his upstairs bedroom since he heard the first shout. He was supposed to be finishing a chemistry assignment, but the exchange below the window felt too serious to ignore. He saw the license opened, saw the officer pause, and then saw the officer carry on as though he had learned nothing.
Tyler adjusted his phone against the sill and kept recording. His father had spent years telling him that filming a public interaction was not the same as interfering in it. Tyler had never expected that advice to matter outside a movie. He watched Dez lean toward the officer and say something the phone did not capture. Harlan answered with a sharper gesture and reached for the electronic control device on his belt. Tyler's stomach tightened.
"Get in the car, or I use this," Harlan warned. He held the device where Dez could see it. Dez looked from the device to the body camera on the officer's chest, its status light blinking. "Your camera is recording," he said.
"Please remember that when you write the report. I am not refusing to cooperate." Harlan threatened him again, but Dez did not argue. He moved toward the cruiser, ducked beneath the doorframe, and sat in the hard rear seat while Harlan shut the door with unnecessary force.
The compartment smelled of disinfectant and old upholstery. A metal divider separated Dez from the front seat, and his cramped position sent an ache down the injured side of his leg. He looked through the small side window at the house he had bought for the simple pleasure of being left alone. The hood of his Charger remained open. A rag hung over the fender, and the socket wrench lay where he had placed it. It seemed ridiculous that the world could change while a wrench remained perfectly still.
Harlan climbed behind the wheel and reported that he had one uncooperative suspect in custody for possible burglary, disorderly conduct, and fraudulent government identification. Dez heard the list and wondered when the officer had decided that asking questions counted as disorderly conduct. He asked if he could have the pressure on the cuff checked. Harlan told him to be quiet. The cruiser reversed from the driveway and rolled down Maple Ridge, passing two neighbors who had come to the sidewalk with phones held chest high.
On the drive, Harlan used the rearview mirror more often than the road required. "You guys always think you can buy your way into a nice place and do whatever you want," he said. Dez watched houses pass beneath the summer trees. "Who is 'you guys'?" he asked.