I Allowed an Arrogant Sheriff to Put Me in Handcuffs Without Fighting Back, Determined to See How Far He Would Misuse His Power

was built like an aging linebacker who had let beer and cheap pride go straight to his gut: broad-shouldered, thick-necked, his graying hair cropped down to a bristling military flat-top. The golden five-point star pinned above his left shirt pocket gleamed aggressively under the buzzing yellow fluorescent tubes. He clamped his massive, calloused hand onto my shoulder and shoved my upper body downward, forcing my chest flat against the cracked red vinyl of the booth.  "Sheriff, you are making a serious error," I said.  My voice was not shaking. It was quiet, even, and deliberate. I took a slow breath, tasting the salt from the fried catfish I had barely had time to taste, and kept my hands flat on the table until he yanked them back.  "I don't make errors in Pell County, girl," Voss sneered, leaning so close I could smell the rancid odor of stale filter-tipped cigarettes, cinnamon chewing gum, and burnt diner grease on his breath. "You're sitting here fitting the exact description of