The door flung open, and a heavy-set man with sergeant stripes on his sleeves stepped out. It was Sergeant Thomas Rossi, a twenty-year veteran of the force.
"Miller! What the hell is going on here?" Rossi yelled, marching up the driveway.
"Sergeant, I've got an uncooperative suspect. Matches the description of the prowler from Elm Street. He's refusing to ID and obstructing my investigation," Miller reported, chest puffed out, expecting backup.
Rossi looked past the young officer's shoulder. He looked at the recycling bin. He looked at the pristine suburban house. Then, he looked at the face of the man standing in the driveway.
All the blood instantly drained from Sergeant Rossi's face.
"Jesus Christ, Miller. Holster your weapon and step back. Step back right now!"
"But Sarge, he's—"
"I said step the hell back, Miller!" Rossi roared, physically pushing the young officer aside.
Rossi took a deep breath, removed his sunglasses, and wiped a sudden bead of sweat from his forehead. He took a hesitant step toward Marcus.
"Director Thorne... sir. I am... I am incredibly sorry."
Miller’s head snapped toward his Sergeant. Director?
"Sergeant Rossi," Marcus said, his voice perfectly level, though the adrenaline was finally beginning to recede. "It is good to see you. I wish the circumstances were better."
"Sir, are you alright? Did he put hands on you?" Rossi asked, his eyes darting to Miller, who was now standing frozen, the realization of his colossal error slowly creeping up his spine.
"I am physically fine, Sergeant. However, I have just been unlawfully detained on my own property, threatened with a Taser, and falsely accused of obstruction after politely requesting this officer articulate his reasonable suspicion."
Miller opened his mouth to speak, but Rossi silenced him with a lethal glare.
"Director Thorne," Miller whispered, his voice cracking. He had seen the name on memos. He knew exactly who reviewed the use-of-force reports.