The Immigrants

A car, broken down at midnight, on the side of the highway? Well, that’s a great way to get robbed or worse. As I rode I examined the car and saw that it had a lisence plate and did not have any lights on top. Yes, yes…

“Andrei, I think we should stop and look at it.” I subtly felt for the handgun in my right pocket.

“You know what would happen if we get caught, Natalya.” He snickered as we pullled our beat-up SUV over.

It looked like an old muscle car, it was a miracle it even ran in the first place. The windows were darker than what the law allowed.

I felt for my gun again, then opened the door to get out.

That car’s driver-side door opened. A giant of a man with sunglasses rose out.

“Thank you for arriving. There was someone following behind us for miles when our car broke down. Thankfully they got lost, but they could be here any moment now.”

“Yes, I am surprised they are not already,” I said and gave out a low chuckle.

I thought I saw more people looking shadily out the windows of the other car.

“Well, would you like us to help take you home? We can tow your car as well,” said Andrei.

“Why don't you just call the police?” said the man.

“Police are not so good at that job,” said I.

“The police are the best at that. Just call them please.”

I touched my left fingers to my temple in concentration. If you watch a man close enough, you can tell exactly what goes through his head. Like a mathematical function on a plane can be entirely determined from three points, a person’s entire way of thinking can be determined from a couple words, a gesture, even a couple twitches of the eye. You just have to look hard enough, and people are completely open to you. I put my hand into my right pocket.

“Call police please,” I called out to Andrei.

The man let out a rumbling belly laugh.

“Well, good for you. We know now we can trust you,” he said with a bit of a sly smirk.

“Anyways, you think we don't know who you are?” said a man of lighter frame from the back of the car.

“We’re always one little step ahead of you,” I replied with a grin, “we’re just a couple of immigrants seeking shelter. Our house in Russia was destroyed by evil dictator Putin.”

“Yes, yes. In any case, it's its good you don't have sympathy with him.”

“Anyways,” in the blink of an eye I put my gun under his chin, although I was at such a close distance he wouldn’t have to have seen that I was holding anything rather than just patting him and I can tell he didn't, “we know who you are already. You think we are so easily deceived?”

One of the shadows out the back of the car gestured with both hands towards me.

“You don't stand a chance!” a voice came faintly but clearly out of the back of the car.

I pulled the trigger and he fell right over dead, blood pouring out from under his chin.

“Give it up already!” said the other man.

I felt with my thumb and forefinger for the left screw on my glasses. That was a button. I looked at the car and pressed it, and flashing lights emitted from the lenses towards them. They were in a trance.

“You incompetent Americans,” I said, “you will forget everything. Now you all follow us into back of our car.” All the agents came our and went in.

“We’ll have lots of questions for you all later,” I added, “but for now you are also Russian immigrants on the run. Forget what I said.” I let go and the flashing lights stopped.

“Now, Andrei, let us find a safehouse like the good little illegal immigrants we are. Preferably good one for these guys.”

“Yes, yes,” he said, and laughed lightly.

We drove on for miles until we reached the safehouse.

“Welcome,” said a tall and slender man in a suit as we arrived, “we very much appreciate the contributions of immigrants like you to our society.”

I looked through him quite hard. He was more than just safe.