Mayor.
He turned his head slowly and looked at the man standing beside him. He looked past the dirty hoodie, past the cuts, past the bruised jawline, and suddenly the features realigned in his mind. He recognized the face from the campaign billboards that had lined every major intersection six months ago. He recognized the face from the massive framed portrait hanging in the main lobby of the very building they were standing in.
Beatatrice Sterling. The Mayor of Oak Creek. The chief executive of the city. The man who approved the police department’s annual budget, signed the chief’s contract, and held ultimate authority over every municipal employee in the county.
Beatatrice looked down at Sergeant Miller, his expression completely unreadable. "Good morning, Sergeant Miller. I wish I could say it was a pleasure to see you."
"Keys!" Miller screamed at Higgins, slapping his hand against the counter. "Give me the damn cuff keys, Higgins! Right now!"
Higgins couldn't move. His nervous system had completely shut down under the weight of an unprecedented disaster. "No... no, that’s impossible," he muttered, his voice barely a squeak. "He said... he was just..."
"He told you who he was, you absolute fool!" Miller yelled, lunging forward and ripping the keyring off Higgins’s duty belt.
Miller frantically inserted the key into the cuffs, unlocking them with trembling fingers. As the metal ratchets released, Beatatrice brought his hands forward. His wrists were severely discolored, marked by deep, raw lacerations where the steel had cut through the skin. He slowly rubbed his forearms, wincing slightly as blood flow returned to his hands.
"Officer Higgins," Beatatrice said, his voice quiet, steady, and carrying effortlessly across the silent room. "You accused me of destruction of property. You accused me of copper theft. And when I identified myself and offered to show you my credentials, you drove your fist into my stomach."
Every officer in the room was staring at Higgins now. The camaraderie, the unspoken blue line of silence, had vanished completely. They were looking at him not as a fellow officer, but as a man standing on a trapdoor with a noose tightened around his neck.
"I... I thought you were lying," Higgins stammered, his posture shrinking, his previous arrogance entirely crushed. "You were wearing a hoodie... you were..."
"I was Black," Beatatrice finished the sentence for him. "I was a Black man in a wealthy neighborhood on a Sunday morning. That was the extent of my crime, was it not?"
Before Higgins could attempt a response, the heavy double doors at the rear of the intake facility were slammed open with such force that they bounced off the rubber wall bumpers.
Chief of Police Robert O'Malley stormed into the room like an approaching storm. He was a large, broad-chested man, usually known for his calm, politician-like demeanor, but right now his face was a dark, dangerous red. He was dressed in civilian clothes—a rumpled golf shirt and shorts—having clearly been pulled directly from his weekend activities.
Right behind him was Lydia Sterling. Her eyes swept the room frantically until they landed on her husband.
"Beatatrice!" she cried out, running past the motionless officers. She grabbed his arms, her eyes widening in horror as she took in his bloodied face and torn clothes. "Oh my God... Mrs. Gable called me... she said she saw an officer attack you..."
Chief O'Malley stopped dead in his tracks three feet from Beatatrice. His eyes moved from the blood on the mayor’s wrists to the severe bruising on his face, then slowly shifted to Officer Brad Higgins.
"Brad Higgins," O'Malley said, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous rumble.
"Chief... Chief, listen to me," Higgins pleaded, his hands shaking violently at his sides. "It was an operational misunderstanding. He refused to comply with verbal orders. He was wearing non-standard attire, no identification was visible, he resisted physical control—"
"Shut up," O'Malley said softly.
"Chief, I followed standard protocol for an unidentified suspect in a high-theft area—"
"I said shut your mouth!" O'Malley roared, his voice echoing off the concrete walls and making the overhead fluorescent lights seem to rattle. "Protocol involves punching an unresisting citizen in the solar plexus?! Protocol involves ignoring verbal identification?! Protocol involves conducting a racially motivated stop on a Sunday morning?!"
"I didn't know it was him!" Higgins shrieked, looking around desperately at the surrounding officers for support. But every officer turned their head away, staring intently at the floor or their desk monitors. "He didn't have an ID!"
"My wallet is in my rear right pocket, Chief," Beatatrice stated calmly. "I informed Officer Higgins of its location three separate times. He refused to allow me to retrieve it."
O'Malley glared at Sergeant Miller. "Search him."
Miller reached into Beatatrice's back pocket, pulled out the slim leather wallet, and opened it. He pulled out a state driver's license bearing Beatatrice's name and photo, followed by a gold, custom-engraved executive seal that read: Mayor - City of Oak Creek.
Miller held the gold badge up under the bright lights.
Higgins felt his knees give out. He grabbed the edge of the booking counter to prevent himself from collapsing to the floor. The full scale of the catastrophe had arrived. He hadn't just used excessive force on a civilian; he had brutalized his employer, the head of the local government, a man with direct lines to the state governor and the Department of Justice.
"Weapon," O'Malley demanded, stepping directly up to Higgins and extending an open palm.
Higgins blinked, his mouth opening and closing uselessly. "What?"
"Unclip your sidearm and give it to me. Now," O'Malley commanded.
"Chief, please... it was an error... I'm a good officer," Higgins begged, tears of panic brimming in his eyes. "I brought in three major narcotics busts last month! You can't do this over a mistake!"
"You are a toxic liability," O'Malley spat, his eyes filled with pure disgust. "And you are a embarrassment to this department. You assaulted an elected official. You fabricated charges on an official log. And if this is how you treat the Mayor of this city when you think nobody is watching, I shudder to think what you have done to citizens who don't have the power to fight back."
Higgins tried to unholster his sidearm, but his fingers were shaking so violently he couldn't release the thumb break. O'Malley didn't wait. He reached down, unclipped the weapon himself, pulled the Glock from its holster, and handed it directly to Sergeant Miller. Then, with a harsh tug, O'Malley ripped the metal badge off Higgins’s shirt front, tearing the blue fabric.
"You are suspended effective immediately without pay, pending formal termination proceedings and criminal indictment," O'Malley said. "Get out of my station."