“Get up, trash,” Connor Hadley hissed, his heavy boot pressing dangerously close to my ribs.
Connor is twenty-eight, fueled by unearned arrogance and the absolute protection of his father, the town Sheriff. He and his lapdog,"s" a uniformed officer named Kyle, had strolled into the diner looking for trouble. I was just the quiet Black man in the corner booth, making me the perfect target. When I politely declined to give up my seat, Connor went ballistic.
Now, I was on the sidewalk outside, my shoulder throbbing from where he had yanked me out of my chair. Brenda, the diner’s owner, was banging on the window, screaming something I couldn’t hear, while Officer Kyle stood by the door, laughing.
I kept my breathing steady. Panic is a killer; I learned that a long time ago. I slowly pushed myself up to a sitting position on the curb, refusing to break eye contact with Connor.
“You think you’re tough, old man?” Connor mocked, stepping into my personal space. He snatched my truck keys off the ground where they’d fallen during the scuffle. “Let’s see what kind of contraband you’re hiding in that rusted-out pickup.”
Before I could stop him, he and Kyle were tearing through my vehicle, completely ignoring the law. They ripped the seats, emptied the console, and tossed my belongings onto the wet asphalt. Then, Kyle pulled out a small, locked wooden box from beneath the passenger seat.
“Well, well. Look what we have here,” Kyle sneered, tossing it to Connor.
My heart hammered against my ribs. “Put that back,” I said, my voice low and dangerously calm. “You have no right.”
Connor laughed, pulling a pocket knife to pry the brass hinges apart. “Or what? You gonna arrest me?” The lock snapped with a sickening crack, and he reached inside, pulling out the blue silk ribbon.
