Page 73 - The Myth and the Moment

Evening

“Talk.”
“Well, I was visiting a friend who lives up on Maracanda, and I was
on my way home.”
“Oh, yeah? Where’s your car parked?”
“I don’t have one. I got a ride up there from another friend.”
“What’s your friend’s name?”
“Kolpak. Phil Kolpak.”
“Frank: check out a Kolpak on Maracanda.”
Are they going to call him? I don’t want him to come down—
“Now listen to me and listen good, buddy. We may have to let you
go. If so, and we catch you sneaking around this neighborhood again,
you will be very sorry. Sometimes people get hurt resisting arrest, you
understand? Sometimes we find things in their pockets, you
understand that? Our job is to keep the streets safe and clean, you got
it?”
“Yes, but I’m a citizen of this country. I can walk on the streets if I
want to, anytime and anywhere.”
“Ha-ha-ha! Did you get that, Frank? Listen to me, old man: I never
said you couldn’t walk, did I?”
“Well, no, but you implied that—”
“He didn’t get it, Frank. Look, buddy: suppose, in the execution of
our duties, which in this case is questioning you, you were to slip and
bang your arm against the curb. Right there.”
“Ow!”
Son-of-a-bitch hit me with his flashlight! Nate! Sit on it! Don’t give
them an excuse to beat you up! This is no-man’s land, where nothing
grows but power out of the barrel of a gun. These guys are sick,
wouldn’t be cops otherwise. Calm down. Best way to keep them
from being rapists and robbers is put them in uniform and set them
to cruising up and down the streets, getting their perverted desires
gratified in socially acceptable harassment of the poor and homeless.
But that hurts! Goddamn sadist! Glad they can’t see my face. Glad I
can’t, either.
“It checks out, Lester. Latest address on back of license, even.
Can’t bust him for that. There’s a Kolpak on Maracanda, like he says,
and the number isn’t listed. Couldn’t have pulled it out of the phone
book.”

72