Those are confidential work documents. You have no right to. I've got every right to search for evidence of criminal activity.
Mercer yanked out a leather briefcase and threw it down hard enough to crack the handle. And I'm finding plenty of suspicious items. Danner picked up one of the scattered papers.
His eyes widened as he read the federal letterhead, but he said nothing when Mercer shot him a warning look. The sergeant moved to the trunk and began emptying emergency supplies with increasing violence. A first aid kit exploded open, sending bandages and medical supplies rolling under nearby cars.
Road flares scattered like broken pencils. An emergency radio hit the pavement and its antenna snapped off. You're destroying government property, Marcus said, his voice tight with controlled anger.
Every item you're damaging right now belongs to the federal government. You're creating liability for your department that could cost your department dearly. Mercer laughed and grabbed a fire extinguisher, slamming it down so hard the gauge cracked.
More excuses. You drug dealers always got some story about why your stuff is so special. He pulled out a toolbox and dumped the contents across the road.
Wrenches, screwdrivers, and diagnostic equipment clattered in every direction. Some rolled into storm drains. Others disappeared under parked cars.
"This is getting out of hand, Sarge," Danner said quietly, glancing at the chaos surrounding them. "Maybe we should. Maybe you should do your job instead of questioning me."
Mercer grabbed the trunk lining and ripped it loose with both hands. The fabric tore away in long strips, exposing the bare metal underneath. "Keep searching under those seats like I told you."
Danner reluctantly returned to the driver's side while Mercer continued his assault on the vehicle's interior. He pried loose door panels with a screwdriver from the scattered toolbox, revealing wiring and insulation that he pulled out in handfuls. The dashboard trim came next, plastic pieces cracking as he forced them apart.
Several of those compartments contain protected federal materials. Marcus warned, watching helplessly as years of equipment and personal belongings disappeared into the growing mess. If you damage classified items, you'll be looking at federal charges for damaging sensitive materials.
Mercer's grin turned savage as he yanked the glove compartment completely free of its hinges. What kind of sensitive materials does a drug dealer carry? Instructions for cooking meth.
He threw the broken compartment at Marcus's feet, where it joined the growing pile of destroyed property. Insurance papers, registration documents, and vehicle manuals mixed with torn clothing and broken equipment in a chaos that stretched 15 ft in every direction. The windshield wipers came off next, then the rearview mirror.
Mercer seemed to be searching for hiding places that couldn't possibly exist. Driven by fury rather than procedure, he ripped away floor mats, pulled loose seat covers, and pried apart anything that might conceivably hide contraband. "The plate number doesn't match what you called in," Danner said quietly as he worked under the passenger seat.
"The description said a blue sedan with doesn't matter. Dealers change plates all the time. Keep looking.
Marcus stood surrounded by the wreckage of everything he owned, fighting to maintain his composure while these two men systematically destroyed his vehicle and scattered his life across a suburban roadside. Every broken piece represented hours of paperwork he'd have to file, explanations he'd have to give, and equipment he'd have to replace. But getting angry wouldn't help.
Documentation would. I want both your badge numbers, he said calmly. And I want your supervisor's contact information.
Mercer paused in his destruction to stare at Marcus with open hatred. You don't get to make demands here. Sarge, Danner called from the driver's seat.
I found something. Mercer's predatory smile returned as he dropped the seat cushion he'd been tearing apart. What kind of something?