The man's hands were at his sides, loose and still, the paint-flecked work gloves he had been wearing tucked into the front pocket of his jeans. His face was the face of a man who had made a decision and was waiting for the world to catch up with it. He could have stopped all of this in 3 seconds.
The credential case was in the glove compartment of the C20 8 feet from where he stood, a heavy leather fold worn smooth at the corners from years of use containing a federal identification card and a gold shield that would have ended this encounter the moment it caught the light. 3 seconds.