The door opened with a heavy thunk that spoke to the vehicle's armored construction, and Patrick Taylor stepped onto the shoulder with the same mechanical precision he'd used for everything else.
He stood a full head taller than Norman, maybe 6'3", with the kind of presence that made the highway feel smaller.
His boots were black tactical Salomons, worn but maintained.
His jeans were dark and fitted.
Everything about him was functional, stripped of anything unnecessary.
Norman's hand drifted back to his holster.
"Hands on the hood. Feet apart."
Taylor complied without a word, assuming the position with the practiced ease of someone who'd done this before or trained others to do it.
His palms pressed flat against the matte black paint, his stance wide and balanced.
And Norman noticed the way the man's shoulders stayed loose despite the tension of the moment.
Most people locked up during a stop like this.
Taylor looked like he was waiting in line at the DMV.
"You carrying any weapons? Anything that's going to stick me or hurt me?"
"I'm not required to answer that without probable cause for a search."
Norman's teeth ground together.
"That's twice now you've quoted law at me. You a lawyer, Mr. Taylor?"
"No."
"Then where'd you learn to be such a pain in my ass?"
Taylor said nothing.
His breathing remained steady.
His posture unchanged.
Norman circled around to the passenger side, shining his flashlight through the windows, looking for anything.
A bag of pills.
A weapon.
Drug residue.
Anything that would justify what he was about to do.
The interior was clean.
Aggressively clean.
The kind of clean that felt wrong.
"What's in the briefcase?"
"I'm not at liberty to discuss that."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only answer I can provide."
Norman stopped circling and planted himself directly behind Taylor, close enough to smell the faint scent of gun oil and something else.
CLP.
The military cleaning solvent.
"Let me tell you what I think, Mr. Taylor. I think you're moving product. I think this fancy truck is a cover, and I think whatever's in that case is worth more than you want to admit. So here's what's going to happen. You're going to open that case. You're going to let me search this vehicle. And if you cooperate, maybe this goes easy."
"I cannot consent to a search."
"Cannot or will not?"
"Both."
The word hung in the air like a challenge.
Norman felt his face flush hot.
He'd given this guy every opportunity to make this simple.
And instead, he was getting stonewalled by someone who thought his muscles and his lawyer talk made him untouchable.
Norman had dealt with guys like this before.
Ex-military types who thought their service gave them a pass to do whatever they wanted.
They forgot that the badge was the authority out here, not their DD-214.
"You think you're special?"
Norman's voice rose despite himself.
"You think because you've got a nice truck and you know a few legal phrases that you're above the law?"
Taylor's head turned slightly, just enough for Norman to see his profile.
"Officer, I'm asking you one more time to contact your supervisor. This situation can still be resolved without incident."
"You don't get to make demands. I'm the one with the badge."