"What's in the bag, Maya?" Hayes called out, flashing the light at it.
"Just my personal belongings: my wallet, my makeup, some work documents," she replied from the front of his cruiser.
"Work documents, right. Let's see what you're moving tonight," Hayes muttered to himself. He reached into the car, grabbed the thick leather handles of the purse, and yanked it out.
"Officer, you do not have my consent to search my bag," Maya stated loudly and clearly.
"I have probable cause, sweetheart. That overrides your consent," Hayes shot back, a predatory grin spreading across his face. He walked over to the hood of Maya's car, carrying her purse like a hard-won trophy.
Officer Lawson walked around the rear of the Honda to join his partner, looking increasingly anxious. Hayes slammed the heavy leather purse onto the hood of the Honda; the metallic thud echoed loudly into the quiet night. He was expecting a bust. He was expecting a brick of cocaine, a gallon bag of pills, or at the very least enough weed to make an arrest and seize her vehicle under civil asset forfeiture.
He unzipped the main compartment. He was about to find something that would shatter his reality, and Maya Reynolds watched him with a perfectly calm, icy gaze, knowing exactly what was about to happen.
Officer Hayes showed no respect for Maya's property. He didn't just search the purse; he aggressively dismantled it. He grabbed the bottom corners of the leather tote and upended it over the hood of the Honda. A cascade of everyday items clattered onto the cold metal: a red tube of lipstick rolled toward the windshield wiper, a ring of keys, a half-empty pack of spearmint gum, a thick leather wallet, a tortoiseshell hair clip, and a scattering of crumpled grocery receipts spilled out into the harsh glare of the flashlights.
Hayes aggressively sifted through the pile with his gloved hands, pushing the items apart like he was searching through trash. Nothing. Not a single trace of narcotics, no paraphernalia, no weapons.
"Where is it?" Hayes muttered, his frustration mounting. His ego was heavily invested in this stop now; he couldn't walk away empty-handed without looking like a fool in front of his rookie partner. He picked up the empty leather bag. It still felt remarkably heavy—too heavy for being empty. Hayes ran his fingers along the interior lining, his eyes narrowing.
"False bottom," he declared triumphantly, shooting a smug look at Lawson. "Oldest trick in the smugglers' playbook."
"Mitch, maybe we should just call it in," Lawson suggested nervously, glancing back at Maya, who was standing perfectly still in the freezing air, her arms crossed, watching them with an unsettling lack of fear. "If she doesn't have anything—"
"Shut up, Toby. Watch and learn how real police work is done," Hayes snapped.