Deputies swarmed the property, weapons drawn. They pushed past Preach's protests, spreading through the shop like a virus. Tools clattered to the floor. Drawers crashed open.
Filing cabinets tipped with metallic shrieks. "Well, well," a deputy called out. "What do we have here?" Near Immani's truck, he crouched, pointing at small plastic bags lying suspiciously clean against the tire well.
They hadn't been there ten minutes ago. The staged discovery was almost insulting in its obviousness. Immani pulled latex gloves from her pocket. She'd learned long ago to carry them and carefully photographed everything.
The bags. Their placement. The deputy's position. The angle of the lights.
Evidence against their evidence. A different deputy shouldered close, tobacco on his breath. "Way I see it," he growled, "you're leaving here in cuffs. Only question is whether you walk to the car or get dragged."
The shop lights flickered once, twice. Then darkness swept in as the power died, leaving only the swirling red and blue emergency lights to illuminate the scene. In that strobing darkness, every shadow looked like a threat, and every threat wore a badge. The emergency lights painted violent patterns across the darkened shop interior.
Tools cast twisted shadows on the walls, transforming the familiar space into something sinister. Preach moved with deliberate slowness, positioning himself between Immani and the advancing deputies. "This is my property," he said, voice steady despite the tension. "You're overstepping."
"Shut it, old man," one deputy snapped. "You're interfering with a lawful search." Through the shop's grimy windows, Immani spotted Mina Dwarte in her parked car. Phone held up like a shield, though her hands visibly shook.
Smart woman, keeping her distance while documenting everything. The lead deputy grabbed Preach's arm, spinning him roughly against the wall. The sound of his body hitting metal echoed through the shop. "You want to obstruct justice? Fine."
"Here's your citation for interfering with law enforcement." The handcuffs clicked shut around Preach's wrists, unnecessarily tight. The old mechanic didn't resist, but his dignity in the face of their bullying made the scene even more brutal. Immani's muscles coiled with combat-trained responses, but she forced herself still.
One swing. One push. One moment of justified resistance. That's all they needed.
She could already see the headlines they'd write. Violent trucker assaults officers during routine inspection. Instead, she reached for a different weapon. Procedure.
"Badge number 4479," she said clearly, reading it off the deputy's chest. "You're conducting a warrantless search without probable cause or consent. Please state your reasonable suspicion for the record." The deputy's swagger faltered slightly.
He hadn't expected this calm recitation of policy. "And Officer Martinez, badge 5582," Immani continued, her voice carrying to where Mina's phone recorded. "You've just detained a property owner for requesting identification during an unannounced search. Department policy requires you to document your justification."
She pulled out her own phone, keeping it visible. "I'd like both of you to repeat your probable cause for this inspection slowly and clearly, please." The deputies exchanged glances. Their script hadn't prepared them for someone who knew the rules better than they did.