The Sergeant stepped forward.
"Don't tell my officer what to do."
The Black driver turned toward him.
"I'm not telling him."
A pause.
"I'm reminding him."
The Sergeant's face hardened.
The Black driver opened his car door.
Before getting inside, he looked back.
"You still haven't told me the real reason you stopped me."
The Sergeant folded his arms.
"I already did."
"No."
The driver looked at him.
"You gave me three different reasons."
The younger officer glanced at the Sergeant.
Improper lane movement had not been mentioned until now.
The Black driver got into his car.
He closed the door.
The sedan pulled away.
The Sergeant watched it disappear.
Then he turned toward the younger officer.
"What was that look?"
"What look?"
"Don't do that."
The younger officer said nothing.
The Sergeant pointed at his chest camera.
"Turn that off."
The younger officer hesitated.
"We're still on scene."
"Turn it off."
The younger officer reached toward the camera.
Then stopped.
"Sergeant, policy says it stays active until enforcement activity is concluded."
The Sergeant stared at him.
"You quoting policy at me now?"
"No."
"It sounds like it."
The younger officer kept the camera on.
The Sergeant walked away.
Neither man understood yet that those twelve minutes had just become the most important recording of their careers.
The Black driver arrived home forty minutes later.
His wife saw the marks first.
She was standing in the kitchen when he removed his jacket.
"What happened to your wrists?"
He looked down.
"Traffic stop."
She stared at him.
"You were handcuffed?"
"For a few minutes."
"For what?"
He placed his keys on the counter.
"Apparently I asked too many questions."
She came closer.
"Are you okay?"
"Yes."
"Did they hurt you?"
"No."
"That's not what I asked."
He looked at her.
She knew him too well.
He finally exhaled.
"I'm angry."
She nodded.
"I thought so."
He walked toward the sink and poured a glass of water.
His wife remained behind him.
"What are you going to do?"
He took a drink.
Then looked toward the briefcase resting near the dining table.
Inside was a sealed personnel packet.
His wife followed his gaze.
"You start Monday."
"Yes."
"At that precinct?"
He nodded.
She closed her eyes.
"You've got to be kidding."
He almost smiled.
"No."
"Does that Sergeant work there?"
"I believe so."
"And he doesn't know?"
"No."
His wife stared at him.
"Does the Chief know about tonight?"