Officer Brock Hagen walked toward him without a greeting. He was thirty-six, broad through the shoulders, with a dark undercut, short stubble, and the tight-jawed expression of a man already irritated. His partner, Officer Trent Lel, was older and heavier, with a full beard and a tendency to watch Hagen before deciding what to do. Neither looked toward the row of twelve new cruisers behind them.
"Step away from the vehicle," Hagen ordered.
Clayton lowered the cloth. "Good morning, Officer. Is something wrong? We're not open until eight, but I can help you." He could hear Jaylen moving tools inside the bay. He thought of the early customers who sometimes arrived long before the posted hours and tried to keep his voice welcoming.
"I said step away." Hagen pointed at the SUV. "We got a report of a man trying to break into vehicles on this lot. Black male. Green hoodie. That sounds familiar?"
"It's the description of the man working here," Clayton said. "My name is Clayton Reed. I own this property. I'm cleaning the windows before a sale. You're welcome to verify any of that."
Hagen took the yellow cloth and threw it onto the roof of the SUV. "People who own businesses like this don't usually dress like that," he said. "Every weekend somebody claims he owns whatever he's caught standing beside."
Clayton looked at the cloth on the roof. The insult was familiar enough that he recognized it before his anger rose. He had heard softer versions of it in banks, supplier offices, and showrooms where people asked to speak with the owner while looking past him. He had learned long ago that responding to contempt with contempt rarely helped him get through a morning safely.
"My license is in my back pocket," he said. "If you'd like to see it, I'll retrieve it slowly."
Lel moved closer. "Two fingers. No sudden movements." He watched Clayton take out his brown leather wallet, the Christmas gift Erica had given him two years earlier. Clayton held the license out where both officers could see it. Lel took it and slipped it into his shirt pocket without opening it.
"You didn't read it," Clayton said.
"I can read it downtown," Lel replied. "A license doesn't prove you own every car on this lot."
"No," Clayton said. "But it's a place to start." He lifted the green lanyard resting against his chest. "This is my photo badge. My name is on the building records, the business license, and the contract your city signed for those twelve cruisers. Please read it."
Lel took the badge. The words CLAYTON REED, OWNER were printed in black beneath his photograph. Hope's little gold star had been pressed into the top corner. Lel said the word "Owner" aloud, almost as a joke, then yanked the lanyard over Clayton's head and threw it toward a puddle beside the sprinkler head.