Teresa came outside with her phone recording. An older white woman named Marjorie Finch emerged from the neighboring bookstore, holding a coffee and wearing reading glasses on a chain. Marjorie had owned Finch & Paper for thirty-six years and had watched Voss question everyone from homeless men to pastors as though the sidewalk were a courtroom he owned.
Isaiah said, “I do not consent to any search of my person or vehicle beyond what is legally justified by this stop.”
Voss began patting him down anyway. “Nobody asked for permission.”
“You have not articulated reasonable suspicion that I’m armed.”
“You want to teach law?”
“No.”
Voss opened the sedan door. Isaiah turned his head.
“I do not consent to a vehicle search.”
Voss looked at him. “Then you should’ve thought about that before acting suspicious.”
“What suspicious behavior?”
Voss ignored the question.
He reached inside and removed Isaiah’s leather portfolio from the passenger seat. Papers slid from it when he opened the clasp and dumped the contents onto the sidewalk. Isaiah’s transition memorandum landed near the curb, followed by city briefing documents, a sealed envelope from the mayor, and a framed photograph of his father.
Teresa said, “You cannot just dump his things outside.”
Voss pointed at her. “Stay back.”
Marjorie stepped onto the sidewalk. “For what reason are you searching his car?”
Voss looked toward her. “Police business.”
“I’ve been standing here since before you touched him.” Marjorie raised her phone. “He moved around the same pothole everybody moves around.”
“Ma’am, back away.”
Cameron’s livestream numbers climbed rapidly. Viewers recognized Voss.
Comments started appearing with names, dates, and stories. That’s the cop who stopped my cousin near Madison Park. Badge 3186. Record everything.
Isaiah watched the crowd become less afraid as cameras multiplied. Voss noticed too, and instead of slowing down he moved faster.
The officer picked up Isaiah’s driver’s license. “Isaiah Warren.”
“Yes.”
“Doctor?”
“Yes.”
“What kind?”
“Public administration.”
Voss smirked. “So nobody’s getting surgery.”
“No.”
“You people love titles.”
Isaiah looked at his badge. “Officer Raymond Voss, badge 3186, I am requesting a field supervisor.”
Voss’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t say my badge number like you know me.”
“I’m identifying the officer conducting the stop.”
“You think because you talk like a lawyer everybody has to jump?”
“No.”
“You think because you drive this car you’re better than me?”
“No.”
“You think that suit changes what happens out here?”
“No.”
Voss stepped closer. “Then stop acting like you run something.”
Isaiah looked directly at him. “I haven’t claimed to run anything.”
The answer somehow made Voss angrier. Teresa whispered, “He wants him to react.”
Marjorie nodded. “That’s exactly what he wants.”
Isaiah heard both of them. So did Voss.
He pointed toward the curb. “Sit down.”
Isaiah did not move. “Am I detained?”
“Yes.”
“For the lane movement?”