Slowly, Briggs warned, his voice tight. I am simply retrieving my identification, Sheriff, the man replied, his tone chillingly calm. He produced a slim leather wallet, extracting a standard driver's license and handing it through the window. Briggs snatched it. He glanced at the name, Aaron Fletcher.
The address was listed in Virginia. Aaron, Briggs said, deliberately using the first name to demean him. What brings you down to Faulkner County? You lost? Because people who look like you, driving cars like this, usually have a very good reason to be passing through my town.
I am conducting business in the area, Aaron replied smoothly. I assure you, Sheriff, my driving was exemplary. And this vehicle meets all federal and state regulations. Federal regulations don't mean spit in my county, Briggs sneered, leaning closer to the window, invading Aaron's personal space. I decide what's legal here, and right now, I smell something funny.
You smell that, Kyle? Briggs called out to his deputy over the roof of the SUV. I don't smell anything, Sheriff, Harrison called back, his voice wavering. Smells like marijuana to me. Briggs lied.
His eyes locking back onto Aaron. The smell of marijuana was Briggs's golden ticket. It was the unprovable claim that gave him instant probable cause to tear a vehicle apart and seize whatever cash he found inside. Step out of the vehicle, Aaron. Keep your hands where I can see them.
For the first time, a faint, almost imperceptible smile touched the corners of Aaron Fletcher's mouth. It wasn't a smile of amusement. It was the cold, calculated smile of a grandmaster who had just watched his opponent step into a checkmate trap. Sheriff Briggs, Aaron said softly, his voice carrying a weight that made the hairs on the back of Briggs's neck stand up. I strongly advise you to reconsider this course of action.
You have made a traffic stop without probable cause. You are now fabricating reasonable suspicion to initiate an illegal search. If you walk back to your cruiser right now, this ends as a minor footnote. Briggs's face flushed a deep, violent crimson. Nobody spoke to him like that.
Not in Faulkner County. Not ever. You listen to me, you arrogant son of a. Briggs snarled, drawing his weapon halfway from its holster. Get out of the car before I pull you through this window.
Aaron Fletcher calmly shifted the SUV into park. He unbuckled his seatbelt with deliberate slowness. As you wish, Sheriff. The heavy door of the Suburban clicked open, and Aaron stepped out onto the gravel. He was taller than Briggs had anticipated, standing a formidable 6'2".