80
igned hope. "Got any spare change?" the tramp asked.
Lee turned to the cop. "I wasn’t speeding, was I?"
The cop pointed at the Scrambler. "Put your hands on the hood, and spread ‘em."
Lee turned towards his vehicle and placed his palms on the wheel arch. "Are you going to tell me what this is about?"
And then there was an electric crack! that Lee felt rather than heard, as a million shocking needles lanced through his nervous system. His body went rigid for an instant, then completely limp. After that, he lost track of everything except for how hard the Scrambler was when he hit it.
Lee still couldn’t move as the cop hoisted him up against the hood, but he felt his wrists being pinioned behind his back, and the slurping sensation of something cold and sticky being sprayed on them. From the other side of the vehicle, the tramp caught his eye again. The old man shook his head mournfully and looked away.
"That’s a tangler I just cuffed you with, boy," the cop said, "which means you better take it easy. Take your hands clean off, if you fight it."
Lee’s motor control returned, slowly and shakily. "There’s got to be some mistake, officer. If you’ll just tell me what this is about—"
"Don’t talk to me, you little shit." The cop pistoned a fist into Lee’s kidney, making the breath whistle from his lungs and the tangler tighten ominously around his wrists. "Just do what I tell you and keep your fucking mouth shut, you hear me?"
Before Lee could answer, the cop took him by the scruff of the neck and slammed him against the Scrambler again, hard. Lee’s face connected with metal and he saw crimson droplets spattering the paintwork.
"I said, do you understand, boy?"
Lee tried to tell him that he did, but all he seemed able to say was "mmmph."
"You better speak up, boy." The cop’s voice was vicious. "Am I going to get any more trouble out of you?"
Lee shook his head.