The younger officer, Luke Avery, had been standing a step behind Voss. He was a white man in his early thirties with short brown hair, wearing the same navy shirt and tan uniform pants, and his eyes moved from Karen to Jordan as though he were searching for something he had not heard. A water complaint had become a demand to arrest a man because of what he supposedly could not afford. Avery opened his mouth, but Voss spoke first.
"Keep your hands where I can see them," Voss said.
Jordan held them out, fingers spread, the hose resting on the wet concrete by his foot. "They're right here. Officer, I am not trying to make this difficult. I want to understand what you're investigating."
"You don't get to decide how I do my job."
"I didn't say I did."
"You challenging me?"
Jordan recognized the turn immediately. The officer was no longer asking questions to discover what had happened; he was asking them in a way that made any answer sound like defiance. Jordan also understood that the people watching from nearby houses could not hear everything being said. From a distance it would look like two officers confronting a homeowner who had done something serious enough to require two patrol units.
"No, Officer Voss," Jordan said. "I'm asking what you need from me."
Karen moved closer, her little dog yapping. "He has been causing problems since he arrived. I don't even know whether he belongs in that house. And now he's making the whole street unsafe."
"Please keep back from the vehicle, ma'am," Avery said. It was the first instruction he had given anyone, and Karen seemed offended that it had been directed at her.
"I've lived here eighteen years," she said. "I know how this neighborhood is supposed to work."
Voss reached for Jordan's upper arm. Jordan instinctively tightened his muscles, not to resist, but because an unfamiliar hand had grabbed him unexpectedly. Voss interpreted that reflex as an opportunity. He twisted Jordan toward the car and shoved him forward, sending his chest onto the wet hood before Jordan could catch his balance.
"You heard the lady," Voss said. "Hands behind your back."
"I'm not resisting," Jordan answered, the words muffled against the metal. "I am not resisting."
Avery stood frozen for the briefest moment. Voss snapped an order at him, and the younger officer stepped forward with his handcuffs. Jordan's gray shirt soaked through against the soapy paint, and water gathered at his sandals. Across the street, an older woman named Evelyn Price raised her phone, already recording from behind the railing of her porch.
The cuffs clicked. Jordan closed his eyes once, then opened them and focused on the reflection of the sky in the black paint. He could hear Karen breathing with excitement and Voss talking into the radio as if his decision had somehow explained itself. He could also hear his own front door opening, followed by Nia's quick footsteps down the porch steps.
"That's my husband," she said. "Your new Chief of Police starts Monday."
For two seconds, no one moved. Voss's hand remained against Jordan's back, but the pressure lessened. Avery looked toward the sidewalk, where Karen stood with her dog pressed against the front of her pink tracksuit. The expression on Karen's face had changed so completely that Evelyn Price, watching through her phone, almost lowered it in disbelief.