Sendoff for a Snitch Read Online Free PDF Page A

handle the right way, squeezed it with my awkward fingers, and the door mechanism clicked. I shoved the door open with my knee and waited for further instructions.
    “Get out of the cab. Face away from my voice. Put your hands on your head and interlace your fingers.”
    Hard to do all at once. I eased off the seat, planted my feet on the ground, turned toward the truck, and put my hands on the back of my head, fingers interlaced.
    Then I braced myself for what I was afraid was coming.
    Sure enough, I was tackled and thrown to the ground face down. Since I’d been anticipating it, I was able to fall away from the truck and avoid crashing my head into the open door. But my nose and chin had hit the pavement pretty hard. And I bit my tongue.
    Someone slammed a knee down on my neck, and my legs were pinned to the ground. My hands were pulled roughly behind my back. I felt the familiar clamp of too-tight handcuffs on my wrists. I tried to relax my muscles and let them be manipulated, but they wouldn’t loosen up. Something warm and wet mingled with the damp gravel around my face. I stuck the tip of my tongue out and tasted it. Blood.
    Strong hands encased in plastic gloves hauled me to my feet. Someone frisked me, feeling my pockets, under my jacket, between my legs. All they found was my keychain. They already had my wallet.
    I blinked, trying to get the dirt out of my eyes. Everything was blurry.
    “Should we put him in a car?” someone asked.
    I couldn’t see well enough to know who was talking. Not that it mattered.
    “Here comes the sergeant,” someone else answered. “Let’s ask him what he wants to do.”
    I could feel my tongue, swollen and sticky from blood. I leaned my head forward so the blood would drip down my chin instead of filling my mouth. I knew how sick swallowing blood could make a person.
    My arms would have bruises where I was being held. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a new pair of boots approaching.
    “What do we have here?” the person attached to the boots asked.
    I kept my gaze on the ground and couldn’t see who was talking. “Stolen truck, Sarge. Driven by a felon on parole. He don’t have no license.”
    “When was it stolen?”
    No one answered.
    “You had to have run it. Does it come back stolen?” the sergeant asked.
    “Well, no.”
    “Okay. So maybe it’s stolen, maybe it’s not. Who’s it registered to?”
    “This lady, Gina Michaels. But she’s in Las Vegas.”
    “How do we know she’s in Las Vegas?”
    “Her son told us.”
    The sergeant sighed. “If this is her son, the truck’s probably not stolen. She might have told him he could drive it.”
    Cunningham pointed toward the patrol car where they’d put Benji. “No. Her son’s in the back of that car.”
    “Bring him over here.”
    Richards brought Benji over. He was sobbing.
    The sergeant looked at him in dismay. “A kid. Is he hurt?”
    “I don’t think so,” the woman said and turned to Benji. “Are you hurt?”
    “No,” he choked out between sobs.
    “Then why are you crying?” the sergeant asked.
    “I’m scared.”
    “Scared of what?”
    “That you’re gonna do something to me.”
    The sergeant looked at Richards. “Like what?”
    “Something to hurt me.”
    “Why would we want to do something to hurt you?”
    “I dunno.” His shoulders shook.
    The sergeant looked helplessly toward Richards. “Then why would you think that?” he asked.
    “Look at what you did to Jesse,” he said. “You hurt him. He’s bleeding.”
    The sergeant lifted his hat and ran his fingers through his hair. “This man—Jesse—we didn’t really mean to hurt him. Just restrain him. He’s a dangerous criminal.”
    Benji sobbed again. “He was helping me.”
    The light rain picked up, sweeping across the cracked asphalt.
    One of the other cops came up, something in his hands. “Here,” he said to Benji. “You want a teddy bear? I got some in my trunk. We give them to kids.”
    Turning my head, I