Toby let the words pass without reacting. "I understand. The plates belong to a federal vehicle, and there is an established way for your department to verify them. I'd appreciate a moment to show you the credential."
Kirby glanced down at the plate again. "You really think a fake federal plate makes you untouchable, boy?"
For a fraction of a second, Toby heard Dorothy Martin's voice in the kitchen of their old row house. Being calm doesn't mean you agree. Remember what happened.
"No, Officer," he said. "I think verifying a credential before drawing a conclusion is reasonable."
That was the first moment Kirby could have stepped back. He could have asked his dispatcher for the federal liaison, confirmed the plate's status, and returned to the thousand ordinary incidents that made up a city patrolman's shift. Instead, he rapped the glass again and leaned closer, visibly irritated that the man inside had not raised his voice.
"Let's see this badge you're so proud of."
Toby moved slowly enough that every motion was obvious. He produced a hard-sided credential wallet, held it where Kirby could see the official identification, and waited. Kirby inspected it briefly, but his expression did not change.
"I've seen better fakes at a Halloween store," he said. "You got a real driver's license, or are we going to keep playing?"
"It's authentic," Toby replied. "Your communications center can verify the agency and my status through the official channel. I am asking you to do that before we proceed."
The officer's jaw tightened. "What I'm going to do is tell you to step out of this vehicle. You're parked where you shouldn't be, and I'm not having a man with fake plates tell me how to do my job."
Toby kept his hands visible. He had no interest in arguing about the officer's pride, and he knew the word fake had already done more damage than a raised voice could undo. "I have an assigned reason to be here. I cannot discuss all the details in public, but I can provide verification that resolves the question. Please contact your department's federal liaison."
"Out of the vehicle. Now."
A delivery van passed at the corner, and a man in a reflective vest paused on the opposite sidewalk. The first curious onlookers were gathering without quite acknowledging what had attracted them. Toby saw Kirby notice them too, and the officer's posture became even more rigid.
"I'm asking you to use the verification available to you," Toby said one more time. "That protects both of us."
"You want protection? Follow my orders."
The radio in Toby's ear clicked softly. "Overwatch Two, status check."
He could not answer freely with Kirby listening at the window, so he pressed the communication control and gave a short, coded acknowledgment that indicated a local interruption without revealing operational information. Nadia's response confirmed she had received it. The larger plan continued, but the time available to resolve the encounter was shrinking.
Toby placed his credential where it would not fall, shut down the vehicle's normal driver controls, and prepared to comply with the instruction to step outside. He did so for a practical reason, not because he accepted Kirby's conclusions. A roadside argument beside a security vehicle was already undesirable; a physical confrontation over a door would be worse.