black man in a stolen uniform doesn’t make you a soldier, pal. It makes you a criminal.»
Beside him, Officer Walsh grabbed the soldier’s duffel bag and upended it. Socks, shirts, and toiletries tumbled onto the polished tile. Officer Tanner stepped forward and brought his heavy boot down on a soft purple object that had fallen out—a stuffed rabbit, a gift intended for a six-year-old girl.
«That’s my daughter’s,» the soldier said, his voice tight.
Lawson shoved him hard, forcing him face-down onto the cold, unforgiving tile. «Hands behind your
