Parker and I are driving along Sunset with two girls. One of them is in the passenger seat next to Parker, and the other is in the backseat with me. We pass around a bottle of whiskey. Each of us takes a couple of swigs before passing it on. Also in the rotation is a bag of coke. The girl with me in the backseat offers to let me use her keys to dig it out.
“Put it all away,” Parker says, urgently.
I look up as the traffic slows. I notice the flash of red and blue lights ahead.
“It’s a checkpoint,” Parker says.
My girl has the whiskey in her hand. I have the bag of coke. I grab the bottle from her and hide it under the seat. I put the bag in my shoe. Parker’s girl in the front seat turns down the music. My girl straightens her posture.
“Turn the fucking music back up,” Parker says. “Everyone act normal. Don’t act guilty.”
She turns the music up. We bob our heads and fake laughter. I realize I’ve done too much cocaine. I begin repeatedly swallowing to prevent myself from gagging. Parker’s car inches forward in a long line of cars. I fear that I’ll ruin it all by gagging and vomiting in front of an officer. Four cars are in front of us. Then three. My throat closes around the back of my tongue. I start to gag. Two cars are in front of us. I reach down under the seat. I unscrew the bottle of whiskey and take a gulp. I hold some in my mouth so I can wet my throat again if I need to. One car in front of us. I put the bottle down under the seat as we pull up to an officer.
“How we doing tonight,” the officer says.
“Just fine, Officer,” Parker says.
“Where are we coming from?”
“Dinner with these beautiful girls,” Parker says.
“Anything to drink tonight,” the officer asks.
“Some wine with dinner,” Parker says.
Another officer approaches my back window with a flashlight. I swallow the rest of the whiskey in my mouth. He points his flashlight into my eyes, forcing me to squint. Then he moves the light down about my feet. My eyes nervously trace the path of his light. When I look up, the officer is looking directly at me. I hold my gaze on his until he turns around and walks toward another car.
“Carry on,” the officer at Parker’s window says.
At a safe distance away, Parker cheers and leans over to kiss his girl. Both of us in the backseat laugh at Parker who begins to lick his girl’s face in his exaltation.
“Jake Reed, hand me that fucking bottle of whiskey,” he says.
“Coming right up,” I say.
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