“I gave you an order.”
“Those are not the same thing.”
Erica stepped closer.
“You threatening me?”
“No.”
Michael reached toward his pocket.
Her hand immediately went toward her belt.
“Slow.”
Michael stopped.
“My phone.”
“What for?”
“I’m calling my son.”
She laughed.
The sound was louder than necessary.
“Go ahead.”
Michael pulled the phone out.
Erica folded her arms.
Something about her posture suggested she expected him to call a nervous relative who would tell him to stop causing trouble.
Michael unlocked the screen.
He pressed one name.
Robert.
His son answered on the second ring.
“Dad?”
Michael looked directly at Erica.
“Robert.”
Something in Michael’s voice changed his son immediately.
“What happened?”
“I’m at Hazel’s Diner.”
“Are you hurt?”
“I’m all right.”
Michael paused.
“Sheriff Erica Mullen just hit me in front of eighteen people.”
The diner became silent.
Erica’s smile vanished.
Robert said something Michael did not answer immediately.
Then Michael continued:
“Tell the Governor’s public-integrity office.”
Erica’s face changed.
Only slightly.
But Michael saw it.
“Dad, what happened?”
“I’ll explain.”
“Do you need an ambulance?”
“No.”
“Police?”
Michael almost laughed.
“She’s standing in front of me.”
Robert went quiet.
Then:
“Don’t leave.”
“I wasn’t planning to.”
“Don’t let anyone touch the recordings.”
Michael glanced upward.
The diner camera above the register.
“I see one.”
Robert’s voice sharpened.
“Dad.”
“Yes?”
“Do not argue with her.”
Michael looked at Erica.
“I’m finished arguing.”
He ended the call.
For several seconds, nobody moved.
Erica stared at him.
Then:
“Your son’s a judge.”
It was not a question.
Michael put the phone into his pocket.
“Yes.”
“You think that scares me?”
“No.”
He looked down.
“Lana, could you get my glasses?”
Lana immediately moved.
Erica snapped:
“Stay where you are.”
For the first time, Lana ignored her.
She walked around the counter.
Crouched.
Reached beneath the booth.
Found the glasses.
One lens was cracked diagonally.
She handed them to Michael.
Her fingers trembled.
“I’m sorry.”
Michael put them on.
The room returned unevenly.
Half clear.
Half fractured.
He looked at Erica.
“I don’t think my son’s job should matter.”
“Then why call him?”
“Because I trust him.”
Erica scoffed.
Michael continued:
“And because eighteen witnesses just watched the county sheriff assault an unarmed old man.”
“I removed a disorderly subject.”
The trucker finally spoke.