"Yeah, well, she should’ve picked a better husband," Miller chuckled callously. His eyes then scanned the lobby and locked onto the heavy glass doors just as they swung open.
Marcus Vance walked in. He shook the rain from his hoodie, wiping a hand across his wet face. He looked around the lobby, taking in the scene: the neglected citizen, the unbothered desk sergeant, and the two officers lounging in the hallway. Marcus walked slowly toward the front desk, intending to ask for directions to a local diner, a simple test of the desk sergeant's demeanor.
Miller’s eyes narrowed. He looked at Marcus—a Black man in a wet hoodie, unshaven from a long drive, wandering into his station. In Miller's prejudiced mind, Marcus didn't belong here unless he was in cuffs.
"Hey. Look at this guy," Miller nudged Davis. "Probably looking for a warm place to sleep, or he’s strung out on something. Let’s go have a chat."
"Miller, he’s just walking to the desk," Davis protested weakly. "Leave him be."
"I'm proactive, rookie. Watch and learn how we keep the trash off our floors." Miller shoved off the wall and marched toward the center of the lobby, his hand resting instinctively on his utility belt.
Marcus was standing patiently at the front desk. The sergeant hadn't even looked up.
"Excuse me," Marcus said, his voice calm, deep, and resonant. "Could you tell me—"
"Hey, you!" a harsh voice barked from behind him.
Marcus turned slowly to see Officer Miller closing the distance, his chest puffed out, a look of absolute disdain plastered across his face. Rookie Davis trailed a few steps behind, looking anxious.
"Can I help you, Officer?" Marcus asked politely, keeping his hands visible and his posture relaxed.
"What are you doing in here?" Miller demanded, stopping uncomfortably close to Marcus, attempting to use his physical size to intimidate him.
"I was just about to ask the desk sergeant for some information," Marcus replied evenly. He was already taking mental notes. The aggression, the lack of professional greeting, the immediate escalation. It was worse than the Mayor had described.
"Information?" Miller scoffed, looking Marcus up and down with exaggerated disgust. "This is a police precinct, not a tourist center. You look like you're tracking mud all over my floor. Let’s see some ID."
"Is it a crime to walk into a public police station to ask a question?" Marcus asked, his tone steady, entirely devoid of fear. This calmness seemed to infuriate Miller. Predators rely on fear; when they don't get it, they become enraged.
"I said, ID. Now. Or I'm going to assume you're trespassing," Miller growled, stepping closer, his hand moving to unclip the restraint on his baton.
Marcus held his ground. "I haven't committed a crime, Officer. I'm a citizen, and I have a right to be in the public lobby of a police station. There is no legal basis for you to demand my identification."
Davis stepped forward, putting a hand on Miller's arm. "Miller, come on, man. He’s right, just let him go."
Miller violently shook Davis off. "Shut up, Davis! I'm handling this." He turned back to Marcus, his face turning a blotchy red. "You think you know the law, tough guy? You think you can come into my house and talk back to me?"
"It’s not your house," Marcus said quietly. "It belongs to the people."
That was the breaking point for Miller. In his mind, his authority was absolute, and this man was making him look weak in front of a rookie and the entire lobby.
"Hands on the wall! Now!" Miller screamed, spittle flying from his lips.
Marcus did not move. He simply looked Miller in the eyes. "I will not do that. You have no probable cause, no reasonable suspicion—"
Before Marcus could finish his sentence, Miller lunged.
Chapter 4: The Brutality
Miller grabbed Marcus by the collar of his wet hoodie and violently spun him around, slamming him face-first into the cold, concrete wall. The impact echoed sharply through the quiet lobby. The woman in the corner gasped and covered her mouth. The desk sergeant finally looked up, his eyes widening, but he made no move to intervene.