The sheriff waved the papers.
“Anybody can print fancy seals.”
The deputy stepped forward.
“Sheriff, maybe we should run the credentials.”
The sheriff turned sharply.
“Did I ask you?”
“No, sir.”
“Then stand back.”
The Black man looked at the deputy.
For a moment, their eyes met.
The deputy seemed embarrassed.
Then the sheriff returned his attention to the documents.
He held up the service record.
He scanned the information.
His expression became cruel.
“So you've got a whole story about serving your country.”
The Black man's jaw tightened.
“That's an official record.”
The sheriff laughed.
“Sure it is.”
He looked toward the deputy.
“Apparently this fellow thinks we're stupid enough to believe anything with a seal on it.”
The deputy did not respond.
The sheriff shook the document.
“Maybe he's been using this garbage to get special treatment.”
The Black man took a slow breath.
“Sheriff, I haven't asked for special treatment.”
“You've asked me not to inspect your papers.”
“I've asked you to verify them properly.”
The sheriff's face darkened.
He suddenly stepped toward the patrol SUV.
“Cuff him.”
The deputy froze.
“Sheriff?”
“You heard me.”
The deputy looked at the Black man.
“Sir, please turn around.”
The Black man stared at the sheriff.
Then he complied.
The handcuffs clicked around his wrists.
He felt the familiar pressure of metal.
For one brief moment, a memory returned from years earlier.
A difficult operation.
A young colleague who never came home.
A folded letter delivered to a family.
He forced the memory away.
He was standing beside a Georgia highway.
He was not in a combat zone.
His responsibility was to remain calm and survive an unlawful situation without making it worse.
The sheriff spread the papers across the hood of the patrol SUV.
He selected a folder.
Then he reached into his pocket.
The Black man watched him remove a metal lighter.
His stomach tightened.
“Sheriff.”
The sheriff looked up.
“What?”
“Put the lighter away.”
The sheriff smiled.
“What's wrong? Afraid I'll ruin your paperwork?”
“Those documents are government property, and some of them are important personal records.”
The sheriff flicked open the lighter.
A small flame appeared.
The deputy stepped forward.
“Sheriff, don't.”
The sheriff ignored him.
He brought the flame toward the corner of the first page.
The Black man felt a sudden surge of disbelief.
“Stop!”
The sheriff laughed.
The paper caught.
Orange fire climbed along the edge.