Then back at the license.
“Derek Johnson.”
“Yes.”
McMillan walked back to his cruiser.
Four more minutes passed.
Derek watched through the mirror.
The patrol officer appeared to be typing.
Then speaking into his radio.
Then typing again.
Derek’s phone vibrated in the center console.
Renee.
He did not touch it.
Eventually McMillan returned.
Something in his posture had changed.
More rigid.
Less procedural.
“Mr. Johnson.”
“Yes?”
McMillan looked at the Audi.
Then at Derek.
“You’re driving a pretty nice car.”
Derek waited.
McMillan added, “For someone from the address on your license.”
Derek felt his jaw tighten.
The address was an older apartment he had lived in before moving with Renee.
He had updated his primary address with the state months earlier, but apparently one database still reflected the previous information.
“It was a perfectly normal neighborhood,” Derek said.
McMillan’s expression remained flat.
“Where are you coming from?”
“A work meeting.”
“What kind of work?”
Derek did not answer immediately.
“Officer, is there a problem with my license, registration, or insurance?”
“I asked what kind of work.”
“And I asked why I was stopped.”
McMillan shifted his weight.
“Your left taillight is out.”
Derek looked into the side mirror.
The rear of the Audi was visible in the gas station’s glass storefront.
Both taillights glowed red.
“Officer, both lights appear to be functioning.”
McMillan looked toward the rear of the vehicle but did not walk back to inspect them.
“You also failed to signal.”
“When?”
“Changing lanes.”
Derek frowned.
“I haven’t changed lanes since I left downtown.”
“You were weaving.”
Derek looked at him.
Three explanations in less than a minute.
Taillight.
Signal.
Weaving.
That was when Derek stopped treating the encounter like an annoying traffic stop and started observing it like an investigator.
“Which one is the basis for the stop?”
McMillan’s eyes narrowed.
“What?”
“You’ve given me three different reasons. Which one did you observe before activating your lights?”
McMillan leaned toward the window.
“You getting smart with me, boy?”
The word sat between them.
Derek felt heat move through his chest.
He had heard words like that throughout his life.
Sometimes disguised as jokes.
Sometimes spoken openly.
Sometimes from defendants angry at being arrested.
Sometimes from executives who had not expected a Black federal agent to be leading a case.
But hearing it from a uniformed officer during an official detention felt different.
Derek made himself breathe before responding.
“I’m being respectful.”
“You’re being argumentative.”
“I’m asking you to identify the reason you stopped me.”
“I already told you.”
“You told me three different things.”
McMillan stared at him.
“Step out of the vehicle.”
Derek’s eyes moved briefly to McMillan’s body camera.
He knew that during a lawful traffic stop, an officer could generally direct a driver to exit the vehicle for safety reasons. What he was challenging was the legal basis for the stop itself, not trying to physically resist the officer.
“Are you ordering me out?”