The driver was the White Officer.
Older.
Hair thinning slightly.
Now a sergeant.
The Black Driver stared.
The officer recognized the car first.
Then him.
For one strange second, both men were transported backward.
Flashing lights.
Hood.
Hands.
Registration.
Then the officer raised one hand.
Not waving exactly.
Acknowledging.
The Black Driver hesitated.
Then nodded.
The light changed.
Both vehicles moved.
That could have been the entire encounter.
The Black Driver would have accepted it.
At the next block, the patrol cruiser turned into a coffee shop.
The sports car continued.
Then slowed.
The Black Driver sighed.
“Bad idea.”
He made a U-turn.
Five minutes later, he entered the coffee shop.
The officer stood at the counter.
He looked surprised.
“Director.”
“Sergeant.”
The title surprised the Black Driver slightly even though he knew the promotion had happened.
The officer gestured toward the line.
“Coffee?”
“I can afford my own.”
The officer smiled faintly.
“That sounds familiar.”
They ordered separately.
Sat outside.
No mediator.
No case.
No formal reason.
The officer looked toward the lime-green car.
“Still have it.”
“Yes.”
“Still ridiculous.”
The Black Driver laughed.
“That is growth.”
“What?”
“You’re criticizing the car instead of questioning ownership.”
The officer winced.
“Fair.”
Silence.
Then he said:
“I train rookies now.”
“I know.”
“Of course you know.”
The Black Driver smiled.
“Occupational flaw.”
The officer looked toward the street.
“I show them our stop.”
The Black Driver turned.
“Our?”
The officer nodded.
“My stop of you.”
“Why?”
“Because they need to see me wrong.”
The Black Driver stared.
The officer continued.
“Training usually shows some hypothetical officer making mistakes.”
“That lets everybody sit there thinking they’d never be that stupid.”
He took a sip.
“So I show them me.”
The Black Driver looked toward him.
“What do they say?”
“They’re uncomfortable.”
“Good.”
“One asked why I didn’t just check the registration.”
“What did you tell him?”
The officer laughed bitterly.
“Because by then I wasn’t looking for registration.”
“What were you looking for?”
“Proof I was right.”
The Black Driver nodded.
That was the whole case in one sentence.
The officer continued.
“Then I make them stop the video at every point I could’ve changed direction.”
“How many?”
“Eleven.”
The Black Driver raised an eyebrow.
“You counted?”
The officer smiled.
“Apparently oversight is contagious.”
They drank coffee.
No forgiveness ceremony.
No declaration of friendship.