“Planning a complaint?”
Terrence answered honestly.
“Yes.”
That stopped him.
The officer stepped away from the truck.
“You know what?”
“What?”
“People like you make this job impossible.”
Terrence’s face hardened.
“What does ‘people like me’ mean?”
Mercer realized the danger.
He redirected.
“People who think they know procedure better than the officer standing in front of them.”
Terrence said nothing.
Mercer continued.
“Everybody watches a few videos online and suddenly they're a lawyer.”
Terrence almost told him.
Twenty-eight years.
Master-at-Arms.
Senior Chief.
Force protection.
Security training.
Use-of-force instruction.
Incident review boards.
He could have listed credentials long enough to change Mercer’s attitude instantly.
He did not.
Because they should not matter.
Terrence asked:
“Do you need my profession to decide whether my refusal matters?”
Mercer stared.
“Your profession?”
“I asked a question.”
Mercer waved dismissively.
“Stay there.”
He walked toward his patrol car.
Terrence watched.
The officer leaned through the driver’s window and typed something into the mounted computer.
Two minutes passed.
Then three.
Terrence remained beside his truck.
The road shoulder was wide.
No immediate traffic danger.
Still no explanation beyond the center-line allegation.
Mercer returned.
“Your license is clean.”
Terrence nodded.
“Registration is current.”
“Yes.”
“No warrants.”
“I know.”
Mercer stared.
“You always answer like that?”
“Like what?”
“Like you're smarter than everybody.”
Terrence looked at him.
“I said I know I don't have warrants.”
“That's arrogance?”
Mercer did not answer.
Then headlights appeared behind the patrol car.
Another police cruiser pulled onto the shoulder.
Blue lights activated.
Terrence watched a broad-shouldered older officer step out.
Gray at the temples.
Sergeant stripes.
His posture immediately looked different from Mercer’s.
Less theater.
More observation.
The sergeant listened to his radio while approaching.
Mercer turned.
“Sergeant.”
The older officer held up one hand.
Still listening.
Dispatch spoke over the radio.
This time Terrence heard more clearly.
“Supervisor requested regarding consent dispute.”
Mercer’s face changed.
He had not requested a supervisor.
Someone else had.
The sergeant reached them.
His nameplate read:
ELLIS.
Sergeant Daniel Ellis looked first at Terrence.
Then the open truck door.
Then Mercer.
“What’s going on?”
Mercer answered quickly.
“Possible impaired or suspicious driver.”
Ellis looked at Terrence.
“Impaired?”
Mercer continued.
“Vehicle crossed the center line.”
“No alcohol odor.”
“Driver admitted firearm inside vehicle.”
“Refused consent.”
“I developed suspicion.”
Ellis looked toward the open console.
“You’re searching?”
“Yes.”
“Probable cause?”
Mercer paused.
“I have reasonable suspicion.”
Ellis’s expression tightened.
“Of what?”
Mercer looked toward Terrence.
“His behavior.”
Terrence almost laughed.
Ellis asked:
“What behavior?”
“Evasive.”
“How?”
“He kept questioning the stop.”
Terrence said calmly:
“I asked why I was stopped.”
Mercer turned.
“I’m talking.”
Ellis immediately said: