He glared back at Warren. I said, step out of the vehicle now. Warren knew the statistics. He knew what happened to black men on dark roads who argued with angry, armed police officers. He was a tactician.
He knew when a battlefield was disadvantageous. I am stepping out of the vehicle, Warren announced loudly and clearly. He unbuckled his seatbelt with slow, deliberate movements. He opened the heavy door and stepped out into the biting November chill. He stood at his full height, 6'3, with the broad-shouldered build of a career paratrooper.
For a split second, Carter took a step back, visibly intimidated by Warren's imposing physical presence. But that fear quickly morphed into a volatile defensive rage. Turn around, face the car. Put your hands on the roof, Carter yelled, drawing his taser and aiming the red laser dot directly at the center of Warren's tailored suit jacket. Warren turned, placing his hands flat on the cold metal of his own roof.
Breathe, he told himself. Maintain bearing. Let him make the mistakes. Officer Carter closed the distance, shoving Warren aggressively against the side of the Mercedes. The impact bruised Warren's ribs, but he didn't make a sound.
Carter kicked Warren's legs apart, forcing him into a wide, uncomfortable stance, and began a rough, invasive pat-down. Carter patted down the torso, the legs, and then reached forcefully into Warren's pockets, pulling out his keys, his cell phone, and his wallet. Carter tossed the items onto the trunk of the car. Nothing on you, Carter muttered, sounding almost disappointed. Now we're going to tear this car apart.
You're going to stand right here. Officer, Warren said, keeping his voice strictly modulated. Before you proceed, I highly recommend you open my wallet. My secondary identification is inside. I already saw your license.
Warren, Carter snapped, moving toward the driver's side door to begin tearing through the interior. Look at the other ID, Warren commanded. It wasn't a request this time. It was the voice of a two-star general, a tone that had halted advancing infantry lines and silenced chaotic briefing rooms. The sheer authority in the command made Carter pause.
He grabbed the leather wallet off the trunk, flipping it open. Behind a clear plastic window sat a thick government-issued common access card. The United States Department of Defense seal gleamed in the glow of the red and blue police lights. Carter squinted at it, reading the bold text. Hayes Warren Rank Major General O-8 Branch United States Army Status Active Duty Carter stared at the card, then he looked at the tall black man leaning against the car.
A slow, cruel smile spread across the officer's face. A major general Carter scoffed, letting out a sharp bark of laughter. Are you kidding me with this? You expect me to believe you're a two-star general in the United States Army? You can verify that identification through your dispatch, Warren stated.
Or you can call the duty officer at the Pentagon. The number is on the back of the card. This is the best fake I've seen in years. Carter sneered, pulling the CAC card out of the wallet and flicking it with his finger. I bet you use this to get out of speeding tickets all the time, don't you?