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Maureen said.
    The woman complied, letting her thin arms dangle at her sides. No tattoos, no track marks, Maureen noticed. Not much of anything but skin and bones.
    “Mr. Gage,” Maureen called out. “Anything in this truck I should know about? Anything I’d be interested in?”
    “How the fuck should I know what you’re interested in?” Gage replied. “Other than breaking balls.” He spat blood on the pavement. “You got no probable cause, anyways. I ain’t stupid.”
    Gage was brave and noncompliant, Maureen noted, as long as he was out of arm’s reach. He’d been the kind of kid, she figured, that taunted from the edge of the schoolyard, that taunted girls only when he was surrounded and protected by other boys.
    “Yeah, you are stupid,” Maureen said, moving to the front of the truck, where she spoke into Gage’s ear. “You stink like booze and weed. Your whole truck’s a goddamn moving violation. Scratch that, it’s a rolling fucking felony. And your escape strategy is to fuck with me? Maybe it’s time I call the canine unit? We can go that way, if you want.”
    “Typical fucking fascist New Orleans cop,” Gage said, a growl creeping into his voice. “You oughtta have a German shepherd to sic on people. It fits.”
    Maureen couldn’t tell what he hated about her more, that she was a cop or that she was a woman. But he hated her. She was cool with that.
    “This is what I get for doin’ you a favor,” Gage said, “for taking this sad drunk crazy lady home safe before she gets victimized.”
    Maureen circled around Gage’s back, leaning into his face. “So you were lying to me with that girlfriend bullshit. Why would you do that? How do you really know this woman?”
    Gage blew out his breath, as if Maureen’s bad attitude caused him physical pain. He settled his forehead on the hood of the truck. Maureen hoped he’d finally accepted that she wasn’t impressed with him, that she wasn’t going away, and that this situation wasn’t ending anytime soon. She hoped he’d realized that she was in charge.
    “The truth,” Maureen said, “is that you met this woman tonight, didn’t you? Does she know who you are? Does she know where you were taking her?” She paused. She felt her temper rising. “She doesn’t, does she? What’d you slip her? What’s she on?”
    “I ain’t telling you nothing,” Gage said into the hood of the truck. “Not another thing.”
    “So you’re saying I should arrest you both,” she said, “because that’s when the Miranda rights and the lawyers get involved.”
    “I refuse to recognize your authority over me,” Gage said. “You are the agent of an illegitimate and hostile government and I refuse to recognize your false authority. Fuck you and fuck lawyers.”
    “The war’s over, motherfucker,” Maureen said, shaking her head. “Your side lost.” She pulled out her cuffs. “Here’s my authority right here.” She’d see how serious Gage was. She bent one arm behind his back, waiting for him to resist, hoping deep inside that he would, because he had the cruel stink of a bully on him and she wanted to do him real damage. If he fought, she’d have her excuse. But he didn’t fight her; he let her cuff him. She was disappointed. And relieved. She knew she’d pushed things about as far as she could.
    “Stay where you are, you little rebel, you.”
    Starting on the driver’s side, she searched the inside of the pickup’s cab. Right there in the console sat confirmation of her candy cocktail theory. Two tall green paper cups from Pat O’Brien’s in the Quarter, but instead of bright red hurricane, the cups were half full of purple drank, a potent and debilitating mix of codeine crushed up in cough syrup. Two counts of open container in a vehicle, at least, right there, along with possession. Continuing her search, she found old food wrappers, soda cans, and empty cigarette packs. Cigarette butts. An ancient pack of Zig-Zag rolling papers and a