Stolen valor is a federal offense, buddy. You're in a lot of trouble. Warren closed his eyes for a fraction of a second. The absolute ignorance of the man was staggering. Officer Carter I strongly advise you to make that phone call.
If you proceed with this course of action, you will be making a career-ending mistake. Are you threatening me? Carter roared, suddenly closing the gap and grabbing Warren by the collar of his suit. "Are you threatening a police officer?" "I am stating a tactical reality."
Warren replied coldly. "Hands behind your back." Carter shouted, spinning Warren around and forcing his wrists together. The cold steel of the handcuffs bit deeply into Warren's skin. Carter purposely ratcheted them as tight as they would go, pinching the nerves in Warren's wrists.
"Warren Hayes, you are under arrest for suspicion of driving under the influence, resisting a lawful order, and presenting fraudulent government identification. You have the right to remain silent. I suggest you use it." Within minutes, a backup cruiser arrived. Another young officer stepped out, watching as Carter shoved the handcuffed general into the cramped, plastic-lined backseat of the patrol car.
"What have we got, Mitch?" the second officer asked. "Got a live one." Carter laughed, holding up the DOD ID card. "Driving a stolen-looking Benz, smelling like weed, and carrying a fake Pentagon ID. Guy claims he's an Army general."
The second officer chuckled. "Right. And I'm the Secretary of Defense. Put him in the cage. I'll wait for the tow truck."
As Warren sat in the stifling, foul-smelling backseat of the cruiser, he watched his pristine Mercedes being loaded onto a flatbed tow truck. The car had been a gift to himself after his last deployment. Now it was being impounded over the bruised ego of a small-town cop. Warren felt a cold, calculated fury settling into his chest. He didn't shout.
He didn't scream about his rights. He sat in total silence, calculating his next moves like a chess grandmaster. The ride to the station took 20 minutes. Carter drove erratically, taking sharp turns to intentionally throw Warren off balance in the backseat. When they finally pulled into the precinct in a wealthy insulated suburban county, Carter dragged Warren out of the car by his handcuffs.
The harsh fluorescent lights of the precinct lobby were blinding. Carter marched Warren up to the booking desk where a bored-looking desk sergeant was typing on a computer. "Hey, Sergeant Miller." Carter called out, shoving Warren toward the counter. "Got a good good one for booking."
Sergeant Miller, a heavy-set man with tired eyes, looked up. "What's the charge?" "DUI refusal, resisting, and fraud." Carter said, proudly dumping Warren's belongings onto the metal counter. The keys, the wallet, the phone, and a heavy gold watch.