Miller began to inventory the items. He picked up the heavy gold watch. "Rolex Submariner. Nice piece." "Probably fake, just like his ID."
Carter chimed in. He reached into the pile and pulled out a heavy solid bronze coin. It was intricately engraved with a bald eagle and three stars. Carter tossed it onto the desk. "Look at this garbage.
Guy's carrying around poker chips." Warren's eyes narrowed. It was a commander's challenge personally handed to him by the lieutenant general of the 82nd Airborne Division after a successful combat operation in Syria. "Take his tie, his belt, and his shoelaces." Sergeant Miller ordered, mechanically ignoring the coin.
"Put him in holding cell three. I'll run his prints." Two other officers approached, stripping Warren of his silk tie, his leather belt, and the laces from his Oxfords. They treated him roughly, yanking him by the shoulders. Warren remained an immovable pillar of stoicism.
"I'm entitled to a phone call." Warren finally spoke, his voice echoing in the concrete room. "You'll get your call when we're done processing you." General Carter mocked, grabbing Warren by the arm and leading him down a bleak, gray hallway. The holding cell smelled of urine and industrial bleach.
There was a single metal bench bolted to the wall. Carter shoved him inside and slammed the heavy iron bars shut. The lock echoed with a sickening clang. "Make yourself at home." Carter smiled through the bars.
"The magistrate won't be in until 8:00 tomorrow a.m. You've got a long night ahead of you." Warren stood in the center of the cell, his hands finally free from the cuffs. His wrists were bruised and bleeding slightly. His tailored suit rumpled and dirtied from being shoved against the car. He looked at the camera mounted in the corner of the ceiling.
He knew they were watching. He sat down on the cold metal bench, crossed his legs, and folded his hands in his lap. He waited with the infinite patience of a sniper in a blind. Two hours passed. The precinct was quiet, save for the occasional radio chatter echoing down the hall.
Finally, heavy footsteps approached. Sergeant Miller appeared at the bars looking slightly pale, though Warren couldn't quite tell why yet. Miller held a cordless phone in his hand. "All right, Hayes." Miller grunted, sliding the phone through the small slot in the bars.
"You get one call. Make it quick. Local numbers only." Warren took the phone. He didn't dial a local public defender.