But he knew better than to start reaching around while an officer was behind him.
So he waited.
Mercer returned.
He did not hand the documents back.
“You live in East Marston?”
“Yes.”
“What are you doing over here?”
Harold looked at him.
“Driving home.”
“You were coming from the north side.”
“Yes.”
“That’s not where you live.”
“No. That is where I came from.”
Mercer’s mouth tightened.
“Where exactly?”
Harold gave him a tired look.
“Officer, is there a reason my travel history is relevant to the traffic stop?”
There it was.
The moment.
Mercer’s expression changed.
“You always answer questions with questions?”
“When the question concerns something unrelated to an alleged traffic violation, sometimes.”
Mercer stared at him.
Harold could practically see the officer deciding whether calm confidence was disrespect.
“You been drinking?”
“No.”
“Taking anything?”
“Prescription medication.”
“What kind?”
Harold glanced toward the passenger floor.
“I have asthma.”
Mercer followed his gaze.
“What’s in the bag?”
“Personal items.”
“Open it.”
Harold looked back at him.
“Are you ordering me to open it or asking for consent?”
Mercer’s jaw flexed.
“I’m asking you to cooperate.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
Mercer straightened.
“Step out of the car.”
Harold’s chest tightened another degree.
“Why?”
“Because I’m telling you to.”
Harold remained still.
“Am I suspected of a crime?”
“You’re being detained.”
“For the traffic violation?”
Mercer took one step back.
“Out.”
Harold closed his eyes for half a second.
He opened the door and carefully stepped onto the wet pavement.
At sixty-eight, he did not move quickly anymore.
His left knee had been replaced three years earlier.
His balance was fine, but he was cautious on slick surfaces.
Mercer pointed toward the rear of the sedan.
“Hands on the trunk.”
Harold complied.
A woman pushing a stroller on the opposite sidewalk slowed.
Mercer noticed her looking.
“Keep moving,” he called.
The woman hesitated.
Then continued.
Harold placed both palms against the trunk.
Mercer patted his waistband and pockets.
Nothing.
“You carrying a weapon?”
“No.”
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
“You seem nervous.”
Harold nearly laughed.
Instead, he said:
“You pulled me out of my car and searched me because you claim I made an improper turn.”
“Traffic stops turn into felonies every day.”
“That does not make me a felon.”
Mercer stepped closer.
“See, this is the problem.”
“What is?”
“The attitude.”
Harold turned his head slightly.
“I’m standing exactly where you told me to stand.”
“Yet you keep talking.”
Harold felt the first faint whistle in his breathing.
He knew the sound.
This was no longer mild tightness.
He needed the inhaler soon.
“My asthma is starting to act up.”
Mercer looked unimpressed.
“I need to get my medication from the bag.”
“You’re not reaching into anything.”
“Then could you get it for me?”
Mercer did not answer.
Instead, he stepped back and keyed his shoulder radio.
“Dispatch, start me another unit.”
Harold looked over his shoulder.
“For asthma?”
Mercer ignored him.
“Older male, uncooperative. Possible impairment. I’m going to investigate further.”
Harold’s eyebrows rose.
“I am not impaired.”
Mercer lowered the radio.
“You don’t decide that.”
Harold’s breathing tightened again.
“Officer, listen to me. I have asthma. My rescue inhaler is in that canvas bag on the passenger floor.”
“You told me already.”
“Then please retrieve it.”
Mercer’s face hardened.
“Stand by the car.”
“I am standing by the car.”
“Then stop talking.”
Harold looked away.
Across the street, the woman with the stroller had stopped at the corner.
This time, she took out her phone.
Mercer did not notice.
Sergeant Eli Collins received the call two streets away.
Collins was fifty-two, twenty-six years into police work, and old enough to have learned that the phrase uncooperative subject often described as much about the officer as the person being stopped.
He responded because he was the closest supervisor.
As he approached Maple Avenue, he heard Mercer radio again.
“Subject keeps asking to access a bag in the vehicle.”
Dispatch answered:
“Any visible weapon?”
“Negative.”
“Any threat?”
Mercer paused.
“Negative. Just refusing to follow the program.”
Collins frowned.
That wording bothered him.
He accelerated.
Back at the curb, Harold’s asthma was getting worse.
He removed his glasses and wiped rain from the lenses.
Mercer immediately snapped:
“Put your hands where I can see them.”
Harold stopped.
“I’m holding my glasses.”
“Put them back on.”
Harold did.
His hand trembled slightly.
Mercer noticed.
“Why are you shaking?”
“I told you.”
“You nervous about something?”
“I can’t breathe properly.”
“Or you’re hiding something.”
Harold stared at him.
“Do you hear yourself?”
Mercer moved closer.
“What did you say?”
Harold shook his head.
“Nothing.”
“No. Say it again.”