Page 118 - Labelle Gramercy, On the Case

Soaked to the Bone

complain about now beside their servants. We made a couple of
sharp turns and came out on De Solay Boulevard, the main drag in
that part of town. She did not hesitate now. Perhaps she had a street
map imprinted on a microchip implanted in her skull, along with a
detailed schedule of city services, bus routes and road closures.
A block of semi-industrial businesses lay ahead, not a place to
which I had ever paid any attention. Then I saw the guys with
shopping carts: they were going into and coming out of a wide yard
fenced with chain-link and razor wire. Full carts going in. Empty
carts coming out. A scarred and smeared sign above the gate said it
all: RECYCLE - TOP PRICE - BOTES.
I never got to see the inside of that place, because I spotted our
man. He was lounging against a boarded-up shop across the street
from the recycling center, engaged in what I have heard referred to as
‘kissing the paper bag.’ Now that I saw a bunch of his cohorts in one
place I realized that, indeed, they did not bear much more than a
superficial resemblance: proof, which I patently needed, that people
impose a visual stereotype on that which they don’t really want to
see.
“That’s him.” I tried to point with the most minimal of gestures,
feeling like a stool pigeon.
Labelle slowly approached the curb a few yards up the street from
the man. I guess she didn’t want to spook him and start some kind of
wild chase in this less than hospitable neighborhood. I almost
expected her to pull out a microphone from the dashboard and call
for backup. Another cinematic cliché demolished: she got out of the
car immediately, merely admonishing me to stay where I was. I
needed no encouragement, believe me! But the passenger-side
window was already rolled down, so I could hear everything. It went
something like this:

Labelle: Good morning.
Man: [Silent, but puts down bottle in cart and wipes mouth]
Labelle: I am Lieutenant Gramercy, metropolitan police. [shows
badge]
Man: [Barely audible] I ain’t done nothin’.
Labelle: Perhaps not, but I must ask you some questions.

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