"It has a rebuilt title."
"It's a salvage car. It was stolen."
"It was stolen in 2010," she said. "And recovered in 2011, in Illinois. The insurance company took title and sold it at auction, and my father bought it, and he rebuilt it, and the state of Missouri inspected it and issued a rebuilt title in 2013. It's been inspected every two years since. You can see all of that when you run the number. You already know you can see that."
"I know what I can see."
"Then you know it's mine."
"I know," he said, and his voice cracked in the middle of the word, and he cleared his throat hard and started again, louder. "I know a car like this doesn't just turn up. I know a car like this gets stolen off a street in south city, and it goes across the river to a chop shop, and it comes back a year later with a nice clean piece of paper on it and nobody asks a single goddamn question about where the paper came from." His hand moved on his belt, from the buckle to the place above his holster where his thumb could rest on the radio clipped there, and stayed. He did not touch the radio. "Give me the keys."
"No, sir."
"Ma'am, I'm telling you to give me the keys to that vehicle."
"And I'm telling you no, respectfully. You don't have a reason to take them. The car comes back clear. I'm the registered owner. I've shown you my license."
"I'll have it towed."
"On what basis?"