3
department would happen on the pavement, before she even pinned on
her badge.
As she rounded a corner onto Elmwood Drive, a wide, tree-lined
avenue, the silence of the morning was broken by the low hum of a
vehicle engine creeping up slowly behind her.
4
Vance looked up. "Just a jogger, looks like."
"In this neighborhood? At six in the morning? Wearing a hoodie?"
Miller sneered. "Nobody in Elmwood jogs in a faded sweatshirt. They
wear that reflective, neon Lululemon crap. This one looks suspicious.
Probably casing the houses, checking for open garages or unlocked
cars."
Vance nodded, eager to agree. "Yeah, definitely out of place. Want
to check it out?"
"Damn right I do," Miller said. He accelerated the cruiser, pulling
up alongside Maya, pacing her at about six miles per hour.
Maya noticed the police cruiser beside her. She didn't break stride.
As a lifelong police officer, she knew the drill. She gave a polite, brief
nod toward the car, a universal acknowledgement, and kept her eyes
forward. She assumed they would run her plates mentally, realize she
was just exercising, and drive on.
Instead, the cruiser’s spotlight suddenly flared to life, blindingly
bright even in the rising dawn, and pinned her against the manicured
hedges.
"Hey! Stop right there," a voice barked over the cruiser's PA
system.
6
Maya sighed inwardly. She slowed her pace to a walk, then
stopped completely, pulling one earbud out. She turned to face the
cruiser, shielding her eyes from the intense glare of the spotlight. She
felt a familiar, sickening drop in her stomach. It was the feeling every
person of color knows when they are abruptly singled out by authority
for simply existing in a space deemed 'not for them.'
Miller threw the cruiser into park and stepped out, resting his
hand casually but deliberately on his duty belt, near his weapon. Vance
flanked him, mirroring the aggressive posture.
"Can I help you, officers?" Maya asked, her voice calm, modulated,