I didn’t respond.
“Say it.”
“Say what?”
“Say ‘Officer Bateman.’”
I hesitated until I remembered the five beers I had consumed. I was in no position to piss him off. “Officer Bateman.”
He considered my wallet in the beam of light. “So, the devil boy is now Dr. Devil Boy, huh? What kind of doctor are you? No, let me guess. You’re an eye doctor.”
“Ophthalmologist,” I said.
He looked up from my wallet. “Are you suggesting that I’m stupid?”
“No, I was just—”
“I know what an eye doctor is; I don’t need you to tell me.”
I bit my tongue.
“Have you been drinking tonight, Doctor?”
“I had a couple of beers watching the game.”
“I had a couple of beers watching the game, Officer Bateman,” he corrected, then cupped his hand to his ear like a drill sergeant.
“I had a couple of beers watching the game, Officer Bateman.”
He shone the light directly in my eyes, causing me to squint and look away. “That’s funny. I could have sworn your eyes used to be red. Is that what happens when you’re full of shit? Do your eyes turn brown?”
I’d had enough. “What do you want, David?”
“What do I want?” He seemed to consider this. Then he said, “I want you to turn around and put your hands on the roof of the car—that’s what I want.”
“What for?”
He grabbed me by the collar, spun me around, and immediately kicked my legs apart. His steel-toed boot hit my anklebone, and the pain caused my leg to buckle, dropping me to my knees.
“Get up,” he shouted, grabbing me and lifting me to my feet. “I didn’t say give me a blow job; I said put your hands on the roof of the car and spread your legs.”
Though my ankle felt as though it was on fire, I managed to get to my feet. Bateman grabbed my right wrist and wrenched it behind my back, snapping on a cuff and pinching the skin. My left arm followed. The billy club pressed my head against the roof.
“Now I want you to listen and I want you to listen real good. You ready?”
“Yes.” He shoved my head against the roof of the car. “Yes, Officer Bateman,” I managed.
“Let me give you a little piece of advice. You fix my daughter’s eyes, and you leave it at that. I find you talking to my ex-wife or anyone else about what you think may or may not have happened and I’m going to come looking for you, and next time I’m not going to let you off with a warning. Do we understand one another?” He shoved my head against the roof again. “It’s impolite not to respond.”
“Yes,” I said.
“I didn’t hear you,” he said in the voice of that drill sergeant.
“Yes, Officer Bateman.”
“Good.” After another moment, he began releasing the cuffs. “I’m in a good mood tonight and I know you only have a few blocks to go to get home, so I’m going to let you go without a field sobriety test.” I heard him step back, thinking the worst over. Then the billy club whapped me hard across the back of my hamstrings, a pain that dropped me again to my knees. Had I not grabbed the door handle of the car, I would have collapsed onto the pavement. I stayed there, fighting back the pain and the humiliation, recalling how as a little boy I had lain on the ground at the Ray Park playground until I could no longer hear Bateman and his two goons. I pulled myself to my feet, the backs of my legs stinging. David Bateman sat behind the wheel of his patrol car. He smiled as he drove off.