As instructed, he took the Speer Boulevard exit and drove over a wide overpass into the heart of downtown Denver. The Ball Arena where the Nuggets played, as well as a darkened amusement park, were to his right as he descended. In the distance was the undulating profile of Empower Field at Mile High Stadium, home of the Denver Broncos.
Tall buildings seemed to move in on him from both sides and press against him as he cruised. It was a canyon of brick, glass, and steel. He was reminded of how long it had been since he’d been in a city—any city—of any size. The Denver metro population was 2.9 million people and growing, nearly five times the entire population of the state of Wyoming.
Hundreds of windows from the floors of hip condos provided snapshots into the lives of the people inside. They flashed by too quickly for him to see any of the tenants in detail, although he got the impression by the glow in the windows that most of the people were simply watching television. The buildings stood where a ramshackle warehouse district had once been, he recalled.
He’d looked up Corona Street on his phone, but he was confused by the blizzard of one-way streets and restricted turning lanes as he neared the glass-and-steel Colorado Convention Center. The wet blacktop reflected overhead lights and business signs and when he looked ahead he saw pedestrians crossing quickly without waiting for green light permissions to do so. The pedestrians looked odd to him. They were furtive in movement and bundled up for much harsher weather than it was tonight. Plus, they were out late. He wondered if a sporting event had just concluded. Denver wasn’t known as a city that never slept—but perhaps that had changed, too.
Two blocks in front of him on Speer, he saw a fountain of sparks shoot up from the pavement. In the yellow light of the display, he could see more people knotted together in the middle of the street. They, too, were misshapen due to heavy clothing. Fireworks in November? he thought.
Nate hit his brakes when he saw movement through his wet-streaked passenger window just outside his van, and he narrowly missed running into a black-clad man wearing a balaclava and carrying an oversized skateboard. The man whom he’d nearly hit saw Nate at the last second as well and he turned in anger and slammed the skateboard down onto the hood of the vehicle, then darted across the street before Nate could react.
From the direction in which the man had come, a cop in heavy body armor appeared and gestured for Nate to stop. Nate did, and powered the passenger-side window down as the officer approached his vehicle. Nate saw the cop veer to check out his license plate, then he filled the open window and leaned inside. Nate caught a whiff of pepper spray from the cop’s uniform.
“You nearly hit that asshole,” the cop said. “You need to turn your car around and go back where you came from, you hear me? This is not the place for a cowboy from Wyoming.”
“What’s going on, anyway?” Nate said, bristling at the officer’s tone.
“If you can’t tell, we’re having a little disturbance tonight. Now, I need you to turn around and go back.”
The cop, who wore a helmet and a clear plastic face shield, looked not only agitated but aggressive, Nate thought. He could see the man’s wide eyes, flushed face, and bristly ginger mustache through the breath-fog of the plexiglass face shield.
“Or I’ll sure as hell take you in,” the officer continued.
Nate suddenly recalled that his weapon was in plain sight on the passenger seat if the cop decided to look down. Had he covered it with a jacket? He wasn’t sure. Nate kept his hands on the steering wheel and didn’t look down at the gun to give it away.
Although he remained still, Nate wanted to smack himself in the forehead with the heel of his hand for being so stupid as to drive through downtown Denver with a firearm in his car in plain sight. He’d lived too long in rural Wyoming, where firearms were as ubiquitous as ballcaps. They were in every car and truck and backpack and saddlebag. Guns were left in the open in unlocked vehicles on Main Street in Saddlestring. But this wasn’t Saddlestring, and he’d have to realign his thinking.
“Can I make a U-turn right here?” he asked.
“What in the hell do you think?” the cop yelled. “Turn around like I told you.”
“Then please step aside,” Nate said.
As the cop took a few steps back, Nate saw his name badge. collins.
But instead of cranking the wheel and going back toward the overpass, Nate pressed on the accelerator and blasted forward. He glanced at his rearview mirror and saw the officer threatening him and waving his free hand. The other hand was on the grip of his sidearm.