I am not obstructing traffic. Sir, license and registration. I won't ask again. Wendell reached slowly into his back pocket, produced his driver's license, and handed it through the window.
He opened the glove compartment with the same deliberate slowness and produced the registration. Tull took both documents. He did not return to his cruiser to run them. He stood beside the window reading the license, holding it at arms length, the way a man holds something he wants the person in front of him to watch him read.
Wendell Kaine, 1142 Maynard Street. That's correct. You're the one who filed the complaint. I filed a formal complaint regarding the conduct of officers during stops of a minor.
Yes. Tull folded the license and registration together and held them at his side. He did not return them. Mr. Kaine, I'm going to give you some advice free of charge.
He leaned down, one hand on the roof of the sedan, his face level with windows. People in this neighborhood don't want your nephew walking through their yards before dawn. They don't want you sitting outside their gate in a government-looking vehicle watching their homes. And they don't want seven-page complaints about showing up at my precinct with statute numbers and formatting that looks like it came from a law firm.
You understand what I'm telling you? Wendell did not blink. I understand what you're telling me, Sergeant. I'd like my documents returned, please.
Tull straightened up. He held the documents for three more seconds. Then he tossed them through the window. They landed on the passenger seat face down.
Have a good morning, Mr. Kaine. He walked back to his cruiser. He sat inside for 6 minutes without moving, watching the sedan in his rear view mirror. Then he drove away.