They arrived at the station, a squat brick building that smelled of mildew and floor wax. Kendrick hauled Darius out of the car, grabbing him by the collar of his dress jacket. "Watch the jacket," Darius said. "I don't give a damn about the jacket," Kendrick growled. He shoved Darius through the back door, past a booking desk where a bored-looking sergeant was eating a sandwich.
"What you got, Royce?" the sergeant asked around a mouthful. "Stolen valor, assault," Kendrick bragged. "Guy thinks he's Rambo." They pushed him into the processing room. Kendrick unlocked the cuffs, but only to strip-search him.
"Jacket off," Kendrick ordered. Darius removed his jacket carefully, folding it as best he could before Kendrick snatched it away and threw it into a plastic bin, crumpling the pristine fabric. "Shoes, belt." As Darius stripped down to his white T-shirt and trousers, Kendrick picked up the jacket again. He was looking for something, anything to mock.
He saw the name tag. "Kane. Kane," Kendrick muttered. "Sounds made up." He pulled a pocketknife from his belt.
"Don't," Darius said. His voice echoed in the small, tiled room. Kendrick looked at him, eyes glinting with malice. He took the tip of the knife and ran it under the threading of the Trident pin, the symbol of the Navy SEALs. With a sharp tug, he popped the pin loose.
It fell to the floor with a metallic clink.
"Oops," Kendrick grinned. "Must have been loose. Cheap manufacturing." Darius stared at the pin on the dirty floor. A fury, cold and white-hot, began to build in his chest.
That pin had been pinned on him by his commanding officer after Hell Week. It represented brothers lost and blood spilled. "Pick it up," Darius said softly.
"Or what?" Kendrick stepped forward, chest to chest with Darius. "You're going to hit me again? Please do. I'd love to add a felony to your sheet."
"Officer Kendrick," Darius said, his voice dropping an octave. "I am giving you one chance to fix this. Check my fingerprints. Run my name in the NCIC database. If you do not, you will destroy your career and bring down this entire department."
Kendrick laughed, a harsh sound. "Book him, Brooks. Throw him in holding cell three, the one with the broken AC." Brooks hesitated. He bent down and picked up the Trident pin, looking at the heavy gold construction.
It didn't feel cheap. It felt real. He placed it gently on the counter, avoiding Darius's gaze. "Sorry," Brooks mouthed.
Darius didn't acknowledge him. He looked straight at Kendrick. "I need my phone call." "You'll get your call when I'm done with my paperwork," Kendrick said, turning his back. "Could be an hour, could be tomorrow."
They shoved him into cell three. It was a concrete box, stiflingly hot. There was a metal bench and a toilet. Darius sat on the bench, closing his eyes. He didn't pace.
He didn't yell. He waited.
Hours passed. Finally, the heavy door opened. It was the rookie, Brooks. He looked pale. "Uh, sir," Brooks said through the bars.