Then his nose twitched. He sniffed the air. Exaggerated. Theatrical the way a bad actor performs surprise. What's that smell?
Oliver said nothing. Something doesn't smell right around your truck. Lawson turned toward the old pickup parked along the curb. I think I need to take a look. There's nothing in my truck but oranges and a folding table.
That's for me to decide. Lawson was already walking toward the truck bed. I've got probable cause. No, sir, you don't. Oliver's voice was firm but flat.
No anger, no fear, just fact. The Fourth Amendment protects me from an unreasonable search. You need probable cause based on specific facts or a warrant. You have neither. Lawson spun around, his lip curled.
Are you a lawyer now, huh? You selling law degrees out here, too? He turned back to the truck and yanked the tailgate open. The metal screamed against its hinges. He climbed halfway into the bed and started throwing things out.
A toolbox hit the pavement with a bang that echoed off the houses. Wrenches and screwdrivers spilled across the asphalt. A folded blanket landed in the gutter. A cooler full of water bottles tipped and cracked open. Water pulled around Oliver's shoes.
Then Lawson grabbed the last two crates of oranges. He shoved them off the truck bed one at a time. They hit the ground and split apart. Oranges everywhere. The entire sidewalk was covered.
Crushed fruit, broken wood, juice running into the storm drain in a thin orange river. Lawson jumped down from the truck. He wiped his hands on his pants. Nothing illegal. He said it like it was Oliver's fault.
But you've got a hell of a mess to clean up. Oliver stared at the destruction. His entire morning reduced to pulp and splinters on the concrete. The toolbox his father had given him 30 years ago was lying open in the street. The blanket Dorothy kept in the truck for cold mornings was soaking in gutter water.
He didn't speak. He didn't need to. His silence said more than any words could. And that silence, that absolute unshakable calm, was what broke Lawson's last thread of composure. Lawson stepped directly into Oliver's space, close enough to feel his breath, close enough to count the pores on his skin.
You think you're smart? The words came out in a low hiss. You think quoting the Constitution at me makes you better than me? Oliver didn't step back. Didn't lean away.
Didn't blink. I know my rights, officer. That's all. Your rights. Lawson almost whispered it like the word tasted rotten.