Officer Daniel Reyes had stopped expecting typical days.
He had been summoned to domestic confrontations that ended in tears, desperate break-ins, and wrecks that haunted his nightmares throughout his twelve years on the police. His cruiser was outrun by a hearse, and the horrors within it surprised him.
As usual, his shift started with the gentle static of his radio, the buzz of his tires on Highway 7, and the midafternoon stillness.
A black steel flash followed.
On the dry plains, a hearse sped by his police vehicle. Daniel blinking, double-checked his speedometer—120 km/h. In a hearse? There were no sirens or funeral procession, just the deep growl of an engine attempting to flee something.
Hit the lights.
“Unit 45 to dispatch,” Daniel radioed. “Pursuing unmarked black hearse on eastbound Highway 7 at high speed. Uncooperative suspect. Starting pursuit.”
Though brief, the pursuit was stressful. The hearse recklessly crossed the shoulder, brushing the railing and leaving a dusty smoke trail. Crashing seemed imminent.
Then it stopped abruptly.
A guy in a wrinkled black suit emerged from the creaky entrance, perspiration droplets on his forehead despite the cold day. His smile was too big and cold.
His voice was scratchy and pitched: “Afternoon, officer!” Sorry about the speed. Tragically late for a funeral. “My family is waiting.”
Daniel focused. “Who are you carrying?”
The guy blinks. A woman—no, a guy. Sorry. My niece. My niece died. Terrible loss. I’m simply stressed.”
“You just said ‘a man’.”
“Did I? Slip of the tongue. You know grief? It disrupts your mind.”
Daniel didn’t respond. He turned and pointed behind the hearse.
”Open it.”
His hands shook. “Officer, I don’t think—”
“Now.”
The guy reluctantly opened the back hatch. A beautiful wood casket with elegant silver handles shone in the scorching light. In perfect condition. Too clean.
“Open the coffin,” Daniel urged.
Sir, please—
“Now.”
He lost his will. He opened the lid grunting and shivering.
Daniel was surprised at the corpse. But what he saw surprised him too.
The empty coffin was packed with rows of black plastic canisters neatly piled and wrapped like underworld presents. Bitter, caustic chemicals stung the nose in the air.
The flowers were gone. No shroud. No one died.
Just drugs. Numerous.
Daniel had his radio in hand.
This is Unit 45, dispatch. Detained suspect. Requesting backup now. Possible drug trafficking—major load.”
Stuttering about misconceptions and family, he protested. Daniel stopped listening. The man’s wrists were cuffed cold and tight.
You’re arrested. Any statement you make may be used against you, therefore I advocate silence.”
Sirens wailed like ghosts over the plains, bringing backup within minutes. Officers broke open methamphetamine, pressed pill, and synthetic opioid packets. Enough to poison a city.
Daniel stood with his arms crossed beside the casket as the sun set, coloring the sky orange and blood-red. One detective shook his head.
“Transporting narcotics in a hearse,” he grumbled. “Perfect cover. No one wants a coffin checked.”
“Until today,” Daniel whispered.
The driver turned out to be a global cartel courier. Two times, coffins filled with contraband crossed state boundaries without a second look using the funeral masquerade. Not this time.
Not with Daniel patrolling.
Daniel alone in his flat saw the city lights flicker through his window later that night. He slumped down in the recliner facing the black skyline after pouring himself a glass of water.
He contemplated the driver’s anxious smile.
He imagined the lives lost if that package had arrived.
He considered a different casket almost unconsciously. He stood alongside years ago. His sis’. He was poisoned by the same substance in that shiny highway box.
Daniel breathed gently and cried—not because he was broken, but because he had saved someone else’s narrative.
That may have been enough to continue.
