Marcus recognized the movement.
He had spent years as a federal prosecutor examining body-camera recordings, police reports, witness statements, and use-of-force investigations.
He knew how quickly an unreasonable encounter could become dangerous when an officer became more concerned about controlling the conversation than understanding the facts.
He lowered his voice.
"I'm not resisting you. My hands are visible. I live here. My identification is inside the house."
Derek glanced toward the expensive front door.
"Of course you live here."
The sarcasm was unmistakable.
Marcus stared at him.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
The officer sneered.
"Means I've heard that story before."
Marcus felt a familiar, unwelcome pressure settle behind his ribs.
He had heard variations of that sentence throughout his adult life.
At university.
In courthouse corridors.
Outside expensive restaurants.
In neighborhoods where people occasionally treated his presence as something requiring an explanation.
But he had never expected to hear it while sitting outside the home he owned, on a street where he had lived for eleven years.
"My name is Marcus Williams," he said.
Derek rolled his eyes.
"Congratulations."
"I'd like your name and badge number."
The officer smiled coldly.
"You can get those at the station."
Marcus glanced at the badge.
"Derek Mason."
The smile disappeared.
"What did you say?"
"That's your name, correct?"
Derek stiffened.
"How do you know my name?"
Marcus looked at the badge again.
"You're wearing it."
For half a second, the officer seemed embarrassed.
Then his embarrassment became anger.
"Stand up."
Marcus remained still.
"I'd rather not make any sudden movements while you're behaving this way."
"I said stand up!"
Marcus glanced toward the police cruiser parked along the curb.
Its emergency lights flashed silently.
There were no other police vehicles.
No ambulance.
No frightened neighbors running from houses.
No apparent emergency.
Only an officer who had arrived after a suspicious-person complaint and immediately decided the Black man seated on the porch was the person he had been sent to confront.
"Officer, tell me exactly what you believe I've done."
Derek looked toward the newspaper.
Then the coffee.
Then the colorful plastic toy in his hand.