For a second, there was silence.
Then Higgins laughed.
“You're the mayor?”
“Yes.”
“And this is your city?”
Beatatrice looked directly at him.
“Yes.”
Something changed in Higgins's face.
It wasn't amusement anymore.
It was anger.
“Turn around.”
Beatatrice blinked.
“Excuse me?”
“Hands on the fence.”
“Officer, this is unnecessary.”
“Now.”
Beatatrice looked at the fence.
Then at the officer.
He understood something important.
Higgins wasn't trying to determine what had happened.
He had already decided.
The only question was how far he intended to go.
Beatatrice slowly turned.
He placed his hands against the chain-link fence.
“I'm cooperating,” he said.
But Higgins wanted more than cooperation.
He wanted submission.
Higgins grabbed Beatatrice's wrist.
Hard.
He twisted the arm behind his back.
Beatatrice winced.
“Easy.”
“Stop resisting.”
“I am not resisting.”
Higgins pushed him against the fence.
The metal struck Beatatrice's cheek.
Pain flashed across his face.
“My wallet is in my back pocket,” he said. “My identification is there.”
“Shut up.”
The handcuffs came out.
Higgins pulled Beatatrice's arms farther behind him and locked the cuffs around his wrists.
They were painfully tight.
Beatatrice remained remarkably calm.
“Officer Higgins, I am asking you one more time to verify my identity.”
Higgins spun him around.
“You're under arrest.”
“For what?”
“Vandalism. Loitering. Resisting arrest.”
Beatatrice stared at him.
“My hands were on the fence.”
“Keep talking and I'll add another charge.”
Then Higgins grabbed the front of Beatatrice's hoodie.
“You threatening me, boy?”
The word hung between them.
Beatatrice's expression changed.
He wasn't frightened.
He was disappointed.
“I am telling you the truth,” he said quietly. “My name is Beatatrice Sterling. I am the mayor of this city.”
Higgins's face hardened.
He pulled back his fist.
And punched him.
The blow landed in Beatatrice's stomach.
The air exploded from his lungs.
He collapsed against the fence before dropping to his knees.
Across the street, an elderly woman screamed.
“What are you doing?”
Higgins turned.
“Get inside!”
Mrs. Gable stood frozen on her porch.
She had recognized Beatatrice.
Everyone in Oak Creek knew the mayor.
And she had just watched a police officer punch him.
Higgins grabbed Beatatrice by the cuffs and pulled him upright.
“Get in the car.”
Beatatrice struggled to breathe.
His ribs burned.
His cheek was bleeding.
But his mind was clear.
He remembered the officer's badge number.
He remembered the time.
He remembered the location.
And now there was a witness.
Higgins shoved him into the back of the cruiser.
The door slammed.
Then Higgins climbed behind the wheel.
“Dispatch,” he said into the radio. “Unit Four Alpha. One suspect in custody for vandalism and resisting arrest.”
The dispatcher asked for the suspect's name.
Higgins looked into the rearview mirror.
Beatatrice looked back.
“John Doe,” Higgins said.
He smiled.
“Refused to identify himself.”
The cruiser pulled away.
Behind them, Mrs. Gable was already reaching for her phone.
The ride to the station was humiliating.
Beatatrice's wrists were numb.
Every bump in the road sent pain through his abdomen.
Higgins seemed completely relaxed.
He hummed quietly while driving.
At the station, the cruiser entered the secure garage.
Higgins opened the rear door.
“End of the line.”
He grabbed Beatatrice's arm and pulled him out.
Beatatrice stumbled.
“Walk.”
Inside the booking area, several officers were working.
Higgins wanted an audience.
“Got a live one,” he announced. “Caught him stripping metal from Fourth and Elm.”
He pushed Beatatrice toward the booking desk.
“He resisted.”
Then he added another accusation.
“He assaulted me.”
Beatatrice said nothing.
Behind the desk sat Sergeant Tom Miller.
Miller had spent nearly thirty years in law enforcement.
He had seen drunk drivers.
Thieves.
Violent offenders.
Good officers.
Bad officers.
He looked tired.
“What is the name?”
Higgins shrugged.
“Refused to identify himself.”
Miller typed something.
“John Doe?”
“That's right.”
Then Miller looked up.
His face changed immediately.
His eyes moved from Beatatrice's bruised cheek to his tightly cuffed wrists.
Then to Higgins.
He stood.
“Mr. Mayor?”
The room went silent.
Higgins froze.
“What?”
Miller moved toward Beatatrice.
“Mr. Mayor, I am so sorry.”
Higgins stared at him.
“Mayor?”