"I said, step out of the damn car," Decker barked, his voice echoing loudly in the quiet, rainy street. He unclipped the retention strap on his holster. The loud snap of the leather was unmistakable. It was a threat, plain and simple.
Agrippa's eyes hardened, but his composure did not break. He knew that the graveyard was full of people who were right, but dead. The courtroom was the place to fight this battle, not the side of a slick road in the dark.
"I am stepping out," Agrippa said clearly, ensuring his voice would be picked up by the officer's body camera, if it was even turned on.
Agrippa opened the door and stepped out into the rain. The cold drizzle immediately began to soak the shoulders of his charcoal suit. He stood at his full height, 6 feet 1 inch, forcing Decker to take a half step back to maintain his physical advantage. Agrippa was dignified, unbowed, looking down at the officer with an expression of profound disappointment rather than fear.
"Turn around, put your hands on the roof of the car," Decker ordered, his hand resting on his weapon.
"Are you detaining me, officer?" Agrippa asked.
"You're about 2 seconds away from being arrested for resisting," Decker snapped. "Hands on the roof. Spread your legs."
Agrippa complied. He placed his palms flat on the cold, wet metal of his Mercedes. Decker stepped forward and forcefully kicked Agrippa's right ankle outward, causing the older man to stumble slightly before catching his balance. Decker then began a highly aggressive invasive pat down. His hands moving roughly over Agrippa's suit jacket, down his ribs, checking his waistband and moving down his legs.
"You are performing a Terry frisk," Agrippa stated, his voice steady despite the physical humiliation. "Such a search requires a reasonable suspicion that I am armed and dangerous. A traffic violation, even a fictitious one, doesn't meet that threshold."
Decker leaned in, his face inches from Agrippa's ear, his breath hot. "You think you're a real legal eagle, don't you? You think because you wear a fancy suit and learned a few big words, you can talk down to me. I own these streets. I decide what the threshold is."
"The law decides, officer," Agrippa corrected him quietly. "And you are currently breaking it."
That was the breaking point. Decker's bruised ego erupted. He grabbed Agrippa's left wrist, twisting it behind the older man's back with unnecessary force.
"That's it. You're under arrest," Decker snarled.
"On what charge?" Agrippa winced slightly as the torque on his shoulder increased.
"Disorderly conduct. Failure to comply. Take your pick," Decker hissed. He pulled his steel handcuffs from his belt.
With violent jerks, Decker wrenched Agrippa's right arm behind his back, locking the heavy steel bracelets around the judge's wrists. He squeezed the ratchets tightly, clicking them down until the metal bit sharply into Agrippa's skin. The pain was immediate, sharp, and constricting, but Agrippa didn't make a sound. He let the cold reality of the steel ground him.
Agrippa Graham, Chief Justice of the State Supreme Court, a man who had sworn in governors, a man who authored legal precedents, studied in law schools across the country, stood handcuffed in the rain, treated like a common vagrant by a man wielding a badge like a club.
"Walk." Decker shoved Agrippa by the shoulder toward the patrol car. Agrippa walked with his head held high as Decker opened the rear door of the cruiser and forcefully pushed Agrippa down into the cramped, hard plastic seat of the cage.
The judge made a silent vow. He was not just going to fight this for himself. He was going to expose the rot in this department, a rot that clearly thrived in the dark corners of this affluent town.
Decker slammed the door shut, locking Agrippa inside. The officer walked back to the driver's side of the cruiser, wiping the rain from his face, a smug, satisfied grin stretching across his features. He had shown the smart mouth who was boss.