Marcus felt a cold wave of dread wash over him. “On what charge?” he asked, even as he began to comply, knowing resistance would only make things worse. “Suspicious activity, possible trespassing, and now interfering with an officer,” Delaney answered, grabbing Marcus’s arm and roughly pulling it behind his back. “Plus, you got a real attitude problem.” Marcus winced as the handcuffs bit into his wrists, tightened with deliberate excess. “This is bullshit,” he muttered under his breath, immediately regretting the lapse as Delaney’s grip tightened painfully on his arm. “What was that?” Delaney demanded, his voice dangerously soft. “You got something to say?” Marcus shook his head slightly. “No, sir.” “Nah, I heard you,” Delaney continued, spinning Marcus around to face him. “You said this is bullshit, didn’t you? You think you can disrespect officers doing their job?” “I didn’t mean—” The rest of his sentence was cut off as Delaney’s fist connected with his cheekbone. The force of the blow snapped Marcus’s head to the side and sent him staggering back against the cruiser. Pain exploded across the side of his face, his vision momentarily blurring as he fought to stay upright.
“You need to learn some respect,” Delaney growled, advancing on him again. Marcus raised his cuffed hands instinctively, a reflexive gesture of self-protection that Delaney interpreted as resistance. “He’s resisting!” Delaney shouted, lunging forward and grabbing Marcus by the throat. “I’m not,” Marcus choked out, but his protest was lost as Morrison joined the fray, both officers now forcing him to the ground. Marcus felt his knees hit the pavement hard, then his shoulder as they pushed him down. Disoriented and in pain, he struggled to find a position that wouldn’t leave him completely vulnerable—a movement the officers immediately seized upon. “Stop resisting!” Morrison yelled, loud enough for anyone nearby to hear, creating a narrative that bore no relation to reality. His knee pressed into Marcus’s back, driving the air from his lungs while Delaney held his head against the rough concrete of the sidewalk. “I’m not resisting,” Marcus gasped, barely able to draw breath with Morrison’s weight crushing him. He could feel warm wetness spreading across his cheek where Delaney’s fist had split the skin.
Eventually the officers hauled him upright and shoved him into the back of the cruiser. Marcus sat in silence during the short ride to the station, blood drying on his face, wrists throbbing from the cuffs. At the station he was processed, fingerprinted, and placed in a holding cell. The officers filed reports claiming he had resisted arrest and assaulted an officer. Marcus requested his phone call repeatedly. Hours passed before someone finally allowed it. When the call connected, his father’s calm, authoritative voice answered on the first ring. “Dad,” Marcus said, voice steady despite everything, “I need you to come get me. Two officers beat me and arrested me for walking home from practice.”
