"The Black"

I had to appear in court yesterday, a humorous lesson in futility. After four hours of sitting, watching case after case get dismissed or continued, I decide to take my lunch break in the gym. Maybe work off a little aggression. So I'm driving to the Police Academy, minding my own business, when suddenly a red Honda Accord swerves head-on into my lane. I slam on brakes and veer right, my front right tire striking the curb.

The driver of the Honda is a large Hispanic woman. The top half of her body is hanging out the window, her left arm waiving furiously at me. She's screaming, "The black! The black!" I ask her, "The black what?" Her answer: "The black. The black."

She waives for me to follow and spins around in the roadway, nearly striking a parked car. For some reason I follow, even though I think the appropriate action would be to ignore her. She leads me into an apartment complex and pulls alongside a young black male. He has dreads, a red hat (tilted left for dramatic-or idiotic-effect), jeans, and a white t-shirt. He casually smokes a cigarette as I approach.

The Hispanic woman leaps from her car and yells, "The black," pointing her index finger at the young man. He looks at me and says, "That bitch is crazy!" While pointing she frantically dials a number on her cell phone. Moments later she hands me the phone and I speak with her translator, the fourteen-year-old daughter of the Hispanic woman's employer.

"Hey, Officer, I don't know why she's so upset. She says there were two black guys that wanted to fight her boyfriend."

"Is this one of the guys?" I ask, assuming she knows we're parked in front of a potential suspect.

"Uh, no. She said he knows the guys. She wants you to take him to the police station and interrogate him to find out who the other two were."

"Don't think I'm going to do that," I say, handing the phone back to her.

The woman talks on the phone several more minutes and again approaches me, extending the phone. The fourteen-year-old asks, "She wants to leave now. Can she go?"

I tell her she can go. She squeals tires and spins around in the parking lot, the whole time pointing her index finger at the black guy.

"That bitch is crazy," he says. "I wasn't even with them guys. Her boyfriend wanted to fight one of them cause he threw a cigarette butt down in their yard."

I leave and get my workout, satisfied that everyone involved got the best possible service I could provide.