The exhausted expression of someone who had spent decades watching younger officers discover new ways to make old mistakes.
“What do we have?”
The arresting officer smiled proudly.
“Impersonation.”
The sergeant looked toward the detainee.
“Impersonating what?”
The officer tossed the identification onto the counter.
“Take a look.”
The sergeant picked it up.
His expression changed almost immediately.
He had seen enough government identification over the years to know when something deserved care.
He tilted the card.
Hologram shifted.
Chip intact.
Encoded markings.
The photograph matched.
He looked toward the Black man.
Then toward the insignia on his uniform.
The sergeant’s eyes narrowed.
The arresting officer said:
“Guy thinks he’s important.”
The sergeant did not laugh.
“Name?”
The Black man gave it.
The sergeant entered the driver’s-license information.
Clean.
No warrants.
Address matched the vehicle registration.
The sergeant looked toward the arresting officer.
“What started this?”
“Traffic violation.”
“What violation?”
“Lane drift.”
“Citation?”
“Not yet.”
The sergeant looked again at the detainee.
“Why the impersonation charge?”
“Look at him.”
The sergeant’s face hardened.
“That is not an answer.”
The arresting officer gestured toward the uniform.
“He’s claiming all of that is real.”
The sergeant looked at the card again.
“Did you verify it?”
The officer laughed.
“We’re doing that now.”
The sergeant stared.
“You arrested him before verifying?”
The officer’s face changed.
“I had probable cause.”
“Based on?”
“Total circumstances.”
The sergeant disliked that phrase when it arrived without actual circumstances.
He entered the identification number.
The local system searched.
Loading icon.
Then the screen changed.
RESTRICTED RECORD.
ADDITIONAL CLEARANCE REQUIRED.
CONTACT FEDERAL LIAISON FOR VERIFICATION.
The sergeant stopped.
The arresting officer leaned over.
“There.”
“What?”
“Restricted.”
“That means fake.”
The sergeant slowly turned toward him.
“No.”
“It does not.”
The officer frowned.
“What else would it mean?”
“It means restricted.”
The sergeant pointed at the screen.
“It literally tells us who to contact.”
The officer folded his arms.
“Do it.”
The sergeant stared.
“You sound awfully confident for somebody who arrested first.”
The officer’s jaw tightened.
The Black man stood quietly behind them.
The cuffs were still on.
The sergeant noticed the red marks forming around the skin beneath the steel.
“Take those off.”
The arresting officer turned.
“What?”
“Put him in holding if you insist.”
“But remove the cuffs.”
“He was noncompliant.”
The Black man spoke.
“I complied with every physical instruction.”
The sergeant looked toward the officer.
“Did he resist?”
The officer hesitated.
“Verbally.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
Silence.
The sergeant pointed toward the holding corridor.
“Remove them.”
The arresting officer took the Black man toward cell three.
He unlocked the door.
Removed the cuffs.
Red bands remained around both wrists.