Jenkins let out a harsh, mocking laugh. "Yours? Okay, let's see some ID then."
"My wallet is inside the house," Roland replied, his voice dropping into the commanding tone he used inside the Hoover Building. "I would be happy to retrieve it for you."
"You aren't going anywhere," Jenkins snapped, grabbing Roland's forearm. "You're going to stand right here while I run your name. What is it?"
Roland looked down at the hand gripping his arm. The violations were stacking quickly, one after another. "Officer," he said softly, dangerously, "I strongly suggest you remove your hand from my person. You have no reasonable suspicion to detain me, let alone put hands on me on my own property."
Jenkins' face flushed red. He hated when suspects used legal language; it challenged his authority. "Oh, we've got a roadside lawyer! Gallagher, grab his other arm. He's resisting."
"I am not resisting," Roland said, standing perfectly still.
Gallagher hesitated. "Jenkins, maybe we should just let him get his wallet."
"I said grab his arm, rookie!" Jenkins roared.
Before Gallagher could move, Jenkins unclipped his handcuffs, twisted Roland's arm behind his back, and shoved the older man against the brick pillar of his own mailbox. The cuffs ratcheted tight, biting into his wrists.
Roland did not struggle. He did not yell. He let his cheek rest against the warm brick.
"You're making a—"