The police officer glanced around again, pulled his sunglasses down his nose, and slid out the car. He adjusted his cap and pushed his glasses up with his finger, tossed his Playboy magazine on the seat of his cruiser and walked in my direction. "Hey slick!" he yelled.
I turned around to face the tall, imposing, ruddy-faced man with what appeared to be burn scars covering the left side of his face—striding toward me. Several cars on the narrow street slowed to a stop.
“Me?" I asked, touching my chest—backing away.
"Yeah, I'm talking to you. You stay here?"
"Yeah, I do."
He paused a moment as if he didn't like my answer, or the way I addressed him. He wrinkled his brow, placed his hand on his gun, and asked, "what's your name…