Kendrick ripped his hand back, his face flushing a deep, dangerous crimson. His hand dropped instinctively to the grip of his service weapon. "You put your hands on a law enforcement officer. Are you out of your mind?" "I prevented you from disrespecting a federal uniform," Darius corrected, releasing his grip.
"I have no quarrel with you, Deputy. Let me pay for my gas and leave."
"Oh, you're not going anywhere." Kendrick unclipped his radio. "Dispatch, I got a situation at Big Al's. Possible stolen valor, assault on an officer. Send backup."
Darius sighed, a long, weary exhale. "Deputy, check my ID. It's in my pocket. Call the base if you have to. You're making a mistake."
"The only mistake is you thinking you can drive through my town playing dress-up," Kendrick spat. "Turn around. Hands on the car now." Darius calculated the variables. He could disarm Kendrick in under three seconds.
He could disable the rookie before he even got out of the car. But that would make him a fugitive, and it would dishonor Master Chief Langford. He had to play this the hard way.
Slowly, deliberately, Darius turned and placed his hands on the hot metal of the rental car. Kendrick kicked Darius's legs apart harder than necessary. "Spread them. You got weapons on you? Guns?
Knives?" "No weapons," Darius said. Kendrick patted him down, roughly grabbing his wallet. He flipped it open, glanced at the military ID, and scoffed. "Looks like a good fake.
Where'd you get it? Downtown Atlanta?" He tossed the wallet onto the hood of the car, sliding it across the paint.
"That is government property," Darius warned. "Shut up." Kendrick grabbed Darius's wrist, twisting it behind his back and slamming the handcuffs on. The metal bit into the skin tight enough to cut circulation. Kendrick shoved Darius against the car, the commander's cheek pressing against the hot metal.
"You are under arrest for impersonating a military officer, assaulting a police officer, and resisting arrest," Kendrick announced loudly enough for the few people watching from the gas station store to hear. "You're going to regret this, Deputy," Darius whispered. It wasn't a threat. It was a statement of fact. Kendrick leaned close to Darius's ear.
"The only thing I regret is not catching you sooner. Welcome to Ironwood, soldier boy."
The ride to the station was a lesson in humiliation. Kendrick drove aggressively, braking hard to make Darius slam against the cage divider in the backseat. The rookie, Brooks, sat in the passenger seat, silent. He kept glancing back at Darius, looking at the uniform, then at the ribbons.
"Kendrick," Brooks whispered. "That looks real, the ribbon rack. That's a Silver Star. And isn't that the Medal of Honor?" "Shut up, Brooks," Kendrick snapped.
"You think a guy like him has a Medal of Honor? He bought that crap at a pawn shop. These stolen valor guys are sick. They want the respect without the sacrifice. Makes me sick."
Darius sat perfectly still in the back. He had engaged a mental technique he learned during SERE school: survival, evasion, resistance, and escape. He detached himself from the physical pain of the cuffs and the erratic driving. He began to memorize details: Deputy Royce Kendrick, badge number 409, unit 7; Officer Finn Brooks, badge number 412.