turned off the ignition

The truth was that Travis looked exactly like the sort of character who would be jumping parole, right out of central casting. Keith stopped the car, turned off the ignition, straightened his clerical collar and made sure it was as visible as possible, and said, "Don't say a word, Travis. Let me do the talking." As they waited for a very deliberate and purposeful state trooper, Keith managed to amuse himself by admitting that he was sitting beside the road, engaged in not one but two criminal activities, and that for some inconceivable reason he'd chosen as his partner in crime a serial rapist and murderer. He glanced at Travis and said, "Can you cover up that tattoo?" It was on the left side of his neck, a swirling creation that only a deviant might understand and wear with pride. "What if he likes tattoos?" Travis said, without making a move for his shirt collar. The trooper approached carefully, with a long flashlight, and when things appeared safe, he said gruffly, "Good morning." "Morning," Keith said, glancing up. He handed over his license, registration, and insurance card. "You a priest?" It was more of an accusation. Keith doubted there were many Catholics in southern Oklahoma. "I'm a Lutheran minister," he said with a warm smile. The perfect picture of peace and civility. "Lutheran?" the trooper grunted, as if that might be worse than a Catholic. "Yes, sir." He shined his light on the license. "Well, Reverend Schroeder, you were doing eighty-five miles an hour." "Yes, sir. Sorry about that." "Limit out here is seventy-five. What's the hurry?" "No real hurry. Just wasn't paying attention." "Where you headed?" Keith wanted to fire back, "Why, sir, is that any of your business?" But he quickly said, "Dallas."