The Pink Car Cop

The BMW driver who'd rammed me to a stop rapped on my window, grinning with way too much excitement. "Can you even drive?! Woman.

Driver!" A few minutes earlier, he'd been tailing my pink car down the road. Every time I tried to pull forward, he honked.

Every time I tried to change lanes, he sped up and boxed me in. In the end, he just rammed me and forced me over to the side of the road. I didn't trade insults with him.

I pulled my jacket open and showed him the navyblue police uniform underneath. "Perfect timing. We're right outside where I work." "Enjoy your onesecond police response, Man.

Driver!" Chapter 1 The earlymorning sun streamed through the windshield, gilding the steering wheel in warm gold.

Humming a song, I steered my little cherryblossompink car into the morning rushhour traffic.

This car was the first big gift I'd bought myself, with money I'd saved after I started working. I'd picked the color myself—bright and soft.

Every time I saw it, my mood lifted a little. My coworkers always joked that the car was way too offbrand for my job. Not very "badgeass" at all.

But I figured, who said a cop couldn't be a little girly? As it happened, I was on desk duty today, not out in the field.

That meant I could throw on a casual jacket for the drive and enjoy a little breather. But all of that ended the moment I got on the road.

In my rearview mirror, a black BMW muscled past the car beside it and pulled right up on my tail. At first I didn't think much of it. It was rush hour.

Cars following a little close was normal. But soon, without any warning, a shrill horn went off. One blast after another, frantic. That sound wrecked my good mood in an instant.

Was I going too slow? I glanced at the speedometer on reflex: 45 miles per hour. That wasn't slow, let alone crawling.

I was in the farright lane, driving by the book, not hogging the fast lane. Maybe he had some kind of emergency. With that thought, I ignored his honking.

Nothing in the traffic laws said the car in front had to move over just because the car behind it honked. A few seconds later, the BMW's honking came faster and angrier.

My brows drew together. Any other day, I would've already— I took a deep breath and swallowed the "What the hell is wrong with you?" that had shot right up to my lips. I was a cop.

I couldn't lower myself to squabbling with a civilian. I decided to move over to the middle lane and let him pass. No point asking for more trouble.

I flicked on my left turn signal, checked that I had enough room, and got ready to merge.

But the instant I nudged the wheel and the nose of my car edged out, the BMW's engine roared and it shot forward.

It came up with a whoosh, missing my car by a hair, and planted itself squarely in the gap I needed. My heart jumped. I hit the brakes on instinct and straightened the wheel.

The BMW pulled level with me, its window halfway down. A man turned his head toward me and slid off his sunglasses, revealing a flippant, arrogant face.

He flipped me off, his mouth splitting into a grin full of malice. I frowned. A hot rush of anger shot up from somewhere deep inside me. This wasn't someone who was just in a hurry.

This was blatant provocation. I took a deep breath and told myself to stay calm. Molly, you're a cop. Cops don't pick fights with people on the road.

Chapter 2 If somebody caught it on video, it would look bad. If I just gritted my teeth, it would pass. I chose to back down.

I eased off the gas and let my speed drop, planning to let him go ahead. But he wasn't having it. He slowed down too, keeping pace right beside me the whole time.

Broken snatches of cursing drifted out of his window. "Driving a pink coffin—what, you headed to a funeral?" "Women drivers are fcking idiots.

Go home and raise your kids!" "You buy your license or something?

Do you even know how to drive?" My temper kept rising, and my hands tightened on the wheel without my meaning them to.

All I could do was force myself to look away, stop looking at him, and focus on the road ahead. At the intersection ahead, the light turned red.

I was about to ease to a smooth stop when the BMW suddenly yanked its wheel, swung over the solid line, and cut right in front of me, stopping just short.

His rear bumper was only a few inches from my front end. It was an extremely dangerous move—and an extremely rude one. The light turned green.

But the BMW in front of me sat there motionless, like it had fallen asleep.

I eased off the brake, ready to go. "Beepbeepbeep—" The cars behind me had already started honking impatiently.

The honks rose one after another, and all that pressure came surging toward my pink car like a tide. I had no choice but to give my own horn a tap. One short beep, as a reminder.

Just as my finger left the horn and my foot was about to touch the gas, the BMW's brake lights flared, then went dark again. Then it crept forward at a snail's pace.

The moment I put my foot on the gas, it slammed on its brakes again. "Screech—" I reacted fast and stomped on the brake.

My car pitched forward, and the seatbelt bit hard into my shoulder. My heart nearly skipped a beat. I'd come that close—that incredibly close—to rearending him.

The honking behind me got louder. Someone even rolled down their window and started cursing. "Hey, pink car, what the hell's wrong with you?! Motherfcker!

I almost rearended you!" "Is your whole family dead or something, letting you drive like that?" I'd become everyone's target, as if I'd caused all this chaos.

Meanwhile, the BMW that had started it all floored it and roared off. Anger churned in my chest. I realized this wasn't some random road rage anymore.

This guy was doing it on purpose! He had open contempt for pink cars, and he'd pegged me as someone he could push around however he liked.

I forced my feelings down and made a quick decision. I couldn't stay on this road anymore, or he'd only get worse.

At the next intersection, I put on my right blinker and turned onto a fairly quiet frontage road. I thought that would shake him. I was wrong.

The black BMW came after me again, like a ghost. On the nearly empty frontage road, he got even more reckless.

He started weaving back and forth in an Spattern, swinging left and right in front of me like a snake, deliberately blocking my way.

Every time he swerved in front of me, he slowed down sharply right after. Over and over, I was forced to slam on the brakes. My tires shrieked against the pavement.

Once, dodging a sudden cut across my path, I jerked the wheel hard. My car slid past the overpass guardrail, nearly scraping it, and I broke out in a cold sweat.

This had gone way beyond "cutting someone off." This was dangerous driving. Chapter 3 If there was an accident, the consequences would be unthinkable.

I stopped seeing him as just some guy with road rage. Instead, I saw him as a dangerous individual—a potential threat to public safety!

City Police Headquarters was getting closer and closer. There was just one intersection left. I figured he'd back off a little.

After all, the very symbol of the law was right up ahead. But I'd clearly underestimated his arrogance and his stupidity.

Maybe it was because he'd watched me keep holding back without ever reacting, and that made him think I was a pushover he could squeeze however he wanted.

His performance hit its peak right before the finish line.

I was on the last straight stretch before turning left through the gate at work when he spotted a brief gap in the oncoming lane.

He whipped his wheel hard to the left, not even bothering with his turn signal. The black BMW sliced brazenly across in front of me like a blade drawn from its sheath.

My eyes went wide, and I stomped the brake to the floor on instinct. But it was too late. "BANG!" A dull thud. The heavy crunch of impact.

The rear of his car slammed, precisely and deliberately, into my front left corner. My little car was shoved to the right, and I was forced to a stop at the side of the road.

For a second, the world seemed to go silent. Then I saw the BMW's door open. A young man in sunglasses stepped out, looking very pleased with himself.

He was a little over six feet tall, dressed head to toe in designer streetwear. A flashy gold watch on his wrist glinted in the sun.

He swaggered straight toward me, cocky and careless, a sneer on his face. He came up to my window, bent down, and rapped his knuckles hard against the glass. "Thunk! Thunk!

Thunk!" "Can you even drive?!" His voice came through the window in an exaggerated drawl. "Woman. Driver!" He dragged out "woman driver" on purpose.

The contempt and prejudice in his voice were practically spilling over. When I just sat in the car without reacting, he apparently decided he wasn't having enough fun yet.

He pulled out his phone, opened the camera, and pointed it at my car and me. "Hey, everybody, come look! Come see this!

A textbook road menace!" "Drives a pink piece of junk and thinks she can hit the road—now she's too scared to get out, huh?

Hits my car and wants to hide in her shell like a turtle?" His voice was loud, and it immediately drew the attention of people passing by. It was rush hour, with people everywhere.

A crowd soon gathered, pointing at my car.

Some of them didn't know what had really happened, and when they heard him twisting the facts, they started looking at me with a hint of blame. "Look at the color of that car.

Gotta be a woman driving, right?" "Women drivers are useless! Drives like garbage!" "BMW repairs aren't cheap.

She's gonna be paying for this one!" I sat in the driver's seat, calmly watching the clown hopping around outside my window. I almost wanted to laugh.

Get behind the wheel of a pink car and you turn into a road magnet—every car on the street gets pulled right toward you. Traffic laws, forget them. Safety, who cares.

The guy in front of me was insanely pleased with himself, as though he were justice incarnate, passing judgment on some monstrous criminal. I slowly drew in a long, deep breath.

It pressed down the anger churning in my chest. Then I unbuckled my seatbelt and calmly pushed my door open. "Click." With that soft sound, I stepped out.

Chapter 4 I wasn't tall—fivefive. In my casual athletic jacket, standing in front of his big frame, I looked kind of petite.

When he saw me get out, he got even more fired up, shoving his phone practically into my face. "Oh, finally decided to come out?" "What are you looking at me like that for?

What, you wanna fight?" "Let me tell you something, every inch of me is worth a fortune. Go ahead, touch me! I'll make you pay till you're broke!" His spit nearly flew into my face.

The chatter around us grew louder. I ignored his yelling, and I didn't look at the people around us either.

My gaze went past his shoulder, toward a stately building not far off, the Stars and Stripes flying out front. Then I raised my hand—not to push him. Not to grab his phone.

Instead, I unhurriedly unzipped my gray athletic jacket. The zipper slid all the way down with a zzzip, revealing the navyblue police uniform shirt underneath.

A silver nameplate and a gold shield sat quietly on my chest. And the city police department patch on my shoulder. All of it plain for everyone to see