The cop pulls behind our rental car and hits the lights. It’s Friday afternoon, we’re barely moving on a crowded Connecticut Avenue, and Five-Oh decides to pull us over. Ten minutes inside DC, I haven’t even checked into my hotel yet, much less hit BEA and cops are involved.
This isn’t a good omen.
He follows us for a block until we ease over to the curb. Two additional police cars, sirens blazing, approach us from the opposite lane. I look down to turn off the radio and hear the cop’s voice. In the rear view mirror, I see he’s got a guy in a T-shirt bent over the hood, putting the cuffs on him. No foot chases, no helicopters, no John Walsh, no bad boys theme music. All the other cops converge on the surrendered man and no one says a word to us.
We guess we’re okay, no outstanding warrants that I’m aware of, and slowly drive off.
Welcome to DC.