Asking For It

HE PULLED HIS LICENSE FROM HIS WALLET, uncovering an expired military i.d. card.

"Don't think that'll get you out of anything, son." the officer said. "I'm in the Army Reserves."

"I'm not, officer, it's just there."

"Mmm-hmm."

The officer leaned down and grabbed the license. Sweat ran down the razor bumps on the sides of his head.

"This isn't New Jersey, son. We do things different down here."

"I grew up here."

"I didn't ask you that."

Cato slumped in his seat, holding his cigarette under his right leg.

"Where are you headed?"

Cato sat up straight, the lit butt burning the ends of his fingers.

"I'm sorry, why?"

The officer clipped Cato's license to a metal clipboard. His eyes darted across the license briefly.

"Where are you headed?"

"Home, I guess, why? What'd I do?" Cato dropped the cigarette on the floor and stamped it out.

"You live down this street?" The officer put his hand on top of the car and leaned further in.

"Yeah."

"That's not what your license says. You know I can give you a ticket for that right? And you have thirty days to change those license plates once you move. Looks like you've lived here a couple years."

Cato sighed and grabbed the steering wheel. "No, I didn't know those things."

"I can cite you for expired tag, improper address, and failure to change your plates."

"Ok, well, I was in the service, I've moved a lot."

"I'm in the Reserves, I know all the tricks."

The officer smiled and squinted his eyes. He clicked his pen twice and then walked around Cato's car. Cato lit another menthol cigarette and brushed the sweat from his forehead.

"Put out the cigarette," came the voice from behind the car.

"Jesus fucking Christ."

Cato tapped his thumb on the steering wheel and added up the tickets in his head. A year ago, Cato had been in combat. Riding around in open top humvees, hunting down Syrians in a bombed out wasteland.

Now,

"This shithead." Son? I'm at least five years older than that prick.

The gas station across the street advertised 2.99 cigarettes. Cato looked at his dwindling pack and put his hand on it, pressing it down into the seat, covering it completely.