The cop snapped. And make it slow. I see any sudden movements and we're going to have a serious problem. Understood, officer Brandon. Aaron said.
Moving with deliberate exaggerated slowness, Aaron took his right hand off the wheel. He reached behind him slipping his fingers into his back pocket to retrieve his leather wallet. As he did, Brandon's hand instinctively dropped to the grip of his service weapon. He unclipped the retention strap with an audible snap. Rookie officer Mitchell standing near the trunk took a nervous step forward.
Tom, he's just getting his wallet. Shut up, Mitchell. I've got this. Brandon growled without taking his eyes off Aaron. Aaron pulled the wallet out and extracted his driver's license.
He handed it through the window. Brandon snatched it out of his hand bringing it up to the flashlight. He read the name. Aaron Miles. It didn't click.
To an arrogant man like Brandon, the mayor was a political entity, a ghost in city hall, not a man sitting in a rusty Ford in a hoodie. All right, Aaron. Brandon said using the mayor's first name in a deliberate show of disrespect. What are you doing in this neighborhood? I'm out for a drive.
Aaron answered simply. A drive? Brandon repeated mocking the phrase. Nobody comes to Cedar Ridge for a drive at 11:00 at night in the pouring rain. Where do you live?
My address is on the license, officer. Brandon looked at the plastic card again. It listed Aaron's previous address on the south side. He hadn't yet updated it to his new residence since moving closer to the city center for the mayoral term. The south side.
Brandon sneered. That's a long way from home, Aaron. You checking out the houses up here? Looking for an open garage door? Aaron's jaw tightened.
The blatant racial profiling was no longer a theoretical concept discussed in boardrooms. It was staring him in the face, dripping with malice. I'm looking at the roads, Officer Brandon. There's a sinkhole problem in this district. I wanted to see it for myself.
Brandon let out a harsh, barking laugh. A sinkhole problem, right? You a city engineer now? You got a hard hat in the trunk? I work for the city, yes.
Aaron said smoothly. Yeah, I bet you do. Probably sweeping floors at the municipal building. Brandon retorted. He slapped the roof of the Taurus hard with his palm.
The sound echoing like a gunshot in the quiet neighborhood. Step out of the vehicle. Aaron didn't move immediately. Officer, I have provided my identification. I have answered your questions.
Am I being detained or am I free to go? The question, a standard legal inquiry, infuriated Brandon. In his mind, citizens didn't have rights. They had whatever permissions he deigned to grant them. The fact that this man in a hoodie was speaking to him with articulate legal precision made Brandon's blood boil.
I said, step out of the damn car. Brandon shouted, pulling his flashlight back as if preparing to smash the window. You are ordered out of the vehicle under Pennsylvania v. Mimms. Now get out before I drag you out through the glass.
Aaron knew the case law. He knew the Supreme Court had ruled that officers could order drivers out of their vehicles during a lawful traffic stop, but he also knew the stop itself was unlawful. Still, Aaron was a pragmatist. He had a wife and a 12-year-old daughter. He wasn't going to get himself shot on a dark street over pride.
He had all the evidence he needed. "I am stepping out. " Aaron said. He pulled the door handle and slowly pushed the heavy metal door open. As soon as Aaron's sneakers touched the wet pavement, Brandon was on him. Brandon grabbed Aaron by the shoulder of his hoodie and violently spun him around, slamming him face-first against the side of the Taurus.
The impact knocked the breath out of Aaron's lungs, his cheek pressing against the cold, wet metal of the car's roof. "Spread your legs. " Brandon barked, kicking Aaron's right ankle outward so violently that Aaron nearly lost his balance. "There is no need for this level of physical force, Officer Brandon. " Aaron said, his voice strained but remarkably composed. "I am complying with your orders. " "Shut your mouth. " Brandon yelled, pressing his forearm hard into the back of Aaron's neck. He began aggressively patting Aaron down, his hands roughly checking the pockets of the jeans, the waistline, moving with a rough, invasive speed.
Officer Mitchell jogged up to the side of the car, his eyes wide with panic. "Tom, Jesus. He wasn't doing anything, man. You don't need to I told you to shut your mouth, Mitchell. Go clear the vehicle. " Brandon ordered.
Mitchell hesitated, looking at Aaron's calm, stoic face pressed against the glass, and then back at his commanding officer. Reluctantly, the young rookie shined his light into the empty Taurus, finding nothing but some old coffee cups and a stack of city planning documents on the passenger seat. He's clean, Tom. There's nothing in the car. Mitchell pleaded.
Let's just run his license and cut him loose. This is a bad stop. I decide what a bad stop is. Brandon spat. He leaned in close to Aaron's ear.
You think you're smart, huh? Talking back to me. Asking if you're detained. You people come up to this side of town and think you can do whatever you want. Not on my watch.
Aaron turned his head slightly, locking eyes with Brandon. What's on, huh? The anger in the mayor's chest was a roaring fire, but his mind was an ocean of ice. He was taking a mental photograph of every word, every movement, every violation of department policy. You people?