Wallet

"Okay," the voice outside the lights said. "Put the white boy in the car and bring his nigger friend over here."

Wake up, thought Harley, you're having another bad one. I didn't hear that. This is 1991. His diaphragm was struggling to fill his deflated lungs. He was full of adrenaline, suddenly full of clarity. One of the cops who'd hit him bent down to get him on his feet and Harley managed a few words in his ear.

"My wallet, dickhead." The cop wrenched Harley's arms behind his back and slapped on a pair of handcuffs. He reached into Harley's bomber jacket and drew out his billfold.

"What's he say?" the second cop wanted to know

"Oh shit," the first one told him.