The sergeant eyed him with open hostility. "Watch your tone with me, boyo. I won't have a colored man being haughty with me, I don't care how well-heeled he is." Miles, whose tone had been conversational, cocked his head and let a cold smile play across his face. He said, "Then you're in the wrong city ... boyo." The sergeant jumped to his feet, knocking over his desk blotter as he came around the desk with fists clenched. Miles shifted his stance very slightly, ready to meet the attack. He hadn't planned on brawling with any police officers this morning, but if there was one thing sixty-plus years as a black man had taught him, it was that the need to defend oneself was ever present. But this time there was no need. A strong voice boomed across the lobby, "Carlyle! Put a lid on it, sergeant!" The sergeant halted, and a middle-aged man in an immaculate uniform stepped out of the shift captain's office. "Don't you know who this is?" the captain said, stepping forward. "You're talking to Gideon Miles." "I don't know no Gideon Miles," the sergeant said.
