Same pattern.
He opened his eyes.
“My registration is inside the vehicle.”
“We’ll get to that.”
“You asked for it.”
The officer’s breathing changed.
“Keep talking.”
The Black Driver stayed calm.
“Your body camera is on?”
The officer froze almost imperceptibly.
Then pressed the driver harder against the hood.
“Why?”
The Black Driver turned his face enough to see the red indicator.
“No reason.”
That answer irritated the officer more than a challenge would have.
The second cruiser door opened.
Another White Officer approached.
Younger.
Late twenties.
Lighter build.
He looked from the sports car to the man pinned against it.
“What do we have?”
The first officer answered without looking up.
“Possible stolen.”
The second officer glanced at the license plate.
“Hit?”
“Not yet.”
The Black Driver’s eyes shifted.
Not yet.
The second officer looked at him.
“Who are you?”
The Black Driver gave his name again.
The younger officer looked toward the first.
“Plate’s right there.”
The first officer snapped, “I know.”
The Black Driver felt his arm pulled farther upward.
He grimaced.
The younger officer noticed.
“Maybe ease up.”
The first officer turned sharply.
“You want to handle it?”
The younger man immediately backed away emotionally before he moved physically.
“No.”
“Then let me work.”
The Black Driver stored that.
The younger officer looked toward the sports car.
“I’ll run the plate.”
The first officer said nothing.
The second walked back toward his cruiser.
The Black Driver spoke quietly.
“That should have happened before you put me on the hood.”
The first officer tightened his grip.
“Keep your mouth shut.”
The Black Driver’s expression changed.
Not anger.
A kind of stillness.
“Officer.”
“What?”
“You should be very certain about what you do next.”
The officer laughed.
“There it is.”
“What?”
“The threat.”
The Black Driver almost sighed.
“That was advice.”
“Sounds like a threat.”
The Black Driver said nothing.
The officer pulled him away from the hood.
Then shoved him toward the rear of the car.
The Black Driver stumbled one step but regained balance.
“Hands behind your back.”
“Am I under arrest?”
“Detained.”
“For?”
“Vehicle investigation.”
The Black Driver looked toward the second officer.
The younger man was typing on his in-car computer.
“Then check the vehicle.”
The first officer reached for handcuffs.
The Black Driver moved only enough to keep his balance.
“I am not resisting.”
“Stop moving.”
“I’m standing.”
The officer grabbed his left hand.
The Black Driver’s other hand rose instinctively, not toward the officer, but outward for balance.
The officer slapped it down hard.
“Stop reaching!”
The Black Driver’s eyes flashed.
That was the first moment anger reached his face.
He controlled it quickly.
“My registration is on the dashboard.”
The first officer glanced.
Through the windshield, the registration card was visible beside the insurance document where the Black Driver had placed it after renewing his policy two days earlier.
The officer could see it.
He chose not to.
“Anybody can print paper.”
The Black Driver stared.
Before he could answer, the younger officer called from the cruiser.