The relentless midday sun scorched the asphalt of the sprawling commercial parking lot. Suspended awkwardly in the air, a massive, custom-matte black Toyota Tundra hung from the heavy steel chains of a police tow crane. Marcus, a profoundly muscular African American man in his late thirties, strode across the lot. His light grey polo shirt stretched tightly across his powerful frame, his neat buzz cut catching the harsh sunlight. He was the owner of the truck, and the quiet architect of the city’s law enforcement infrastructure.
Standing triumphantly beneath the suspended vehicle was a young Caucasian officer. The rookie's blonde hair and dark aviator sunglasses gave him an unearned sense of absolute authority. Marcus approached with calculated, simmering frustration, his heavy keys clutched in his right hand. He demanded the truck be lowered immediately. The young officer simply crossed his arms over his navy-blue uniform, smirking at the imposing man before him.