You wince as the gun falls out of the compartment and hold your hands up.
"Officer I can explain! That baby was going to grow up to be Hitler!"
He has his gun out, a mixed look of fear and rage suddenly falling across his face. He reaches into the open window of the Jeep and pulls you out, throwing you to the ground and handcuffing you roughly. "You're under arrest you crazy baby killer!"
He goes through your pockets, looking for guns or knives. Of course he finds none. You're a quintessential All American Teenage Boy. You'd never do drugs or have weapons or run over a baby.
But whose gun was that in the glove box? And why did you run over that baby?