Mercer walked toward the rear of the truck.
He shone the flashlight over the license plate.
Terrence looked too.
Both plate lights were functioning.
The officer walked around the passenger side.
Looked inside.
Returned.
Terrence asked:
“Can you tell me why I was stopped?”
Mercer turned.
“You crossed the center line.”
Terrence frowned.
“When?”
“About a mile back.”
“I don't believe I did.”
Mercer gave a small laugh.
“You calling me a liar?”
“No.”
Terrence spoke carefully.
“I’m saying I didn't notice crossing it.”
“That's why I'm telling you.”
Terrence nodded.
“Okay.”
Mercer stared, as though disappointed there would be no argument.
Then he asked:
“Any weapons in the truck?”
“Yes.”
That answer changed the officer instantly.
His shoulders tightened.
“Where?”
“Locked case behind the rear seat.”
Mercer’s hand moved closer to his holster.
“What kind?”
“A pistol.”
“Loaded?”
“Magazine separated from the firearm.”
“Permit?”
“Georgia does not require the permit you’re asking about for lawful possession in the vehicle.”
Mercer’s jaw tightened.
Terrence immediately realized the answer, though accurate, had sounded too informed for the officer’s liking.
He softened it.
“But everything is secured.”
Mercer looked into the truck again.
“Why didn't you tell me about the weapon?”
“You didn't ask until now.”
Mercer laughed without humor.
“You don't think that's something an officer might want to know?”
Terrence looked at him.
“I told you immediately when you asked.”
Silence.
Mercer walked closer.
“Anything else in there I need to know about?”
“No.”
“Drugs?”
“No.”
“Open containers?”
“No.”
“Anything illegal?”
“No.”
Mercer nodded slowly.
“Then you won't mind if I take a quick look.”
There it was.
Terrence had expected it from the moment the flashlight began sweeping the cab.
He answered immediately.
“I don't consent to a search.”
Mercer’s face became still.
“What?”
“I do not consent to a search of my vehicle.”
The officer gave him a long stare.
Terrence remained relaxed.
Mercer asked:
“Why not?”
“Because I don't consent.”
“If there’s nothing illegal, what's the problem?”
Terrence looked toward the body camera clipped to Mercer’s chest.
A small light indicated it was recording.
“No problem.”
“Then let me look.”
“No.”
The officer stepped closer.
“That's suspicious.”
Terrence did not respond.
Mercer continued.
“Normal people don't care if I take a quick look.”
Terrence said:
“I'm sure some people consent.”
“You don't.”
“No.”
“Why?”
Terrence looked directly at him.
“Because I don't want my truck searched.”
Mercer laughed softly.
“That's your answer?”
“Yes.”
The officer walked toward the truck.
Terrence’s eyes followed.
Mercer opened the driver’s door.
Terrence’s voice sharpened immediately.
“Officer, I do not consent to you searching my truck.”
Second refusal.
Clear.
Specific.
Recorded.
Mercer turned.
“I heard you.”
“Then why are you opening the door?”
“I'm conducting an investigation.”
“Based on what?”
Mercer leaned inside.
Terrence did not move toward him.
He did not raise his voice.
He simply repeated:
“I am not consenting to a search.”
Third refusal.
Mercer ignored him.
He reached toward the center console.