Davis tried again.
The sergeant pressed down.
Paper crumpled.
Iris felt anger rise.
She had spent years learning not to let anger choose her next sentence.
“Remove your foot from the bag.”
Hollister leaned forward.
“You bring your trash into my town and start telling me what I can touch?”
Iris looked around.
Storefronts.
Courthouse tower visible between buildings.
American flag over the pharmacy.
“This is a public sidewalk.”
“Not for everybody.”
The words left his mouth easily.
Too easily.
Davis looked at him.
Iris did not react externally.
Inside, something became very still.
“What did you say?”
Hollister smiled.
“You heard me.”
Davis whispered, “Sergeant, body cam.”
Hollister glanced at him.
“What?”
Davis touched the front of his vest.
Camera.
Recording.
Hollister laughed.
“Good.”
He looked back at Iris.
“Maybe she’ll learn something.”
Iris turned toward Davis.
“Officer Davis, is your body camera active?”
Davis hesitated.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Hollister laughed louder.
“Listen to her.”
Iris looked at Davis for another second.
Not accusing.
Not pleading.
Just looking.
Davis would remember that expression for years.
Hollister kicked the backpack sideways.
It slid toward the curb.
The hidden field camera remained clipped inside the torn shoulder strap.
Recording.
Iris moved one step toward the bag.
Hollister immediately blocked her.
“Did I tell you to move?”
“No.”
“That’s right.”
“I am retrieving my property.”
“You stand where I tell you.”
Iris looked directly at him.
“You have not articulated any lawful basis to detain me.”
The amusement vanished from Hollister’s face.
He moved closer.
“Maybe you need to learn how things work here.”
Iris did not see the kick begin.
She saw his weight shift.
That was all.
His boot struck high against her shoulder and upper arm.
Pain exploded through her side.
Her balance disappeared.
Her right foot slipped off the wet curb.
She struck the edge with one hip.
Then rolled into shallow gutter water.
Cold mud splashed across her blouse.
Her glasses flew away.
Something cracked.
For several seconds, Iris heard only rainwater moving beside her ear.
Someone gasped.
Someone else laughed nervously.
Traffic continued.
A delivery truck passed through the intersection as if nothing extraordinary had happened.
Iris pressed one palm against the pavement.
Her left shoulder burned.
Hollister stood above her.
Smiling.
Davis looked horrified.
“Sergeant, that’s enough.”
“No.”
Hollister pulled his personal phone from his pocket.
He tossed it toward Davis.
Davis caught it automatically.
“Film her.”
Davis stared.
“Wade.”
“Film.”
“I’m not—”
“Do it.”
Hollister pointed down.
“Get this.”
Davis held the phone but did not raise it.
Iris pushed herself onto one elbow.
Mud ran from her hair.