Otis blinked, confused. "Why, yes. Last week. I thought I dropped it."
David looked at Miller. "Why do you have my father's notebook, Officer?"
The silence that followed was heavy, pregnant with the realization of a crime much dirtier than profiling. Miller wasn't just a racist cop; he was a thief.
The humidity in the parking lot seemed to spike, the air growing thick and suffocating. All eyes were glued to the back pocket of Officer Greg Miller. The leather-bound notebook, worn at the edges and embossed with a small gold cross—the symbol of the Pine Bluff Youth Ministry—was protruding just enough to be damning.
Miller's hand twitched near his belt. Panic, raw and animalistic, flashed behind his sunglasses. He knew exactly what was in that notebook. It wasn't just the donation money he had pocketed during a routine inspection of the church van a week prior; it was his own scribbles. Miller, in his arrogance, had used the back pages to tally his off-the-books collections from local shopkeepers. He had stolen Otis's property and turned it into a ledger of his own corruption, never imagining he would face a reckoning.
"I don't know what you're talking about," Miller lied, his voice rising in pitch. He took a step back, his hand inching toward the pocket to shove the notebook deeper inside. "This is police property. My personal log."
"Don't touch it," David commanded. He didn't shout this time. He spoke with the quiet, absolute authority of a man who had led troops into gunfire. "If you touch that evidence, you are tampering with a crime scene."
David turned his gaze to the rookie officer whose nametag read "Officer Kinsley." The young man looked like he was about to vomit. He was shifting his weight from foot to foot, his eyes darting between his senior partner and the imposing Marine captain.
"Officer Kinsley," David said, his voice cutting through the tension. "You are sworn to uphold the law. Right now, you are witnessing a felony in progress. If you do not secure that notebook, you are an accessory. And I promise you, when the MPs and the state police get here, I will make sure you go down for obstruction alongside him."
Kinsley swallowed hard. He looked at Miller. "Buck, let me see the notebook."
"Shut your mouth, rookie!" Miller snapped, sweat beading on his forehead. "You take orders from me!"
"Not anymore," Kinsley whispered. The fear of David and the rapidly arriving consequences outweighed his fear of Miller's bullying. Kinsley stepped forward. "Buck, hand it over. There are 50 cameras on us right now."
Miller snarled, his face twisting into a mask of pure malice. "You turn on me after everything I taught you?"
"Give him the book, Miller!" a voice from the crowd shouted. It was Mr. Henderson, the owner of the local hardware store. "We all know you've been skimming off the top!"
Miller looked at the crowd. They weren't cowering anymore. David's presence had broken the spell of fear that Miller had cast over the neighborhood for years. The predator was now the prey.
With a shaking hand, Miller reached into his back pocket. For a split second, he looked like he might throw it onto the roof of the coffee shop or try to run. But David took one step forward, his muscles coiling beneath his dress uniform, ready to tackle him into the asphalt.
Miller froze. Defeated, he pulled the notebook out and shoved it into Kinsley's chest. "Fine! Take it! It's just a notebook! You're all crazy!"
Kinsley held the book like it was a live grenade. He opened the front cover.
"Read the inscription," David said.
Kinsley cleared his throat. "'Property of Deacon Otis Reynolds. If found, please return to First Baptist Church.'"
A collective gasp went through the crowd.
"And check the back flap," Otis said softly, rubbing his sore wrist. "There should be an envelope. $600 in cash, for the roof repair."
Kinsley flipped to the back. He pulled out a white envelope. He peeked inside and nodded. "There's cash here."
"That proves nothing!" Miller yelled, desperate. "I found it! I was... I was going to log it into evidence later today! I forgot I had it!"
"You forgot evidence in your personal pocket for a week?" David asked, raising an eyebrow. "While accusing the owner of that property of theft?"
David turned back to the phone he was still holding. "Chief Harrison, did you hear that?"
The chief's voice on the speakerphone was icy. "I heard every word, Captain. Kinsley, you are to detain Officer Miller immediately. I am 2 minutes out."
Miller's jaw dropped. "Detain me? Kinsley, don't you dare!"
Kinsley looked at Miller, seeing the man for what he truly was: a bully who had finally picked a fight he couldn't win. Kinsley reached for his own handcuffs.
"Turn around, Buck," Kinsley said, his voice trembling but firm.
"You've got to be kidding me," Miller scoffed. He looked at David, eyes full of hate. "This isn't over. You think because you have a uniform, you own this town? I have friends! I have the union!"
"Turn around!" Kinsley shouted, grabbing Miller's arm.
Miller resisted for a second, tensing up, but then he saw the crowd surging forward, emboldened. He saw David standing guard over his parents. He realized he had no allies left in this parking lot.
Slowly, Officer Miller turned around. The click of the handcuffs—the same sound he had used to terrorize Otis and Martha just minutes before—echoed through the silence.
Otis watched, tears welling in his eyes. He wasn't crying from pain anymore; he was crying because for the first time in his life, he was watching the system work for him, not against him.
"Thank you, son," Martha whispered, clutching David's arm. "Thank you."
"It's not done yet, Mama," David said, his eyes never leaving Miller. "We have to make sure this sticks."
3 minutes later, the parking lot became a circus of flashing lights. But this time they weren't there to intimidate Otis and Martha. Two black SUVs pulled up, flanking the scene.