Two Lanes No Alibis

Description

Two generations of American steel occupy the intersection as though the rest of the city has been temporarily dismissed. Burgundy paint, polished chrome, and gold-toned wheels give one machine the swagger of an earlier era; beside it, the orange muscle car answers with a hood scoop, broad stance, and four headlights burning through the rain. Water explodes from beneath the tires while exhaust and street mist erase everything immediately behind them.
The strangest witness hangs overhead. An enormous amber moon fills the opening between the buildings, turning the storm into a mixture of cold rain and warm reflected light. Every puddle catches pieces of headlights, storefronts, and moon glow until the pavement looks almost molten.
There are two lanes. Two cars. And absolutely nowhere left for an excuse.

For twenty-six years, Officer Dale Brannigan drove his burgundy car home from the night shift through the same intersection, stopping at the same light. For the last eleven of those years, the kid he once ticketed for doing sixty in a school zone has pulled up beside him in an orange muscle car, revved twice, and waited. Neither of them has ever moved first. Tonight is Brannigan's last shift. The moon is enormous, the street is soaked, and the light turns green. Both engines roar, both drivers grin, and neither car goes anywhere. Brannigan rolls down his window. "Coffee?" he shouts. The kid, now forty-three, says he's buying.