He was wrenching Dez's arms upward, testing the limits of the shoulder joints. It was a move designed to inflict pain, to force submission.
But Dez's shoulders were thick with muscle and scar tissue. He barely registered the torque.
He simply adjusted his stance, widening his feet slightly to maintain balance, absorbing Harlan's erratic shoving.
"You're tight on the left one," Dez stated, his voice devoid of emotion. "Check the spacing."
"I said shut your mouth," Harlan hissed into Dez's ear.
He clicked the cuffs shut, ratcheting them down until they bit into the skin. He patted Dez down, his hand slapping aggressively against Dez's cargo pockets.
He pulled out a wallet, a heavy set of keys, and a folded piece of paper. Harlan threw the items on the trunk of the Charger.
He opened the wallet. He saw the driver's license: Darius T.
Kane, 422 Maple Ridge.
Harlan paused for a fraction of a second. The reality of the situation flickered in his mind.
The ID matched the house. The suspect lived here.
But Harlan was too deep in the adrenaline now to back down. To admit he was wrong was to admit weakness, and in the toxic culture of the Oak Haven precinct, weakness was worse than incompetence.
He had to find something else. He had to justify the stop.
He looked at the folded paper. It was a receipt from a hardware store, but underneath it was a small laminate card.
Harlan squinted at it. It didn't look like a normal ID.
It had no state seal, just a series of clearance codes and a holographic chip.
"What is this?" Harlan asked, holding up the card.
"Fake ID? You trying to impersonate a fed?"
"Look at the back," Dez said calmly. "There's a number.
Call it."
"I'm not calling your buddy to bail you out," Harlan sneered. He shoved the wallet into his own pocket, a violation of protocol, but Harlan didn't care.
He grabbed Dez by the arm and yanked him away from the car. "You're coming in.
We'll sort out your fake IDs at the station."
"Officer," Dez said, planting his feet. He didn't move.
Harlan tugged, but it was like trying to pull a rooted oak tree.
"There is a camera on my porch. There is a camera on your dash.
You are currently arresting a homeowner on his own property for no crime. If you put me in that car, you end your career."
Harlan's face turned crimson. He unholstered his taser.
"Get in the car or I will light you up. You understand me?
I will ride the lightning on you right here."
Dez looked at the taser. He calculated the distance, the spread of the prongs, the voltage.
He knew he could take the hit. He'd been tased during SERE training.
He'd been electrocuted by faulty wiring in a Baghdad bunker. This was nothing.
"Do what you have to do," Dez said, "but make sure your body camera is on. I want the judge to see exactly how you operate."
Harlan hesitated. He glanced down at his chest.
The green light was blinking. He hated that light.
"Get in the car."