Will unsnapped the holster on his belt and in seconds had his pistol aimed across the car roof.
“I said stop, asshole.” His voice, at least, was still commanding. The gun was leveled at the man’s chest.
A wide brown angry face stared at him with the usual empty sociopath eyes. It was dusted with darker freckles on either side of a wide nose. Will and Dodds had put his father in prison seven years ago for murder. The rotten apple didn’t fall too far from the rotten tree. With his leg cocked in the air, he looked like a malevolent drum major. He slowly lowered his boot halfway to the concrete.
“What, Borders? You gonna shoot another unarmed black man?”
“Yes, Junior. Did I say police? There, I’ve identified myself. You people, move away now so I can shoot this unarmed black man!” The dozen onlookers backed a few paces away.
“I’m a man of color!”
“You’re assaulting a man of color, Junior. Get on the ground, now!”
“This is a G thang, Borders, none y’all’s bidness.”
“It’s a police thing now, Junior. Lower your foot or lose it.”
Junior glowered at him. Will didn’t know what the hell he would do if the suspect didn’t comply.
The look of defiance seemed to last an hour. Then he spat in Will’s direction and lowered himself to the pavement with studied dignity.
“Hands! Spread out your arms and show me your hands.”
The man did as ordered. The victim, wearing layers of old clothes and agony on his face, lay in a fetal position on the sidewalk, moaning.
“Stay there.” He continued to lean on the roof, keeping the gun on the man. He whispered to himself. “Now, if only the cavalry will arrive.” Traffic went by on Central Parkway. The road had been the Miami and Erie barge canal in the nineteenth century. Underneath it was Cincinnati’s never-finished, never-opened subway. Now it was only a spacious dividing line between Over-the-Rhine and the central business district. Will was sweating, the wet spring air starting to fill the sky.
He saw the white paint of the cruiser out of his peripheral vision and a uniformed officer sprang out and handcuffed the kicker. Another unit arrived and two more unis walked to Junior, lifting him to his feet.
“Police fucking brutality! You gonna let The Man do this to a brother!? We need another riot!”
The onlookers walked away quickly in every direction.
Junior was far from done. “Every man has his boiling point! His boiling point, bro! You, too, Borders! Every man has his boiling point!” The yelling was muffled when he was placed in the prisoner compartment of a cruiser and the door was shut.