They asked him what was in the bag and pressed the muzzle of a gun against his temple. They yanked him out of the car and handcuffed him, a dozen officers on him at once. They drove him in a squad car to the police station. The cuffs were tight on his wrists. The steel cut into his skin and bent his hands back in a bad way, so he leaned forward and rested the top of his head on the Plexiglas. He stared at his knees and couldn’t believe what was happening. They took him to the processing room and strip-searched him. They took away his belt and his shoelaces so he wouldn’t hang himself. They led him down a short corridor lined with empty cells. They gave him the larger corner cell and left him alone for the next four and a half hours. He figured the endless wait was one of their mind games. He figured there would be more mind games coming, and that he’d be so tired and out of sorts as they arrived that he’d only understand them to be mind games in retrospect. His dad had told him enough stories like that to fill a book.
