Officer Ramirez smiled. “Everyone in the department knows Ms. Martinez. She’s prosecuted half the cases in this district.”
“Ma’am, can you explain what happened?” another officer asked.
I did. Calmly. Factually. While still sitting on the ground.
Ramirez turned to Buzzcut and Red Cap. “IDs. Now.”
They pulled out their wallets with shaking hands.
“Connor Hayes. Twenty-six.” Ramirez read the license. “And you’re Blake Morrison. Twenty-five.”
“Officers, it was a misunderstanding—” Connor started.
“You pushed a federal prosecutor after illegally parking in a handicapped spot. That’s not a misunderstanding. That’s multiple crimes.”
The doctor tried again. “Ms. Martinez, please. We need to check your knee.”
“One minute.” I looked at the officers. “I want to press full charges. Assault on a federal official. Illegal parking. And if my knee is damaged, we’ll add aggravated assault.”
Blake was crying now. Actual tears. “Please, I’m so sorry. We didn’t know—”
“You knew it was handicapped parking. You knew you didn’t have a permit. You knew I was on crutches. You made your choices.”
Connor pulled out his phone. “My dad’s a lawyer. I’m calling him.”