Jenkins violently wrenched Sam's arms behind his back, the steel handcuffs biting viciously into Sam's wrists as Jenkins ratcheted them far tighter than legally allowed. Jonathan stood still, his hands raised in the air, his eyes burning holes into Jenkins.
"Your turn," Jenkins sneered, breathing heavily, high on adrenaline.
He holstered his taser and drew his secondary pair of cuffs.
"Turn around. Hands behind your back. Give me a reason to drop you."
"Come on, Officer Jenkins," Jonathan said, his voice terrifyingly calm, devoid of any fear.
"You just cost the United States government $3 million. You just let a cartel money launderer escape. My name is Special Agent Jonathan Paul. The man you just assaulted is Special Agent Samuel Hayes. We are with the Federal Bureau of Investigation."
Jenkins paused. For a second, a flicker of doubt crossed his face, but then he looked at Jonathan's baggy clothes, his worn out shoes, and his skin color. The prejudice ran too deep. He couldn't compute the reality in front of him.
He laughed, a harsh mocking sound.
"FBI? Yeah, right. And I'm the president of the United States," Jenkins scoffed, stepping forward and violently spinning Jonathan around.
He kicked Jonathan's legs apart, almost hyperextending his knee and slammed his chest against the bench next to Sam. Jenkins slapped the cuffs on Jonathan, locking them tightly.
"You guys are pathetic," Jenkins gloated, patting down Jonathan's sides.
"Impersonating a federal officer? That's a felony. Let's see what you've really got on you."
Jenkins reached his hand under Jonathan's hoodie, expecting to find a small bag of narcotics or an illegal unregistered handgun. Instead, his hand brushed against a molded Kydex holster holding a perfectly maintained Glock 19. Next to it, clipped securely to a reinforced tactical belt, was a heavy leather credential case. Jenkins's smirk faltered.
He pulled the leather case out from under the hoodie. Flipping it open, the harsh midday sun hit the polished metal inside. A solid gold shield with the blue enamel seal of the Department of Justice. Next to it, a laminated ID card bearing Jonathan's photo, the FBI watermark, and the signature of the director.
The park around them seemed to go dead silent. The only sound was the splashing of the fountain and the erratic, suddenly shallow breathing of Officer Brian Jenkins. Jenkins stared at the gold badge. He blinked.
He looked at the badge, then looked down at the two men in handcuffs.