I provided my identification. I was physically assaulted, pulled from my vehicle, and arrested without being read my rights or told what crime I was suspected of committing. Gable paused. He looked closely at Aaron for the first time. Suspects usually cursed, cried, or slurred their words.
They didn't use perfect syntax and articulate civil rights violations with the clinical precision of a prosecuting attorney. Brandon let out a loud, mocking laugh. Listen to this guy, Greg. Thinks he's a constitutional scholar because he watched an episode of Law and Order. He was combative.
Mitchell was there. Tell him, kid. Mitchell stepped up to the desk, swallowing hard. Gable shifted his gaze to the rookie. That right, Mitchell?
He fought you? Mitchell looked at Aaron's calm, dark eyes, and then at Brandon's glaring, expectant face. He He didn't get physical, Sergeant. Mitchell stammered, trying to walk a tightrope between truth and loyalty. He just asked a lot of questions, kept asking if he was being detained.
Brandon shot Mitchell a look of pure venom. He refused a direct order to exit the vehicle under Mims. That's resisting. Book him, Greg. Gable sighed, rubbing his temples.
He didn't have the energy for a pissing contest between a hot-headed patrolman and an articulate suspect. Empty your pockets, Miles. Take off the hoodie, the shoelaces, and the belt. Brandon unlocked the handcuffs, roughly yanking Aaron's arms forward. Aaron didn't rub his chafed wrists.
He silently removed his faded baseball cap, placing it in the plastic property bin on the counter. He unzipped the worn university hoodie, revealing a plain, neatly ironed white t-shirt underneath. He removed his belt and his shoelaces, his movements precise and unhurried. Every second Aaron was calculating. He looked up at the black dome of the security camera mounted directly above the booking desk.
Good, he thought. Audio and video. Perfect. Put him in cell three, Gable ordered, sliding the property bin behind the desk. We'll get him fingerprinted when the backlog clears.
Brandon grabbed Aaron by the shoulder again, steering him away from the desk and toward the holding cells lining the back wall of the precinct. Cell three was a 10 by 10 cage of thick steel bars and reinforced concrete. Inside, a man in a torn jacket was sleeping on the floor, snoring loudly, while another man paced frantically, muttering to himself. The smell of urine and vomit was sharp enough to make the eyes water. Brandon slid the heavy barred door open with a loud metallic clatter.
In you go, your honor. Brandon mocked, using the title sarcastically, entirely unaware of the cosmic irony of his words. He shoved Aaron into the cell. Get comfortable. You're going to be here a while.
Aaron turned around as the heavy door slammed shut, the deadbolt engaging with a heavy thud. He walked over to the cold steel bench bolted to the cinder block wall and sat down. He didn't look at the other inmates. He just looked through the bars, straight at Thiago Brandon. "I am legally entitled to a phone call, officer. " Aaron said, his voice easily carrying through the bars.
"Yeah. Yeah. When I get around to it. " Brandon sneered, turning his back and walking away to a nearby desk to start his paperwork. Aaron sat in the cage for 20 agonizing minutes. He used the time to mentally draft the executive orders he was going to sign the following morning.
He was going to overhaul the entire patrol division. He was going to mandate body cameras for every single officer, funding it by gutting the department's militarized vehicle budget. Brandon had just given the mayor the exact ammunition he needed to force the police union into submission. Finally, Sergeant Gable called out from the desk. "Brandon, let Miles make his call.
State law. I don't want the ACLU breathing down my neck because you're dragging your feet. " Brandon rolled his eyes, dropping his pen. He walked over to cell three, unlocked it, and gestured toward a battered metal case telephone bolted clears throat to the wall at the end of the hallway. "3 minutes, Miles. " Brandon warned. "And don't bother calling a lawyer.
No one's coming out in this rain for a prowler. " Aaron stepped out of the cell and walked to the phone. He didn't need to look up a number. He had the specific number memorized. It was a direct encrypted cell phone line meant only for extreme municipal emergencies. He picked up the heavy receiver, waited for the dial tone, and punched in the 10 digits.
Across town, in a sprawling gated property overlooking the Oakmont River, the shrill ring of a cell phone shattered the silence of a dark master bedroom. Chief of Police Robert Hayes groaned, rolling over in his king-size bed. He was a heavily built man in his late 50s, his hair silver, his face lined from 30 years of city politics and police work. He reached blindly for the nightstand, his fingers finding the vibrating device. He squinted at the screen.
The caller ID didn't show a name, just a secure municipal code. Hayes sat bolt upright. Only three people in the city had that number, and a call at midnight meant a catastrophe, a terror threat, a mass casualty event, or a riot. He swiped the screen and brought the phone to his ear. Hayes, Bob, it's Aaron.
The voice, clears throat, on the other end said calmly. Hayes blinked, trying to clear the sleep from his brain. Mr. Mayor, sir, is everything all right? Where are your security detail?
In the grimy hallway of the fourth precinct, Aaron kept his voice low, his tone conversational, but laced with an icy edge that sent a shiver down the chief's spine. My detail is at my residence. I'm currently standing at a wall phone in the booking area of the fourth precinct, Bob. I'm wearing socks without shoes, and my wrists are bleeding from being improperly handcuffed. A heavy, suffocating silence fell over the phone line.
In his bedroom, Chief Hayes swung his legs out of bed, his bare feet hitting the hardwood floor. All the blood instantly drained from his face. Sir, what? Hayes breathed, praying he had misheard. You're at the fourth?
Visiting? No, Bob. I am in custody, Aaron said clearly. I took my personal vehicle out for a drive to inspect a reported infrastructure failure in Cedar Ridge. I was pulled over by car 44.
The officer's name is Brandon. He pulled me over without probable cause, ordered me out of the car, physically slammed me against the roof of my vehicle, handcuffed me, and arrested me on fabricated charges of resisting arrest and suspicion of prowling. Hayes felt the room spin. The mayor, a newly elected, wildly popular, reform-minded black mayor who had just won an election on a platform of police accountability, had been violently arrested on a bogus profile stop by one of his own patrolman. It wasn't just a mistake.