“Sheriff, my hands are visible.”
“I know where your hands are.”
Isaiah stepped down onto the gravel.
The heat hit him immediately.
Cleary moved too close.
“You think because you’re big I’m going to be intimidated?”
“I haven’t tried to intimidate you.”
“Turn around.”
Isaiah looked toward the sheriff’s body camera.
The red light was on.
Good.
“Are you arresting me?”
“I said turn around.”
Isaiah turned.
Cleary grabbed his right wrist and pulled it upward behind his back.
Hard.
Isaiah’s shoulder tightened.
Twenty-two years of instinct screamed through him.
Angles.
Balance.
Grip.
Escape.
He suppressed all of it.
The worst thing he could do was prove Cleary’s story for him.
“Other hand.”
Isaiah gave it.
The first cuff closed.
Then the second.
Far too tight.
“Those are cutting circulation.”
“You’ll live.”
Cleary shoved him against the truck.
Isaiah’s chest struck the door.
Not violently.
But unnecessarily.
His jaw tightened.
“Sheriff, your camera is recording this.”
Cleary leaned near his ear.
“Good.”
Then he gave Isaiah a short kick behind the knee.
Isaiah’s leg bent.
He caught himself against the truck rather than falling.
“Stop resisting.”
Isaiah turned his head slightly.
“I am not resisting.”
“You almost fell on me.”
“You kicked my knee.”
“Careful.”
The sheriff tightened his grip.
“You’re making this worse.”
Isaiah stared across the empty road.
He wondered how many people had heard that sentence before him.
People without training.
People who panicked.
People who shouted.
People who had nobody important they could call afterward.
That thought bothered him more than the cuffs.
A second patrol vehicle appeared several minutes later.
Deputy Caleb Mooney stepped out.
He was perhaps thirty-one, thin, pale, with a nervous face that seemed permanently apologetic.
“Everything okay, Sheriff?”
Cleary pointed toward the truck.
“Search it.”
Mooney looked at Isaiah.
“For what?”
“Fake government identification.”
Isaiah turned his head.
“Deputy, the identification was valid before he broke it.”
Cleary shoved his shoulder.
“Quiet.”
Mooney frowned.
“He broke it?”
Cleary ignored the question.
“Search the truck.”
“Probable cause?”
The sheriff slowly looked at his deputy.
“You need me to explain probable cause now?”
Mooney’s eyes dropped.
“No, sir.”
“Then search it.”
Isaiah watched the deputy approach the truck.
“Deputy.”
Mooney looked at him.
“I do not consent to a search.”
Cleary laughed.
“You hear that, Caleb? He doesn’t consent.”
Mooney stood still.
Isaiah continued.
“There are personal documents in the rear bag and secured equipment under the seat.”
Cleary’s expression sharpened.
“What equipment?”
“Nothing illegal.”
“What kind?”
Isaiah looked directly at him.
“The kind you should verify before opening.”
Cleary stepped closer.
“You really can’t stop talking, can you?”