The old silver sedan was doing fifty-three miles an hour when the blue lights appeared.
The speed limit was fifty-five.
The Old Man knew that because he had noticed the sign less than a mile earlier.
He noticed most things.
That habit had kept him alive when he was younger.
Age had slowed his body.
It had not slowed the part of him that watched.
The flashing lights filled his rearview mirror.
He frowned.
Then checked the shoulder.
Wide enough.
Flat.
Safe.
He switched on his turn signal and eased the sedan off the highway.
No sudden braking.
No argument.
No irritation yet.
The car stopped beside dry summer grass.
The Old Man shifted into park.
Turned off the engine.
Lowered the driver’s window.
Then placed both hands visibly on the steering wheel.
The morning was already hot.
Heat shimmered above the asphalt.
Telephone poles ran beside the road toward a distant horizon.
Far behind him, several large vehicles were moving in the same direction.
He glanced once in the mirror.
Then stopped thinking about them.
A patrol cruiser parked behind him at an angle.
Driver door opened.
The Police Officer stepped out.
Early forties.
Large frame.
Dark uniform.
Sunglasses.
One hand resting near his belt as he approached.
The Old Man waited.
The Officer stopped beside the window.
“License and registration.”
The Old Man looked up.
“Good morning.”
The Officer did not answer the greeting.
“License and registration.”
The Old Man nodded.
“My wallet is inside my jacket.”
The Officer stared.
“Then get it.”
The Old Man slowly reached toward the inside pocket.
“Stop.”
His hand froze.
The Officer leaned slightly closer.
“I said license.”
“You also told me to stop.”
The Officer’s jaw tightened.
The Old Man kept both hands visible.
“Which one would you prefer?”
For half a second, nothing happened.
Then the Officer said:
“Use your right hand.”
The Old Man did.
Very slowly.
He removed his wallet.
Pulled out a driver’s license.
Handed it over.
The Officer looked at it.
Then at him.
Then back at it.
“Registration.”
“Glove compartment.”
“Get it.”
The Old Man reached toward the passenger side.
“Slowly.”
The Old Man paused.
Looked at the Officer.
Then continued.
He removed the registration.
Handed that over too.
The Officer studied both documents.
“You know why I stopped you?”
“No.”
“Failure to yield.”
The Old Man looked toward the road.
“To whom?”
The Officer’s expression changed immediately.
Not dramatically.
Just enough.
“To an emergency vehicle.”
The Old Man thought.
“I saw no emergency vehicle.”
The Officer pointed backward.
“My cruiser.”