The shoulder was hot enough that the stones stung through Byron's trousers. He lowered himself carefully and placed his hands on his knees. The bright afternoon sun pressed against the back of his neck. Vehicles passed so close to the shoulder that he could feel their movement through the air, and every few seconds exhaust and dust swept into his face.
Gallagher stood several yards away, looking from the highway to the seated man and back. He wanted to tell Hollister that they could finish the citation without prolonging the humiliation. He knew there was no operational reason to keep the driver on the ground. The sergeant seemed to be enjoying the obedience itself, as though the practical purpose of the stop had disappeared and the only remaining point was to demonstrate who could command whom.
Byron's phone began vibrating against the seat inside the Tahoe. First one call, then another. Through the open door he could hear the faint sequence of alerts. He knew his office had been expecting his arrival and that the delay might be causing concern. He also knew Sharon might be calling to ask whether he had passed a certain exit where she wanted him to stop for a photograph of an old family landmark.
"Popular man," Hollister observed. "Who keeps calling you?"
"Likely people from my office," Byron said. "They'll need to know why I'm delayed."
"They can wait."
"It would be wise to let me answer."
"I don't take advice from people sitting in the dirt," Hollister replied.
The sentence hung between them. Byron turned his gaze toward the fields across the road because he did not trust himself to look at Hollister without making clear how deeply the remark had landed. He thought of Walter Davis sorting letters in summer heat, of Gloria teaching children that no one had the right to call them lesser, and of the years he had spent persuading people that the law could belong to them, too. None of those memories changed the fact that he was sitting on gravel because a stranger with a badge had decided to put him there.
Eventually Hollister finished writing a citation and a property-seizure notice. He handed both to Byron with an exaggerated show of courtesy and told him that he could file the proper paperwork if he believed the money should be returned. Byron looked at the forms before standing. The reason recorded for the seizure was vague, the legal basis for the search was missing, and one field appeared to suggest consent he had plainly withheld.
"This says I permitted the search," Byron said.
"That's your interpretation," Hollister answered.
"It's not accurate."
"Then take it up with the courthouse."
Byron asked Gallagher for his name and badge number. Gallagher supplied both. Hollister added that if Byron wanted to write a complaint, he should spell the sergeant's name correctly so the office would know whose excellent work he was discussing. He laughed at his own joke and walked back to the cruiser.