"It's fine, Sarah," Arthur said softly. He looked back at Higgins. "My wallet is in my breast pocket. I am going to reach for it, slowly."
Arthur pulled out his slim leather wallet and extracted his Massachusetts driver's license, placing it on the table. He did not pull out his solid gold FBI credential; he wanted to see exactly how far Higgins would take this civil rights violation. If Higgins was doing this to him, a man in a Zegna suit at a five-star restaurant, Arthur could only imagine what Higgins was doing to young Black men in the darker, poorer corners of the city.
Higgins snatched the license off the table, squinting at it. "Arthur Pendleton... where does a guy like you get the money to eat at a place like this, Artie? You running numbers? Scamming credit cards?"
"I work for the federal government," Arthur stated evenly. "Officer, I highly advise you to step back, call your watch commander, and reconsider your current course of action."
Higgins let out a loud, mocking laugh. "Federal government? What, you deliver the mail? Listen to me very closely: you are going to stand up, put your hands behind your back, and walk out of here with me, or things are going to get very ugly, very fast."
Arthur slowly wiped his mouth with his napkin, placed it on the table, and stood up to his full height of 6'2". He towered over Higgins by three inches, which only infuriated the cop further.
"I am standing up," Arthur said, his voice dropping to a dangerous, icy register. "But I will not be putting my hands behind my back. I have committed no crime."
"Resisting arrest!" Higgins barked.
Without warning, Higgins lunged forward, grabbing Arthur violently by the shoulder and spinning him around. Higgins unclipped his handcuffs and slammed Arthur against the edge of the heavy oak table, rattling the fine china and crystal glasses.
The dining room erupted in gasps. The maître d' froze in terror.
Sarah stood up, her voice ringing out clearly. "Officer, you have absolutely no idea what you are doing! You need to stop this immediately!"
"Shut up, lady, or I'll take you in for interfering!" Higgins yelled, aggressively wrenching Arthur's arms behind his back.
Arthur did not fight back. He offered zero physical resistance. He let the cold steel of the handcuffs bite into his wrists, listening to the ratcheting clicks. Every click was another nail in Higgins' coffin; every second of this unlawful arrest was being permanently etched into Arthur's memory.
"You're making a catastrophic mistake, Officer Higgins," Arthur said quietly, reading the nameplate on the man's chest. "A career-ending one."
"Yeah, yeah, save it for the judge, tough guy," Higgins sneered, violently shoving Arthur forward. "Let's go. Walk."
Higgins paraded Arthur through the center of the restaurant, relishing the power trip, oblivious to the fact that he was proudly marching toward his own absolute destruction.
The crisp autumn air bit at Arthur's face as he was aggressively shoved into the back of Higgins' squad car. His knees hit the hard plastic of the partition, but he remained entirely silent. As Higgins slammed the door shut, trapping Arthur in the cramped, stale-smelling cage, the FBI director took a slow, deep breath, centering himself.
Higgins climbed into the driver's seat, whistling a cheerful, off-key tune. He keyed his radio: "Dispatch, this is 9-Adam-4. I'm bringing in a 10-15: disorderly conduct, trespassing, and resisting arrest. Suspect is secured."
As the cruiser pulled away from the restaurant, Higgins adjusted the rearview mirror so he could lock eyes with his prisoner. "You see, Artie, this is what happens when people like you forget their place," Higgins gloated, steering the car through the neon-lit streets of downtown Boston. "You think you can put on a fancy suit, buy a nice watch, and act like you own the city. But you don't. This is my city. And I know a fraud when I see one."
Arthur remained completely still, his hands awkwardly bound behind his back. "You have failed to read me my Miranda rights, Officer Higgins. You have failed to articulate reasonable suspicion for a Terry stop, let alone probable cause for an arrest. You are currently engaging in unlawful detention, kidnapping under color of law, and a textbook deprivation of civil rights."
Higgins laughed loudly, slapping the steering wheel. "Oh, listen to this! We got a regular legal scholar in the back! What did you do, watch an episode of Law & Order before you went out to scam people? Shut your mouth back there before I have to pull over and teach you some manners."
Arthur didn't say another word. He didn't need to. He was busy cataloging the structural failures of the 9th Precinct.
The 9th had been on the FBI's radar for over a year. There had been whispers of extortion, evidence tampering, and systemic civil rights abuses, but the local police union had built a fortress around the precinct, blocking federal subpoenas and intimidating witnesses. Arthur had spent months trying to figure out how to crack the 9th open from the inside. Officer Thomas Higgins had just handed him the sledgehammer.
Ten minutes later, the cruiser pulled into the heavily fortified rear garage of the 9th Precinct. The building was old, built of dark brick, and smelling heavily of bleach and stale sweat. Higgins hauled Arthur out of the car by the chain of the handcuffs, practically dragging him up the concrete steps and through the heavy metal doors into the booking area.
The booking room was loud and chaotic, filled with officers doing paperwork and holding cells packed with weekend arrests. Behind the elevated front desk sat Desk Sergeant Miller, an older, heavy-set man with bags under his eyes who looked like he was counting the minutes until retirement.
"What do we got, Tommy?" Miller asked, barely looking up from his computer screen.
"Got a live one tonight, Sarge," Higgins bragged, shoving Arthur hard into the metal booking counter. "Causing a massive scene over at the Wellington. Refused to leave. Got aggressive. Kept rambling some nonsense about working for the federal government. Probably running a fraud ring."