steering wheel
and filled the air with expletives. After a moment, he felt a
little better for letting off steam. They had their hearts in
the
visiting Dexter Tate.
The car in front of him was waved over to the hard
shoulder by two motorcycle cops, and for a second the
Dragon thought he would be allowed to drive on. But
then he too was asked to pull over. A cop went to each
car. One of them stood by the door of the Toyota and
signalled to the Dragon to lower the window, then asked
for his license. Without a word, he handed over the piece
of plastic.
'Could you step out of the vehicle, please, sir?'
The Dragon complied. The cop frisked him.
'Pop the trunk, please.'
The Dragon leaned into the car and pushed the button.
The trunk lock opened and the lid swung up. The cop walked
round and glanced into the empty compartment.
'Are you carrying a weapon, sir?' the cop asked and stared
straight into The Dragon's eyes.
The Dragon met his stare with just the right measure of
nervousness. 'Er . . . no, officer.'
The cop went to search the inside of the car. As he ducked
inside, he flicked a glance at the streams of traffic. 'What
the –' He took a step back and saw his colleague running
towards him, yelling into his radio as he went.
Passing the checkpoint, weaving between the cars, were
two elderly people on mountain bikes. Each of them had
signs attached to the backs of their saddles. One said '2
Wheels Good, 4 Wheels Bad', and the other 'Dump The Car
– Take The Bike'.
In a moment, both cops were on their motorcycles,
revving them up and pulling into the lines of traffic. The
Dragon was as stunned as the policemen, but he found it
much funnier. Beaming, he lowered himself into the Toyota
and nosed back into the traffic.
27
6.24 pm, Pacific Standard Time (Incident time minus
53 minutes)
Simon Gardiner was silent as he walked a pace ahead of his
parents. They reached the bottom of the stairs leading out
of the police station as the last rays of the setting sun broke
through the distant palms lining the freeway. They could see
the black silhouettes of cars and the haze of headlights.
'Your lack of smugness is irritating, son,' Marty said, half-seriously.
Nancy nudged her husband and gave him a withering
look.
'Oh, don't worry, Dad, I feel very smug. Let's just view my
callout fee as a down payment to cover putting me through
Law School.'
'I suppose it had to come in useful some day!' his father
retorted.
Simon led them to his Mercedes saloon.
'I'm pissed they won't let us have our bikes,' Marty
snapped. 'Really pissed.'
'Oh, come on, Pa! What did you expect?'
'It's an infringement of our civil liberties. Why didn't you
do something about it?'
'You forfeited your civil liberties when you decided to
take your protest onto the city's freeways,' Simon replied
tartly. 'You can have the bikes tomorrow. Now let's get home.
Maureen's making a blackberry pie, apparently.'
Marty and Nancy looked at each other. 'We're going on,'
Nancy Gardiner said.
Simon gave them both a frosty look. 'So what are you
going to do this time? Walk along the freeway?' He suddenly
felt furious. He loathed all this green nonsense. It was for
hippies and layabouts. Somehow, though, his parents – of
all people – had been corrupted by the 'pinkos' and troublemakers.
Marty was about to snap back when Nancy raised a hand
to stop him. 'It's not far, Simon. There'll be a bus on 6th
Avenue.'
'Oh, for Christ's sake! Why? Why are you being so, so . . .
pig-headed? What's gotten into you two?'
The elderly couple said nothing as their son glared at them,
pulled the keys from his pocket and pushed the remote to
unlock the car. 'Fine! Catch a freakin' bus. Have fun.' And
he spun on his heel.
Simon Gardiner sat in his car for several minutes, trying to
calm himself. His doc had told him not to get overexcited, to
watch his blood pressure. Ever since his parents had turned
up he'd done the exact opposite. He hit the steering wheel
and filled the air with expletives. After a moment, he felt a
little better for letting off steam. They had their hearts in
the
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