Today it was his. He set the box down inside the door and turned back for another load. That was when he saw the cruiser. It rolled up slowly, the same way it had the week before.
Mackie felt something tighten in his chest before he even saw the name on the badge. But he already knew. Petrov. The officer stepped out of his car like he owned the whole street.
He didn't rush. He walked with his thumbs hooked in his belt, chin up, taking his time crossing the lawn like he wanted Mackie to watch him coming. "We got a call," Petrov said. "Suspicious person."
"Unloading stuff into a house that ain't his." Mackie set down the box in his hands, slow and deliberate. "This is my house." "That's what they all say."
Mackie felt the old familiar tightness settle into his shoulders. Not fear. Fatigue. The kind that came from doing this dance too many times before.
"I signed the papers three weeks ago. I can show you." "Show me your hands first," Petrov snapped. "Where I can see them." Mackie raised his hands, palms out, patient.
"They're right here. They've been right here the whole time." Petrov stepped closer, close enough that Mackie could smell the coffee on his breath. "You think this is funny? Standing there all calm, like you got nothing to worry about?"
"I don't have anything to worry about," Mackie said evenly. "I haven't done anything wrong." Something flickered across Petrov's face. Something dark and familiar.
This was the same man from the jog. The same calm. The same refusal to flinch. It lit a fuse in him that had been sitting there for a week, waiting for a match.
"You know what I think?" Petrov said, voice rising now, loud enough that a neighbor two doors down stepped out onto her porch to watch. "I think you like showing off. I think you like acting like you're better than the rest of us." He stepped closer.
"Well, you ain't." "Sir, I haven't raised my voice once," Mackie said. "I haven't moved. I've answered every question you asked me."
"Don't 'sir' me," Petrov barked, and his hand dropped to his belt, resting there like a threat. "I ask the questions. You don't get smart with me." From the doorway, Darlene appeared, drawn by the shouting.
"What's going on out here?" "Ma'am, step back inside," Petrov ordered without even looking at her. "This is our house," Darlene said, her voice sharp now, protective. "I said step back."
Mackie kept his eyes on Petrov. He kept his voice level, even as everything in him wanted to push back harder. He knew better. He'd trained officers his whole career on exactly this.
How a man's temper could turn a nothing call into a tragedy in 60 seconds flat. He wasn't about to become somebody's statistic on his own front lawn. "Officer," Mackie said carefully, "you can call whoever you need to call. Check the deed."