The officer remained in his cruiser for nearly a minute. Marcus saw the silhouette bend toward the dashboard, perhaps checking information, perhaps filling the time with nothing at all. When the door finally opened, heavy shoes struck the pavement, and a flashlight swept across the rear of the SUV. The beam lingered on the manufacturer emblem before moving toward Marcus's face.
"License, registration, insurance," the officer demanded, standing beside the open window. His nameplate read REIGNS, and the service marks on his uniform suggested twelve years on the force. He was stocky and powerfully built, with a jaw that tightened whenever he waited for an answer. He did not offer a greeting or explain the reason for the stop.
"Good morning, Officer Reigns." Marcus spoke evenly and told him where the documents were before retrieving them. He moved his wallet into view, removed his license, and reached for the registration in the glove compartment. Reigns watched each motion without lowering the flashlight. When Marcus handed him the papers, the officer examined the address longer than the expiration dates.
"You were weaving back there," Reigns said. "Crossed your lane a couple of times. You been drinking?" Marcus replied that he had not consumed alcohol and asked where the alleged weaving had occurred. Reigns did not answer. Instead, he tilted the beam across the leather seats, the center console, and the navigation display.
"That's a nice ride," Reigns observed. "Real nice. What does a fellow like you do to afford it?" Marcus noticed the shift from the supposed traffic violation to the price of the vehicle. He had heard similar questions used legitimately in investigations, but there was no investigation here beyond the one Reigns appeared to be inventing. The officer had not even described a specific lane crossing.
"I work in law enforcement," Marcus said. Reigns looked up from the license, surprised enough to show it. "Do you? Which department?" Marcus considered answering with his full title, the credentials folded inside his jacket, and the precise assignment awaiting him across town. He could probably have ended the encounter with those words.
Instead, he said, "A police department." He was not trying to create a trap or invite a confrontation; he wanted to know whether the officer would behave properly toward someone whose rank he did not know. Reigns's expression suggested he considered the answer evasive. Marcus remained willing to clarify if a lawful reason required it, but a stranger's title was not supposed to determine whether a traffic stop was conducted fairly.
Reigns retreated to the cruiser with the documents. In the rearview mirror, Marcus saw him sitting behind the wheel, tapping something into the computer while his partnerless patrol car hummed. A moment later, the officer's face appeared in the side mirror again, his flashlight deliberately pointed toward Marcus's eyes. He handed back the license but stayed close to the window.