Zeke took it out slowly and placed it on the table.
Dalton grabbed it.
He opened it.
“Isaiah Washington.”
Most people who knew him well called him Zeke.
The name had come from childhood.
Official documents did not.
Dalton read the address.
“Washington, DC.”
“Yes.”
“No middle name?”
“Not on the license.”
“You got a criminal record?”
“No.”
“Outstanding warrants?”
“No.”
Dalton removed the license.
He held it between two fingers.
Then deliberately let it fall.
It landed on the floor.
Nobody moved.
Dalton looked down.
Then at Zeke.
“Pick it up.”
Beverly’s mouth tightened.
Zeke looked at the license.
Then back at Dalton.
“You dropped it.”
“I told you to pick it up.”
Zeke understood immediately.
This was no longer investigative.
It probably never had been.
This was ritual.
Humiliation disguised as compliance.
A small act designed to establish hierarchy.
Zeke could refuse.
He could quote case law.
He could demand a supervisor.
He could tell Dalton exactly what he was doing and why.
None of those choices guaranteed safety.
So Zeke slowly bent.
Before his fingers reached the license, Dalton nudged it with the toe of his boot.
The plastic card slid beneath the counter.
Dalton chuckled.
“Damn.”
Carver laughed weakly.
“Clumsy.”
Zeke remained bent for one second.
Then straightened.
When he looked at Dalton again, something had disappeared from his face.
The friendliness.
The traveler.
The quiet man waiting for pie.
What remained was still calm.
But it was a harder calm.
“I’m finished here.”
Dalton smiled.
“No, you’re not.”
“I’m going to retrieve my license, pay for my food, and leave.”
“You’re going nowhere.”
“On what legal basis?”
Dalton stepped close enough that their chests nearly touched.
“I smell narcotics.”
Zeke’s eyes did not move.
“No, you don’t.”
“Calling me a liar?”
“I’m saying you smell coffee, fryer grease, rain, and the aftershave you used too heavily.”
The trucker at the counter coughed into his fist.
Dalton heard it.
His face reddened.
“We’re searching the truck.”
“No.”
“You don’t get to say no.”
“I absolutely do unless you have lawful authority.”
Dalton’s smile vanished.
“K9 is coming.”
“Then I’ll wait for your lawful process.”
“You’re detained.”
“For what?”
“Suspicion.”
“Of?”
“Drug trafficking.”
“Based on?”
Dalton moved closer.
“Put your hands behind your back.”
Beverly whispered:
“Royce.”
Dalton turned.
“What?”
“Maybe just let the man eat.”
The sergeant stared at her.
Beverly looked away.
That was enough to confirm everything she had warned Zeke about.
Zeke put his hands slowly behind his back.
“I am complying.”
Dalton grabbed his wrist.
Hard.
The first cuff closed.
Too tight.
Zeke inhaled.
The second ratcheted around his other wrist.
Dalton pulled his arms higher than necessary.
The edge of the counter pressed into Zeke’s ribs.