Devon's eyes widened slightly. That's impossible officer. I don't smoke and no one has ever smoked in this car. I said I smell marijuana, Ford repeated his voice raising loud enough for the passing cars to hear. The trap was springing shut.
The fictional smell of drugs was the ultimate skeleton key for police officers like Ford. It bypassed the fourth amendment entirely granting him probable cause to search the vehicle and detain the driver. Step out of the car. Now. Officer, I respectfully decline to consent to any search of this vehicle.
Devon stated firmly his legal education kicking in. There is no smell of marijuana. Ford unclipped his radio. Unit four, I need a secondary unit to my location for backup. Uncooperative suspect.
He dropped the radio and placed both hands on the door of the McLaren. I am giving you a lawful order to step out of the vehicle. If you do not comply, I will drag you out through this window and charge you with resisting arrest. Do you understand me? Devon knew the law, but he also knew the grim reality of the streets.
You can beat the rap, but you can't beat the ride and sometimes you don't even survive the ride. Arguing the law on the side of the road with a rogue cop was a losing battle. I am complying officer. Devon said softly. He pulled the interior door handle and pushed the heavy dihedral door upward.
As soon as Devon stepped out onto the hot asphalt, Ford grabbed his left arm, twisting it violently behind his back. The sudden pain shot up Devon's shoulder, making him gasp. "Turn around, spread your legs." Ford barked, shoving Devon roughly against the sleek side panel of the supercar. The metal was scorching hot from the sun, burning through Devon's thin T-shirt.
"Officer, there is no need for force. I am not resisting." Devon winced, keeping his free hand visible in the air. Ford ignored him, kicking Devon's legs further apart. He aggressively patted Devon down, his hands unnecessarily rough as they checked his pockets, his waistband, and his ankles.
Finding no weapons, Ford didn't relent. Instead, he pulled his handcuffs from his belt. Click. Zip. The cold, heavy steel locked tightly around Devon's left wrist.
Ford yanked Devon's right arm back, pulling it awkwardly, and secured the other cuff. By now, the spectacle had drawn a crowd. Across the street door, an older woman walking a golden retriever stopped to stare, her hand covering her mouth in feigned shock. A landscaper paused his leaf blower to watch. A silver Mercedes slowed down to a crawl, the driver openly recording the scene on a smartphone.