I stepped out of the cruiser, the flashing lights painting everything in red and blue. Standard procedure took over—approach from the driver’s side, stay alert, read the situation before it reads you. But something felt… off. The car door wasn’t locked. The engine was still running. And through the window, I could see the driver’s shoulders shaking.
I tapped on the glass.
“Roll the window down,” I said, firm but controlled.
He didn’t respond right away.
I knocked again, louder this time. “Sir, roll the window down now.”
Finally, he fumbled with the controls, the window sliding open halfway. That’s when I saw his face clearly.
He wasn’t drunk.
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