Or a lawyer. He hated lawyers, but he loved breaking them even more. "You failed to maintain your lane. " Corbin lied smoothly. "You were drifting, swerving. Smells like you might be under the influence.
Now, hand over the documents before I pull you out of this vehicle for resisting. " Valerie's eyes flicked to the nameplate on his chest. Corbin. "I haven't consumed any alcohol, Officer Corbin. " She replied politely. "And I assure you, I have maintained my lane perfectly. My license is in my wallet, which is in my purse on the passenger seat.
My registration is in the glove compartment. I am going to slowly reach for my purse first. Is that acceptable? " Corbin sneered. She was talking to him like he was a child. He hated women who talked like that.
"Just get it. No sudden moves. " Valerie slowly moved her right hand, grasping the leather purse on the passenger seat. She retrieved her Pennsylvania driver's license, a standard issue, though flagged in the federal database as a protected identity, and handed it through the window. She deliberately kept the glove box closed for now. Corbin snatched the card.
He shined his light on it. Valerie Reynolds. No red flags immediately jumped out, but he wasn't looking at a database, just the plastic. "Whose car is this, Valerie? " Corbin asked, intentionally using her first name to demean her. "Bit out of your price range, isn't it?
What do you do for a living? " "The vehicle belongs to my employer, " Valerie answered calmly. "I work for the federal government. " Corbin let out a short, barking laugh. "The government, right. What, you sort mail down at the post office? Listen to me, Valerie.
I'm going to run this license. You sit tight, keep your hands where my partner can see them. If you move, Shaw over there is going to have a problem. " Valerie turned her head slightly to look at the young officer standing by the passenger window. Shaw looked visibly uncomfortable, his eyes darting away when she made eye contact. He's new, she assessed instantly.
He's terrified of his training officer. He's an accessory to whatever this man is about to do. Corbin marched back to the cruiser. He slid into the driver's seat, wiping rain from his forehead. "What's the deal? " Shaw asked over the radio from outside.
"She's got an attitude, " Corbin grunted into his shoulder mic. He typed her name and the SUV's license plate into the mobile data terminal. The system paused. A small spinning wheel appeared on the screen. Usually, the return was instantaneous.
After 10 seconds, a strange prompt appeared. Restricted tag, do not detain. Contact dispatch for verification. Corbin frowned, tapping the screen with a thick finger. Stupid system's glitching again, he muttered to himself.
He had seen restricted tags before, usually on undercover vice cars or high-level city officials. But the system didn't specifically say FBI director. To Corbin, a glitch meant an unregistered ghost car. The kind used by high-end cartels to bypass automated license plate readers. In his twisted logic, this was the jackpot.
If this was cartel money, there would be a lot of cash in that car. Cash he could seize under civil asset forfeiture, keeping a heavy slice for himself. She's riding dirty, Corbin announced over the radio to Shaw. System can't even read the plates. Ghost car.
We're doing a search. Shaw's voice came back strained. Mitch, we need a warrant or probable cause for a full toss. I smell weed, Bernardo. That's all the probable cause the courts need, Corbin replied, killing the radio.
He reached into his tactical vest. Deep in the lining of his left pocket, he kept his insurance policy. A small sealed baggie of crystal meth he had confiscated off a street junkie 3 weeks ago and never logged into evidence. He palmed it expertly, hiding it in the meaty grip of his left hand. He stepped back out into the rain and approached the driver's window again.
Step out of the vehicle, Valerie, Corbin commanded, his hand resting heavily on his holster now. Valerie looked at him. She saw the shift in his posture. The artificial aggression manufactured to justify violence. Officer Corbin, I do not consent to any searches.
I have provided my identification. Am I under arrest or am I free to go? You're stepping out of the damn car right now. Corbin snarled, pulling his flashlight up. I smell marijuana emanating from the vehicle.
That gives me probable cause to search. Step out or I will break this window and drag you out. Valerie did not flinch. Her heart rate remained at a steady 65 beats per minute. She was a woman who had negotiated hostage situations with men holding detonators.
A corrupt street cop with a god complex was merely a nuisance. But he was a dangerous nuisance and she wanted him exposed entirely and unequivocally. If she flashed her badge now, he would back down, apologize, and go back to terrorizing people who didn't have a badge of their own. No, Valerie Reynolds was going to let him dig the grave. She was going to let him jump in.