Walsh looks at Rivers, smiles. Affirmative. Send available units. He releases the radio button, leans down to Rivers' ear. Now you're really going to learn what happens to people like you in my city.
Rivers thinks, but doesn't say My city? We'll see about that. Chen shifts his weight. Uncomfortable. He should speak up.
Should say something. His mouth opens, closes. Nothing comes out. Sirens wail in the distance, growing closer. Backup arriving.
Walsh requested it. Walsh lied to get it. Sarah keeps recording. Her arms ache from holding the phone up. She doesn't lower them.
The veteran with the dog moves closer quietly. His dog sits. Well trained. The man pulls out a small notepad, starts writing. Time, description, details.
Walsh doesn't notice, too focused on Rivers, too confident in his power. Stand up. Rivers stands, slow non-threatening. His movements are deliberate. Walsh grabs his arm, tight, fingers digging in, hard enough to bruise.
What's your name? Jonathan. Jonathan what? You got a last name, or did your mama not bother giving you one? Rivers stays silent.
Let's Walsh talk. Let him incriminate himself. Where do you live? Right now, nowhere. Walsh's grip tightens.
Typical. Another drain on society. Another mouth we taxpayers have to feed. Two more patrol cars pull up. Officers Bradley and Thompson emerge.
Both white. Both are younger than Walsh. They approach cautiously. Walsh briefs them voice loud, confident. Vagrant refusing orders.
Suspected narcotics. No ID. Possible outstanding warrants. Every statement is a distortion or outright lie. Bradley and Thompson look at Rivers, then at Walsh, then at each other.
Something feels off. But Walsh is senior. Walsh is in charge. They surround Rivers. Three officers, one civilian.
The power imbalance is visual obvious, intentional. Rivers stands in the center calm, patient the eye of the storm. Walsh's radio crackles again. Unit 4799, what's the status? Walsh keys the mic.
Subject becoming aggressive. Requesting additional supervisor presence. The dispatcher pauses. Confusion evident. Copy.
Is subject armed? Negative. But he's a big guy. Better safe than sorry. Another lie.
Rivers hasn't moved aggressively once, hasn't raised his voice, hasn't done anything except stand there. Bradley steps forward, younger, less corrupted. His voice carries doubt. Sir has he actually done anything illegal? Walsh's head snaps toward him.
Are you questioning me, Bradley? No, sir. Just asking for clarification. The clarification is I'm the senior officer here. I make the calls.
Understood? Bradley nods, steps back. Another good cop choosing silence over righteousness. Walsh turns back to Rivers. His hand moves to his pepper spray canister fingers tapping it threatening without words.
Last chance. Tell me what you're really doing here. Rivers meets his eyes, voice still calm, still measured. I already told you, officer. I was sleeping.
[ __ ]. You're casing the neighborhood, planning break-ins. I've seen it a hundred times. I'm not planning anything. I'm just trying to survive.
Walsh's face twists, genuine anger now. Not just performance. Survive? You want to survive? Get a job.
Work for a living. Stop leeching off real Americans. The morning crowd grows. Six people now. Eight.
10. Some walking past quickly pretending not to see. Others stopping watching. A few pull out phones. Multiple cameras multiple angles, multiple witnesses.
Everything Walsh says, everything he does documented forever. Chen stands apart from the group. His body language screams conflict. He pulls Walsh aside voice low. Derek, maybe we should just transport him.
Let the station handle it. Walsh's eyes flash. You getting soft on me, Carter? No, sir. I'm just thinking about the paperwork.
I'll handle the paperwork. You just do your job. Chen swallows, nods, returns to his position. Walsh grabs Rivers' wrist, pulls out handcuffs. The metal catches morning light.
You're coming with us. Disorderly conduct public intoxication, resisting arrest. Rivers' voice stays level. I'm not intoxicated. And I haven't resisted anything.
Walsh clicks one cuff onto Rivers' wrist. The metal bites skin. You are now. The threat is clear. Walsh will fabricate resistance, will create a narrative, will make the lie become truth in his report.
Rivers looks at Carter then Bradley then Thompson. Each officer avoids his eyes. The second cuff clicks into place. And Rivers finally speaks clearly calmly with absolute authority. Officer Walsh, before you do anything else, I need to tell you something.
Walsh yanks the cuffs tighter. Shut your mouth. You're going to want to hear this. I don't want to hear anything from you except yes, sir. Rivers' voice doesn't rise.
Doesn't waver. My name is Captain Jonathan Rivers. Internal Affairs Division. Badge number 2847. The world stops.
Walsh freezes. Then laughs. Hard. Genuine. Captain?
You? He looks at Bradley and Thompson. They join his laughter. Nervous. Uncertain.
You hear this guy? He thinks he's a cop. Rivers stands still. Handcuffed. Calm.
His voice doesn't change. Check the database. Badge 2847. Internal Affairs. Walsh's laughter dies.
But his smile stays. Mean. Dangerous. You think I'm stupid? You think I'll fall for some con?
He shoves Rivers backward. Rivers stumble. Catches himself. The handcuffs bite into his wrists. Bradley.
Run badge 2847. Let's see what comes up. Bradley pulls out his tablet. Types. His fingers move slowly.
The screen loads. Walsh turns back to Rivers. Steps closer. Invading space. You picked the wrong cop to mess with, friend.
I've heard every lie. Every excuse. Every con. His hand moves to his pepper spray. Unsnaps the holster.
You know what happens to people who impersonate officers? That's a felony. Three to five years. Rivers meets his eyes. Steady.
Unblinking. I'm not impersonating anyone. I am a captain. Walsh's face reddens. Genuine anger building.
Shut your mouth. Bradley's tablet beeps. He stares at the screen. His face goes pale. Derek?
Captain J. Rivers. Internal Affairs. Badge 2847. Silence falls.
Heavy. Suffocating. Walsh grabs the tablet. Stares at the screen. A photo loads.
Clean-shaven face. Pressed uniform. But the eyes. The same eyes. Walsh's hands shake.
Just slightly. He shoves the tablet back at Bradley. That's not him. Look at this guy. He's homeless.
That photo is some clean-cut cop. Chen steps forward. Takes the tablet. Studies the photo. Looks at Rivers.
Back to the photo. Derek. I think it might be him. Walsh whirls on Carter. You're joking.
Look at the eyes. The jawline. It could be him under the beard. Walsh's breathing quickens. Panic creeping in.
But he's too deep now. Too committed. [ __ ]. This is some kind of setup. He grabs Rivers by the jacket.
Slams him against the patrol car. The metal crunches. Rivers grunts. First sound of pain. Who put you up to this?
Who are you working with? Rivers' voice stays level. Professional. Officer Walsh. I'm giving you a chance to stop.
Right now. Before this gets worse. Walsh's fist clenches. He wants to swing. Every muscle tenses.
Worse? You're threatening me? I'm warning you. Every action you take is being documented. Walsh looks around.
Sarah is still recording. The veteran watching. More phones out now. 12 witnesses. 15.
His radio crackles. Unit 4799 requesting status update. Walsh ignores it. His mind racing. If this man is really a captain.
If this is real. His career. His pension. Everything. But he can't be.
Can't be. Walsh makes his choice. The wrong one. You're lying. And I'm going to prove it.
He reaches for Rivers' jacket. Tears open. Buttons pop. Scatter on pavement. Let's see if you're wearing a wire.
Let's see what you're really hiding. His hands search. Rough. Aggressive. Finding the body camera disguised as a pen.
Walsh pulls it out. Holds it up. Recognition dawns. What's this? Rivers says nothing.
Walsh examines it. Sees the lens. The recording light. His face drains of color. You've been recording?