Chapter 23, Corruption.

The sun hung high in the sky, casting a dull glare over the bustling main road where Maher stood in his usual traffic police uniform. The day had been uneventful, the monotony of checking vehicles and IDs lulling him into a sense of boredom. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his eyes scanning the endless stream of vans and cars that passed by. Just as he was about to let out a sigh, his radio crackled to life. It was his captain.

"Maher, we have a situation. We need you to search every van that crosses the main road. Check the IDs of the drivers. If you find a man named Jumma Abo Azmi, arrest him immediately. Understood?" the captain's voice was firm, leaving no room for hesitation.

"Understood, Captain," Maher replied, his boredom was instantly replaced by a sense of duty. He straightened his posture and began flagging down vans, meticulously checking each driver's ID. Hours passed, and though he searched countless vehicles, there was no sign of Jumma Abo Azmi or anything suspicious. The routine was starting to wear on him again when another officer approached.

Officer Sam, a wiry man with a sharp gaze, strode up to Maher with a confident air. "Maher, that van over there," Sam said, pointing to a white van parked a few meters away. "It's suspicious. I think you should take another look."

Maher frowned. "I already checked that one. The driver's ID was clean, and there was nothing unusual inside."

Sam shook his head. "Look at it closely. The paint job is fresh, too fresh. And the numbers on the back? They're fake. I'm telling you, something's off."

Maher squinted at the van, noticing for the first time the slight sheen of new paint and the uneven lettering on the license plate. Reluctantly, he nodded. "Alright, let's check it again."

Sam walked over to the van and rapped sharply on the driver's window. "Step out of the vehicle," he ordered.

The driver, a middle-aged man with a nervous expression, complied. He stepped out, his hands trembling slightly as he handed over his ID. Sam barely glanced at it before turning his attention to the man himself.

"Why did you change the paint on this van?" Sam demanded, his tone accusatory.

The driver blinked, clearly taken aback. "I-I didn't. The company I work for painted all the vans. I'm just a driver."

Sam's eyes narrowed. "And what about the numbers on the back? They don't match the records."

The driver shook his head vigorously. "I don't know anything about that, sir. I just drive the van. I don't handle the paperwork or the plates."

Sam exchanged a glance with Maher before making a decision. "I'm placing you under arrest for further investigation."

Maher stepped forward, his brow furrowed. "Sam, wait. We don't have enough proof to arrest him. He's just a driver. If there's something wrong with the van, we should investigate the company, not him."

Sam shook his head, his jaw set. "That's exactly why I'm arresting him. He might know something about the company. We need to question him."

Before Maher could protest further, Sam had already handcuffed the driver and was leading him toward his police car. The driver protested weakly, his voice tinged with fear, but Sam was unmoved. He opened the back door of the car and threw the man inside.

Maher watched as Sam drove off, a knot of unease tightening in his stomach. He couldn't shake the feeling that they were targeting the wrong person. The driver seemed genuinely confused, even scared. But orders were orders, and Sam had always been one to follow them to the letter.

As the dust settled and the traffic resumed its usual flow, Maher returned to his post, his mind racing. The day had started as just another shift, but now it felt like the beginning of something much bigger. He couldn't help but wonder what they would uncover—and whether they were chasing the right lead.

___________

After his shift ended, Maher made his way to the police station, eager to see how the investigation with the van driver was progressing. When he arrived, he found that Sam was still in the interrogation room with the man. The station buzzed with low murmurs and the occasional clatter of paperwork, but Maher's attention was fixed on the scene behind the one-way glass. The driver sat slumped in his chair, looking weary and defeated.

Maher spotted Ameer, a younger officer, leaning against a desk nearby, flipping through some documents. He approached him, his voice calm but urgent. "Ameer, has the driver said anything yet?"

Ameer looked up, his expression a mix of curiosity and mild exhaustion. "Yeah, he's been talking. Turns out he's a retired military cook. Said he just got this job as a driver for some new company. But here's the thing—we looked up the company, and it doesn't even exist in the system. No license, no records, nothing. The guy swears he didn't know."

Maher frowned, his mind racing. "Did he give you anything useful? A name, maybe?"

Ameer nodded. "Yeah, he gave us his boss's name. We sent two officers to pick him up for questioning. If they get him, we'll probably let the driver go. He's been cooperative so far."

Maher's eyes drifted back to the interrogation room. Through the glass, he could see the driver more clearly now. The man's clothes were slightly torn, and his face bore fresh bruises. Maher's jaw tightened. "Ameer," he said, his voice low but firm, "what happened to him? Did you guys do that?"

Ameer shifted uncomfortably, avoiding Maher's gaze for a moment. "Well, you know how it is. When Sam brought him in, we gave him the usual 'welcome.' Just a little scare tactic to get him to cooperate. It's not serious, just a few bruises."

Maher's expression hardened. "That's not how it's supposed to be. Look at him! he's a retired military cook, for God's sake. He's not some hardened criminal. He would've cooperated without the violence. Next time, ask questions first. Use force only if you have to, not the other way around."

Ameer shrugged, clearly unconvinced. "It's just how things are done, Maher. You know that."

Maher didn't respond. Instead, he stepped closer to the interrogation room, his eyes fixed on the driver. The man looked exhausted, his hands trembling slightly as he glanced at the door, as if hoping someone would walk in and tell him this was all a mistake. Maher couldn't shake the feeling that they were treating him unfairly. He was just a man trying to make a living, caught up in something he probably didn't even understand.

Turning back to Ameer, Maher said, "When they bring his boss here, let me know. I want to be part of that interrogation. And tell Sam to ease up on the driver. He's been through enough."

Ameer nodded, though his expression suggested he didn't fully agree. Maher didn't care. He wasn't going to stand by and watch them bully someone who didn't deserve it. Violence might have been the norm, but that didn't make it right. And if no one else was going to speak up, Maher would.

_____________

It took a few days for the police to arrest the boss. When they finally brought him in for questioning, the atmosphere in the station was tense. The man, a middle-aged dark skinned man with sat in the interrogation room, his hands cuffed to the table. Sam and a detective were already inside, their voices sharp and demanding.

"I don't know anything!" the man insisted, his voice trembling. "I was just hired as a manager by a businessman. I had no idea the company wasn't licensed. I swear!"

Sam leaned forward, his tone icy. "Who's the businessman? Give us a name."

The man hesitated, then stammered out a name. The detective immediately checked the system, only to find it was fake. Sam's expression darkened. "You're lying to us," he growled. "You think we're stupid?"

"I'm not lying!" the man cried, his voice rising in panic. "That's the name he gave me! That's what everyone called him! Please, you have to believe me!"

Sam slammed his hand on the table, making the man flinch. "Start talking, or you're going to regret it. We're not playing games here. You better give us a real name or I'll bring your family here, maybe their presence will make you feel like talking."

The man freaked out at the mention of his family and immediately began to describe the businessman's appearance, his voice shaky but desperate to cooperate. He told them everything he knew—how the man dressed, where he'd seen him, even the car he drove. But Sam wasn't satisfied. He leaned in closer, his voice low and threatening. "If you don't give us something useful, you're looking at years in jail. You'll never see your family again. Is that what you want?"

The man's face crumpled, and he began to beg. "Please, I'm telling you everything I know! I swear! I don't want to go to jail. Please, have mercy!"

Maher, who had been watching from the corner of the room, couldn't take it anymore. They had tortured the man and beaten him up and used electric shock on him and now they were threatening him with his family? He decided that enough is enough.

He stepped forward, his voice firm. "Sam, that's enough. He's cooperating. It's obvious this businessman scammed him and his employees. Using a fake name, unlicensed company—this guy's just another victim. You don't need to keep threatening him."

Sam turned to Maher, his eyes blazing. "Stay out of this, Maher. You're a traffic officer. This isn't your place. Don't lecture us on how to do our jobs."

Maher stood his ground. "I'm not lecturing you. I'm telling you that this isn't right. He's been cooperative from the start. You don't need to hurt him any further"

Sam sneered. "You're being soft. If you're too sensitive to watch, maybe you should go home to your mommy."

Maher's fists clenched at his sides. "Don't you dare mention my mother," he said, his voice low and dangerous.

Sam smirked, clearly trying to provoke him. "What are you going to do about it, mama's boy? You're just a wussy who can't handle real police work. You'll never be a real officer. So just stand back and shut up"

That was it. Maher snapped. He lunged at Sam, his fist connecting with the other man's jaw. The two of them crashed into the table, sending papers flying as they grappled with each other. The detective and another officer rushed in, pulling them apart with difficulty.

"Enough!" the detective shouted, shoving Maher back. "What the hell is wrong with you two?"

Sam wiped blood from his lip, glaring at Maher. "He started it! He's out of line!"

Maher struggled against the officer holding him back, his chest heaving with anger. "You had it coming, Sam. You don't get to talk about my family."

The detective pointed to the door. "Maher, get out. Now. You're done here."

Maher shook off the officer's grip and stormed out of the room, his fists still clenched. The other officers watched him go, the tension in the room thick and unresolved. As he left, he could still hear the boss pleading in the background, his voice desperate and broken. Maher's heart burned with frustration. He knew the system was flawed, but seeing it up close—seeing the cruelty and the unnecessary violence—made him question everything. And now, he was being pushed out for standing up against it.