Public Humiliation

Officer Evelyn in Control

I spotted him the moment he walked through the gates. Shifty eyes, weak shoulders, moving like he already knew he did not belong. People like that are my favorite. Easy prey.

I stepped in front of him and let the weight of authority fill the silence. Sir, I said, you look suspicious. Care to tell me what you are hiding.

He fumbled for words, hands twitching for pockets that would not save him. Not good enough, I said, and my smile told him there would be no escape.

My hands traveled slow and deliberate. Down his arms, across his chest, lower. Every pat a little too thorough, every pause a little too long. The crowd began to slow, eyes drawn by the way I handled him. He flushed a deep red and breathed like he might break.

Empty your pockets, I ordered. Keys, phone, wallet. Useless. Not enough. Strip. He stared at me. Here, I said. Now. The murmurs rose. Screens lifted. He obeyed because my gaze gave him no other choice.

Jacket. Shirt. Shoes. I made him fold each piece and place it at my feet like an offering. When he stood bare and trembling, I circled him slow, savoring the heat of his shame. Pathetic, I said, just loud enough for everyone to hear. Nothing dangerous. Nothing worth my time. Except the way your body tells the truth.

I leaned to his ear. Next time do not act suspicious unless you are ready to be searched properly. I always find what I want. The words slid into him like a claim. He knew I was not finished with him. He also knew he would come back for more.