Marcus looked around.
“Me?”
“Now.”
Marcus removed the fuel nozzle carefully.
Returned it to the pump.
“What seems to be the problem?”
Mercer stopped several feet away.
“Identification.”
“For what?”
Mercer's expression changed.
Small change.
Irritation.
“I said identification.”
Marcus looked at the patrol vehicle.
Then Mercer.
“I'm happy to identify myself.”
“What's the reason for the contact?”
Mercer stepped closer.
“Are you refusing?”
“No.”
“I asked a question.”
Mercer pointed.
“Hands where I can see them.”
Marcus kept both hands visible.
Ethan Parker watched through the store window.
He had seen Mercer before.
Too many times.
That was why he immediately paid attention.
Marcus slowly reached toward his wallet.
Mercer shouted.
“Stop.”
Marcus stopped.
“You asked for identification.”
“I told you to keep your hands visible.”
Marcus's eyes narrowed.
“Then tell me how you want me to retrieve it.”
Mercer stared at him.
The afternoon stretched.
Drivers began watching.
Finally Mercer said:
“Use your left hand.”
Marcus obeyed.
Pulled out wallet.
Opened driver's license.
Mercer took it.
Looked at the name.
Marcus Grant.
Virginia address.
Then at Marcus's uniform.
“Where are you headed?”
“Dallas.”
“From?”
“Fort Worth.”
Mercer laughed.
“I can see that.”
Marcus said nothing.
Mercer looked at the truck.
“Yours?”
“My nephew's.”
“Registration?”
“Glove compartment.”
Mercer smiled slightly.
“Convenient.”
Marcus felt something change.
The questions were not moving toward clarification.
They were moving toward suspicion.
“Deputy, what's the reason for the stop?”
Mercer removed his sunglasses.
Blue eyes.
Hard expression.
“We had a report.”
“What report?”
“Suspicious person.”
Marcus looked around the gas station.
“Doing what?”
“Watching vehicles.”
“I've been here less than two minutes.”
Mercer's jaw tightened.
“You calling me a liar?”
“No.”
“I'm asking what information you received.”
That sentence bothered Mercer.
He stepped closer.
“You people always think you can talk your way around instructions.”
Marcus became still.
“You people?”
Mercer smiled without warmth.
“You know what I mean.”
“Yes.”
Marcus's voice lowered.
“I think I do.”
Ethan Parker heard it from inside.
He had already begun walking toward the entrance.
Then Mercer pointed toward Marcus's truck.
“Open it.”
“No.”
Mercer looked surprised.
“What?”
“You haven't stated a lawful basis to search the vehicle.”
Mercer laughed.
“There it is.”
Marcus waited.
“Big uniform.”
“Medals.”
“Think you're important.”
Marcus looked down briefly.
Then at Mercer.
“My clothing has nothing to do with whether you have grounds to search a vehicle.”
“You military lawyers teach you that?”
“No.”
“Constitution did.”
One customer laughed softly.
Mercer heard.
His face reddened.
Marcus regretted the phrasing almost immediately.
Not because it was wrong.
Because he saw what it did to Mercer.
Some men treated disagreement as information.
Others treated it as injury.
Mercer was the second kind.
“Turn around.”
Marcus did not move.
“Why?”
Mercer's voice rose.
“TURN AROUND.”
Marcus looked toward the camera above the pump.
Good.
He turned.
Mercer ordered:
“Hands behind your head.”
Marcus obeyed.
Mercer patted him down.
No weapon.
No contraband.
Wallet.
Phone.
Keys.
Mercer stepped back.
“On your knees.”
Marcus slowly turned his head.
“I'm not resisting you.”
“On your knees.”
“For what reason?”
Mercer moved closer.
“Because I told you.”
Marcus looked directly at him.
That answer was not enough legally.
Marcus knew it.
Mercer likely knew it too.
But Marcus also knew roadside arguments could become dangerous when pride replaced judgment.
So he lowered himself.
Right knee.
Then left.
Hands visible.
Customers gathered at a distance.
Ethan came outside.
“Deputy.”
Mercer turned.
“Inside.”
“This is my property.”
“I said inside.”
Ethan stared at Marcus.
Then at Mercer.
“What did he do?”
Mercer pointed toward the store.
“Last warning.”
Ethan backed toward the door.
But did not go far.
He looked upward.
His cameras.
All recording.
Good.
Mercer began questioning Marcus while he knelt.
“Why are you really here?”
“Fuel.”
“Don't get smart.”
“That's why I'm here.”
“You expect me to believe a man dressed like that is driving around alone in a borrowed truck?”
“Yes.”
“Where's your escort?”
Marcus almost laughed.
“I don't have an escort.”
“Where's your security?”
“I don't need security.”
Mercer looked at the uniform again.
“Those real?”
Marcus's expression hardened.
“Yes.”
“You buy them somewhere?”
Marcus looked toward him.
“No.”
“You'd be surprised.”
Mercer stepped closer.
“People fake everything now.”
Marcus's voice was quiet.
“You have my driver's license.”
“You could verify my identity.”
Mercer ignored it.
That was when Marcus noticed the body camera.
Dark.
“You're not recording.”
Mercer looked down.
“Battery died.”
“When?”
“None of your concern.”
Marcus looked at the store camera.
Mercer followed his gaze.
Briefly.
Then looked away.
He had seen it.
But apparently did not care yet.
He believed whatever happened could later be described in his report.
Marcus had seen men like that.
Not many.
Enough.
“Deputy.”
“What?”
“I recommend you call a supervisor.”
Mercer laughed.
“You giving recommendations now?”
“Yes.”
“You know what I recommend?”
Marcus waited.
“You stop talking.”
A customer near pump six lifted a phone.
Mercer pointed.
“Put that away.”
The customer lowered it.
Ethan stepped halfway out of the store.
“It's public property open to customers.”
Mercer turned.
“Want to join him?”
Ethan stopped.
His face tightened.
He went back inside.
This time he picked up the phone.
He did not call 911.
He called a number saved under:
ELENA BROOKS – FEDERAL FIELD OFFICE
He had received it six weeks earlier.
That detail would matter.
Mercer returned to Marcus.
“What's your rank?”
Marcus did not answer immediately.
“Your uniform.”
“Rank.”
“Colonel.”
Mercer laughed.
“Colonel.”
“Yes.”
“Big deal.”
Marcus looked at him.
“No.”
That answer surprised Mercer.
“No?”
“Rank is responsibility.”