"I said license and registration," Cobb repeated, his tone hardening, entirely ignoring Matthew's explanation. "And keep your hands where I can see them. You move fast and we're going to have a problem." "My badge is right here on my scrubs," Matthew tried again, lifting his left hand just an inch off the wheel to point at his chest. "Hands on the wheel!" shouted the second officer, a younger rookie named Lawson, who was standing on the passenger side, shining a second light into the car.
Matthew gripped the wheel tightly. The clock on the dashboard changed. 2:34 a.m. Leo. "Okay," Matthew said, fighting to keep the desperation out of his voice. "I am going to slowly reach into my center console for my wallet.
My hospital ID is clipped to my shirt. Please just look at it. If you have to escort me to the hospital, do it. I will accept whatever citation you want to give me, but you have to let me get to my patient." "You don't tell me what I have to do, buddy," Cobb sneered, stepping closer.
The rain dripped from the brim of his uniform cap. He leaned down, peering into the car, his eyes scanning Matthew's face, his dark skin, his expensive car. "You look a little lost. People who belong in Oakcliffe don't drive through here at 90 miles an hour." "I was going 45," Matthew corrected gently.
"Please, Officer, step out of the vehicle," Cobb ordered. Matthew froze. "What? Officer, I just told you a child is dying. I am the only surgeon available who can perform this specific graft."
I'm giving you a lawful order," Cobb yelled, his voice echoing off the quiet, wealthy homes surrounding them. "Step out of the vehicle right now, or I will remove you from it." Matthew closed his eyes for a fraction of a second. The injustice of it was a bitter, familiar taste in his mouth, but the stakes were too high for pride. He slowly unbuckled his seat belt.
He opened the door and stepped out into the freezing downpour. The moment Matthew's expensive leather loafers hit the flooded pavement, Cobb grabbed his left arm, yanking him roughly toward the rear of the Mercedes. The sheer unnecessary force of it threw Matthew off balance, sending a sharp jolt of pain up his shoulder. "Turn around, face the car. Spread your legs," Cobb commanded.
Matthew complied, leaning his hands against the slick, wet trunk of his car. The rain was merciless, instantly soaking through his scrubs and his thin jacket. He shivered, not from the cold, but from a surging primal panic. Every passing second was a scalpel cutting away at young Leo's chances of survival. "Officer Cobb," Matthew pleaded, catching the man's name off his badge.
"Call Brighton Memorial. Call the emergency room desk. Ask for Dr. Sarah Jenkins. Ask them if Dr. Ryan is supposed to be there right now. Just make the call."
Cobb ignored him, aggressively patting down Matthew's sides, his hands roughly checking his pockets. "You talk a lot for a guy pulled over in a stolen car." "It's not stolen. The registration is in the glove box," Matthew yelled, his calm finally cracking. "Look at my ID."