“Fill ’er up?” said the attendant, lifting the hose.

Rakkim pressed his credit chip against the pump, heard it chirp. “Thanks.”

“Come from Mount Carmel?”

Rakkim nodded, watching the cruiser over the man’s shoulder. peters was stitched above his left breast pocket, sergeant’s stripes on each arm. A combat infantryman badge was his only decoration. The only one needed. “Where did you serve, Sergeant?”

“Where didn’t I serve?” The attendant still had the military posture, shoulders back, stomach in. A little stooped, but clean-shaven, his gray hair buzzed. Probably still did a hundred push-ups a day. “How about you, boy? You look like you seen some action.”

“Did four years in the Kentucky National Guard, but it was just mostly smoking cigarettes and watching the border. Never even saw a towelie the whole time.”

“I don’t much like that term,” said Peters. “Insults the Muslims and insults the men who died fighting them.”

“I apologize, Sergeant.”

Peters nodded. “No harm done.” He checked out Rakkim’s car. “Nice machine. Old but solid. Might run a little rough for a few miles, but she’ll adjust.”

“I know. Worth it, though, isn’t it?”

“Damn right,” said Peters, jaw jutting. “Some folks and their fancy new cars won’t run anything but gasoline, no matter where it come from or what it cost. I ain’t talking just money, either. If we had grown cane a hundred years ago, we might still have the country. The whole country.”

“Amen,” said Rakkim.

Peters grinned. “What did you think of Mount Carmel?”

“Impressive…not sure how accurate the reenactment was, but-”

“Accurate? I saw it on the TV with my own damn eyes,” snapped Peters. “I was just seven years old, but I knowed there was going to be a reckoning.” He shook his head, disgusted. “It’s in the history books. Don’t they teach you Kentucky boys anything?”

“Well, sir, I wasn’t much for school,” said Rakkim, still watching the Rangers’ cruiser.

“Well, here’s your lesson for the day, youngblood,” said Peters, replacing the hose nozzle onto the pump. “While Muslims were attacking our embassies all over the world, the U.S. government was busy gassing kids in Texas, shooting a nursing woman in the mountains of Idaho, and taking a little Cuban boy at gunpoint and sending him back to practically the last commie on earth. Didn’t need a weatherman to tell which way the wind was blowing.” He banged the gas cap back into place. “I talk too much sometimes.”

“No, sir, you don’t.”

Peters opened the door to the car, waited for Rakkim to get behind the wheel. He nodded at Leo, but his eyes never left Rakkim. “That overpass up ahead, you can’t see them from here, but there’s two Rangers holed up underneath there like a couple of hairy spiders. You be careful. Don’t give them any excuse to pull you over.”

“I’ll be careful, Sarge.” Rakkim pulled out of the station, driving slowly at first, then gunned it past the overpass.

“What are you doing?” shouted Leo.

Rakkim checked the rearview. Saw the cruiser pull out from the overpass, headlights on. The cruiser followed, but kept a distance. The Rangers must be waiting until Rakkim and Leo were near their special spot. Someplace private, where no one would interrupt their fun.

Leo kept glancing behind them as Rakkim continued to accelerate.

A few miles later, Highway 27 narrowed from four lanes to two, the trees thicker as the road paralleled a river. Oncoming traffic continued to thin out at this late hour.

The cruiser’s light bar flashed blue-blue-blue behind them, the Rangers coming up fast.

“What do we do?” said Leo, his face bathed in blue light reflected off the windshield.

“We obey the law,” said Rakkim, looking for the right spot to pull over. The right spot for the Rangers. They would know the terrain, the perfect place. There it was…a gap between the trees, only briefly visible from passing vehicles. Rakkim slowed.

“Please don’t do anything stupid,” said Leo. “Anything else.”

Rakkim eased into the clearing, tires crunching up dry branches. “Whatever happens, don’t react. Stay thick as a brick.” He got out of the car, keeping his hands in plain sight as the cruiser came to a stop, headlights pinning him. Rakkim waved, looking sheepish. Leo got out, stood by the side of the car, staring at the ground.

The Rangers killed the headlights, left the blue flasher blinking. They took their time getting out, enjoying the moment, the same black and white team that he had seen at Mount Carmel. They were even bigger close up, hitching up their gear, meaty, wide-shouldered hombres who looked like they wrestled steers when they weren’t molesting tourists. Big men, big smiles, their teeth flat and white, almost fluorescent in the blue light as they ambled closer, flanking Rakkim.

They might have been wholesome once, dedicated lawmen risking their lives to keep the peace, but that was a long time ago, and missing a few paychecks didn’t have anything to do with it. It was power that had rotted them out, too many years of people paying deference to the badge, lowering their eyes, taking care not to let their shadow fall on them. Every brave man needed a mean streak, a willingness to mix it up, a slight sadism to make the wolves slink away. The Rangers’ mean streak had grown year by year, fed by the fear of the citizens who depended on them, fed by the excuses good people made for them. The Rangers were bad clean through now, more dangerous than any other predator loose among the sheep.

“Problem, Officers?” said Rakkim. “I know I was speeding-” He saw it coming, saw it in the white Ranger’s eyes before the man reached for the shock stick on his belt. Rakkim relaxed, pretended surprise as the stick jabbed him in the chest. He didn’t have to fake his cry of pain as he was jolted backward, thrown against the car. Ears ringing, he slid down the front fender of the car, lay crumpled against the wheel well.

Leo didn’t move. Just stood there with his head bowed, mumbling softly to himself. Rakkim was impressed. The kid remembered what he had been taught. Kept his cool.

“You think the speed limit doesn’t apply to you, sir?” said the white Ranger, looking down at Rakkim. “You think you’re some special case?”

“No…no,” said Rakkim, tasting blood where he had bitten the inside of his cheek. The tips of the Ranger’s boots were so shiny that Rakkim could see the stars reflected in them. “Sorry…I’m sorry.”

“A sorry son of a bitch is exactly what you are,” said the Ranger. “What’s the other one’s story, Daryl?”

The black Ranger jerked Leo’s Ident collar, pulled him close.

Leo mumbled louder but didn’t raise his head.

“Some kind of indentured idiot,” said the black Ranger, reading the collar. He released Leo. “Got a three-year tag.”

Rakkim pushed his way up against the side of the car, got unsteadily to his feet. He smelled burned electricity when he breathed through his nose. “I…I didn’t know-”

“Ignorance of the law is no excuse, sir,” said the white Ranger.

“In fact, sir, we count on that,” said the black Ranger.

Rakkim listened to them laugh.

“Three-year term of service,” said the white Ranger. “Seems to me we could use us an idiot for the scut work around the barracks.” He twirled the shock stick, eyeing Rakkim. “You might be able to get yourself out of trouble by signing the idiot over.”

“He…he’s already bought and paid for, Officer,” stammered Rakkim. “There’s a farmer in Greensboro counting on him for this year’s harvest.”

The black Ranger felt Leo’s arms, and Leo giggled. Rakkim was more impressed with Leo than ever. The black Ranger sidled over to Rakkim. “Boy hasn’t got any muscle to him at all. He’s not right for fieldwork. Seems to me, sir, you might have cheated that poor farmer in Greensboro.”

“Is that what you did, sir?” said the white Ranger. “You cheat that farmer? You promise him a good strong back and instead plan to deliver this tub a guts?”