21
an excerpt

The cop followed the car into the glare of the fuel station lights after they pulled of the highway for the minor infraction; a tail light was out.
He narrowed his brow as he noticed the frantic gesturing of the two in the front seat after they had parked. He radioed in and exited his vehicle, walked past the back seat – great, he noted, two kids, he hated that extra element. Kids could be unpredictable, especially this late as night, and possibly angry parents more so. And a cranky child past its bedtime was not what he liked best to deal with on a stop.
The driver had rolled down his window – about 30, African-American, professionally dressed, glasses, and, he realized in the glare, scarred. Running down the side of his face from the red cap that covered his skull, scars all over the left side of his face. Maintaining composure – he’d seen worse, though it was a surprise – the officer looked deeper into the car. The passenger seat was occupied by a woman – white, same age as the man, and – his eyes flickered – both wearing wedding rings. Presumably each others. She sat demurely, but as she caught his eyes, her confidence and fire shown through. It was obvious she knew what she was doing in life, and if he did something she didn’t approve of she’d be down his throat in an instant.
The back seat held two kids – the boy about ten, the girl two or three years younger, skin tones gently between that of the adults, coffee mixed with cream. Mulatto. They were motioning furiously – was that sign language? It must be, he decided, and reassessed his decision in college to take French for probably the 50th time.