"Oops," Kendrick grinned. "Must have been loose. Cheap manufacturing."
Darius stared at the pin on the dirty floor. A fury, cold and white-hot, began to build in his chest. That pin had been pinned on him by his commanding officer after Hell Week. It represented brothers lost and blood spilled.
"Pick it up," Darius said softly.
"Or what?" Kendrick stepped forward, chest to chest with Darius. "You're going to hit me again? Please do. I'd love to add a felony to your sheet."
"Officer Kendrick," Darius said, his voice dropping an octave. "I am giving you one chance to fix this. Check my fingerprints. Run my name in the NCIC database. If you do not, you will destroy your career and bring down this entire department."
Kendrick laughed, a harsh sound. "Book him, Brooks. Throw him in holding cell three, the one with the broken AC."
Brooks hesitated. He bent down and picked up the Trident pin, looking at the heavy gold construction. It didn't feel cheap. It felt real. He placed it gently on the counter, avoiding Darius's gaze.
"Sorry," Brooks mouthed.
Darius didn't acknowledge him. He looked straight at Kendrick. "I need my phone call."
"You'll get your call when I'm done with my paperwork," Kendrick said, turning his back. "Could be an hour, could be tomorrow."
They shoved him into cell three. It was a concrete box, stiflingly hot. There was a metal bench and a toilet. Darius sat on the bench, closing his eyes.
He didn't pace. He didn't yell. He waited.
Hours passed. Finally, the heavy door opened. It was the rookie, Brooks. He looked pale.
"Sir," Brooks said through the bars, "Kendrick went to dinner. Sergeant said you can make your call now."
Darius stood up and walked to the bars. Brooks unlocked the cell and led him to a wall phone in the hallway.
"You got five minutes. Local calls only."
Darius picked up the receiver. He didn't dial a lawyer or a family member. He dialed a number he had memorized for absolute emergencies, a direct line to the Pentagon special operations command watch floor. It rang twice.
"Watch officer, Lieutenant Commander Hale," a crisp voice answered.
"Hale, this is Commander Darius Kane. Authorization code Sierra Tango 940 Zulu. I am currently being held unlawfully by the Ironwood County Sheriff's Department. I have been assaulted and my uniform has been desecrated."
There was a silence on the other end, followed by the rapid clicking of a keyboard.
"Confirmed. Commander Kane, we show you. Good God, sir, are you injured?"
"Negative, just detained. The arresting officer is Deputy Royce Kendrick. He believes I am a stolen valor case. He destroyed my Trident."
"He did what?" The voice on the other end hardened. "Sir, where are you exactly?"
"Ironwood County Jail, Texas."
"Sit tight, Commander. Do not say another word to them. I am waking up the admiral."
"And, sir?"
"Yes?"
"We're coming to get you."
Darius hung up the phone. He turned to look at Officer Brooks, who was watching him with wide, fearful eyes.
"Who was that?" Brooks asked.
Darius walked back to his cell and sat down. "That was the United States government, son, and they are very upset."
The next morning, the sun rose over Ironwood with the same oppressive heat. But inside the sheriff's station, the atmosphere had shifted. It was subtle at first. A fax machine that wouldn't stop printing. A phone line that kept ringing with no one on the other end.
Sheriff Harlan Voss walked in carrying a large coffee and a bag of donuts. He was a massive man, the kind who had played football in high school and never let anyone forget it. He ran the county like his personal fiefdom.
"Morning, boys," Voss grunted, walking past the dispatch desk. "Quiet night?"
Kendrick was sitting at his desk, feet up, scrolling through his phone. "Easy peasy, Sheriff. Bagged a lunatic in a Navy outfit at Big Al's yesterday. Guy thinks he's a SEAL."
Voss chuckled. "Another one? People are crazy. Did you check him out?"
"Nah, didn't need to." Kendrick waved a hand dismissively. "Fake ID, fake attitude. I let him rot in cell three overnight. Figured we'd arraign him this morning, give the judge a laugh."
Voss nodded, taking a bite of a glazed donut. "All right, bring him up. Let's get it over with."
Kendrick stood up stretching. He grabbed the keys and walked back to the cells. He opened the door to cell three. Darius was doing push-ups.
One-handed push-ups. He was moving with rhythmic, disciplined precision. He stopped when the door opened, standing up smoothly, not a drop of sweat on him despite the heat.
"Morning, sunshine," Kendrick sneered. "Judge is ready for you."
Darius walked out, hands behind his back. He looked Kendrick in the eye. "Is my uniform ready?"
"It's in the trash bag where it belongs," Kendrick said. "You're going to court in orange."
They brought Darius to the booking area. Sheriff Voss looked him over. He saw the posture, the dead-calm eyes, the physical fitness that was clearly the product of serious training. A seed of doubt planted itself in Voss's gut.
"What's your name, son?" Voss asked.
"Commander Darius Kane, United States Navy," Darius replied.
Voss frowned. "Kendrick, you ran his prints, right?"
Kendrick froze. "The machine was acting up last night, Sheriff. I was going to do it now."