Baxter sped up to within a car length of the sedan. It was a newer Chevy Malibu. The driver’s side taillight wasn’t just out. It was completely missing. Baxter ran the plate through his laptop. The car and registered owner were clean- no arrest warrants or reports of being stolen. Baxter decided to pull the car over anyway.

He turned on his light bar and called in the stop to dispatch. The driver put his turn signal on and pulled over to the side of the road uneventfully. Baxter composed himself and turned on the spotlight on his driver’s door. He grabbed his Trooper hat and stepped out of the car.

The Malibu’s driver side door swung open and a man started to exit. Baxter’s hand immediately went to his sidearm, a Glock 21 chambered in .45ACP.

“Sir, please remain in your vehicle,” Baxter ordered from behind his own door. The hair on the back of his neck was now standing up.

The man complied, swung his leg back into the vehicle, and closed the door. He lowered his window and put his hands on the steering wheel. Baxter cautiously approached, still guarding his Glock with his right hand and holding a flashlight with his left. As he approached the rear quarter panel, he could see the tail light wiring hanging loosely. The bulb and taillight assembly were missing completely.

Baxter approached the window cautiously. He had seen far too many training videos of Troopers getting shot in situations like these. He refused to lower his guard.

“Sir, do you know why I stopped you?” Baxter asked as he reached the window. The man looked up at him as Baxter shined his light into the car. He looked nervous. His hands were fidgeting while holding the steering wheel. “Your left taillight is out.”

The man didn’t respond.

“Sir, I’m going to need you to turn off the vehicle and give me your license, registration, and proof of insurance,” Baxter said, still standing sideways, ready to draw if necessary.

The man slowly reached for the glove compartment. He opened it, and a flood of papers fell out. Baxter watched as the man fished through them and found his registration and proof of insurance. He handed them to Baxter, along with his ID. Baxter studied the ID for a moment, watching for a reaction out of the corner of his eye. The man was shifty. He had not said a word yet, but his eyes kept darting from the front to Baxter and then to the Baxter’s cruiser.

“Sir, please step out of the vehicle,” Baxter said as he stepped away from the door.

“Is there something wrong officer?” the man finally asked. His voice was low and hoarse.

“No sir, I just need you to stand back at the rear of the vehicle while I run your information. It’s standard procedure,” Baxter replied.

The man hesitated for a minute and then slowly opened the door and got out. He was an older man. His license showed him to be 55, but he looked like he was easily in his late sixties. He was balding, with patches of hair on the sides. He was wearing a white t-shirt and jean shorts with sandals. He looked like he hadn’t shaved in a few days.