It was my first night shift. We sat in the patrol
car and just cruised around. Derek worked only night shifts he said, so
that he would have time to be with his son during the day, to take him to the
karate and whatnot. I hate working nights because I want to catch the Sun light
if I can; the Sun never shines at nights.
We drove down the Main Street at 2am on a
Thursday, besides some drunk tourists and regular bar goers, there wasn't much
going on. Derek said that he never had any problem with the creatures wandering
at nights; but why this odd impression of everything appeared more suspicious
then? As we turned on the Second Avenue the radio announced that we were
supposed to raid a bar on the Jefferson Alley.
"Now? What? We are raiding a bar at 2am
because of what? Someone started a bar fight because he missed the last call?
Why?! The bar is probably closed by the time we get there."
"I know I know. This is not that uncommon.
Some bars stayed open after the curfew, but these are not the ones on our
priority list. We are going in now because of some drug related story."
"Who else is gonna be there? I hope that we
are not the only two."
"Don't worry about it, there are 3 patrol cars are being sent to back
us up. We will wait for their arrival; we are not going in alone."
Nooooooo. I hate this. I hate
working at nights, I hate raiding the bars, I hate my job! I don't even recall
why I applied for this, what happened to my interests and the promise that I
would only do something that I liked, what happened to... all these choices
that I had?! What happened to my passion for novels, or pastries, or
gymnastics? How long am I going to work for the police? Gah! I hate raiding places;
I hate to come in someone's private place unwelcomed and flipped over random
stuff ... when does the Sun finally come up? I will never cover for someone at
nights again. Oh man, it is only 2:15am, and my shift doesn't end until 7am! Why
me?! Maybe I should start something new, but now? and why? because of this
one-time night substitute shift?
"Why the police force?" I asked Derek.
"Pension." he said, "and I hated Math."
It was meant to be a joke but somehow it didn't feel
like one. We turned left to the Jefferson Alley and our back-up was already
waiting at the door. Oh boy. There were 12 of us.
The light in the bar was dimmed. You could still
see people sitting at the counter, finishing up their last glass. This was one
of the bars with either name or receipt; in a quarter where we turned a blind eye.
You can't make every quarter in the city a saint-quarter, as long as they
didn't stir up violence, small amount of grass under the table wouldn't hurt
anyone. The deal was, a body was found with needle still stuck to the left arm
while in his pocket, the address of this bar was written in pencil on a small
piece of scratch paper. We were not likely to find anything, but we had to look
for it.
We came in and ordered everyone to put their
hands where we could see them. Derek announced loudly:" I am sure you all
know why we are here..."
"No..." a stern voice came from the
table near the Jukebox.
We all turned around. This happened rarely, and
the man at the table didn't seem real: he was in a suit and wore a tie; in a
bar filled of people who almost belonged to the forgotten population. The man
in suit had a suitcase next to him, a big square one with wheels. Was he a
pilot lost in the navigation system?
"Well, there was a body found with the address
of this bar in his pocket. So we are searching for hard drugs." Derek
rolled his eyes to the ceiling and uttered:"any question?"
It was supposed to be a rhetoric question. It
had always been.
"Yes..." What a surprise, the man in
suit.
"Yes?" I asked him.
"Can I see your search warrant?"
"I don't have it with me..." Derek
said, looking at me, suggesting me to complete the second part of this
sentence...
"We just got the call during the shift; and the judge on-call told us to go ahead and raid, for the search warrant will be printed out first thing tomorrow morning." I wished to remember the paragraphs of the law, but I didn't. Theory was never my thing, ugh! But seriously, I never had anyone who took the rhetorical question as if it weren't until now. "Can I see your ID, sir?"
"Sure, it is in my jacket, in the car." Man in suit said calmly.
"OK." I said, hand gesturing that I would be accompanying him to his car outside to get his ID. Can this freaking night shift be any worse?!
"There you go." he gave me his ID.
"What do you do?"
"Paralegal."
"What are you doing in this place at this hour?"
"Drinking. As you can see. I couldn't sleep."
"And I am guessing that you are not driving home tonight, right?"
"Sure I am. I am not drinking booze."
"OK, fine. You can go now." After I padded him down and handed him back his ID.
"Thanks, officer. I just need to go and get my suitcase."
I didn't care. It was one of these shifts where you wished it to be the end before it even started. Why it took so long for the Sun to come up?! Through the almost opaque window panes, I could see the shadow of my colleges padding down the people inside. A dozen of half-sober guys stood in line and had their hands on the wall; one of them was even taken to the kitchen and stripped. I turned around and saw a book lying on the backseat of the car belonged to man in suit -- it was a novel that I read years ago, a novel that almost stopped me from applying for this job. "If on a winter's night a traveler."
Man in suit rolled his suitcase from the bar to the sidewalk --- "The novel begins in a railway station, a locomotive huffs, steam from a piston covers the opening of the chapter, a cloud of smoke hides part of the first paragraph."
There was something peculiar about this picture, but what?
He stopped in front of his car, looked for keys in his pockets --- "I am the man who comes and goes between the bar and the telephone booth. Or, rather: that man is called "I" and you know nothing else about him, just as this station is called only "station" and beyond it there exists nothing except the unanswered signal of a telephone ringing in a dark room of a distant city."
He put the key in the lock, turned it to the left, the trunk flung open, and he threw the suitcase inside before driving away --- "And my arm might not hold a briefcase, swollen and a bit worn, but might be pushing a square suitcase of plastic material supplied with little wheels, guided by a chrome stick that can be folded up."
We found nothing from the raid. It was almost 3:30 when we were done there. Derek and I had to cruise the quarter until the shift was over.
"Want some coffee from Dunkin' Dounuts"?
"We just got the call during the shift; and the judge on-call told us to go ahead and raid, for the search warrant will be printed out first thing tomorrow morning." I wished to remember the paragraphs of the law, but I didn't. Theory was never my thing, ugh! But seriously, I never had anyone who took the rhetorical question as if it weren't until now. "Can I see your ID, sir?"
"Sure, it is in my jacket, in the car." Man in suit said calmly.
"OK." I said, hand gesturing that I would be accompanying him to his car outside to get his ID. Can this freaking night shift be any worse?!
"There you go." he gave me his ID.
"What do you do?"
"Paralegal."
"What are you doing in this place at this hour?"
"Drinking. As you can see. I couldn't sleep."
"And I am guessing that you are not driving home tonight, right?"
"Sure I am. I am not drinking booze."
"OK, fine. You can go now." After I padded him down and handed him back his ID.
"Thanks, officer. I just need to go and get my suitcase."
I didn't care. It was one of these shifts where you wished it to be the end before it even started. Why it took so long for the Sun to come up?! Through the almost opaque window panes, I could see the shadow of my colleges padding down the people inside. A dozen of half-sober guys stood in line and had their hands on the wall; one of them was even taken to the kitchen and stripped. I turned around and saw a book lying on the backseat of the car belonged to man in suit -- it was a novel that I read years ago, a novel that almost stopped me from applying for this job. "If on a winter's night a traveler."
Man in suit rolled his suitcase from the bar to the sidewalk --- "The novel begins in a railway station, a locomotive huffs, steam from a piston covers the opening of the chapter, a cloud of smoke hides part of the first paragraph."
There was something peculiar about this picture, but what?
He stopped in front of his car, looked for keys in his pockets --- "I am the man who comes and goes between the bar and the telephone booth. Or, rather: that man is called "I" and you know nothing else about him, just as this station is called only "station" and beyond it there exists nothing except the unanswered signal of a telephone ringing in a dark room of a distant city."
He put the key in the lock, turned it to the left, the trunk flung open, and he threw the suitcase inside before driving away --- "And my arm might not hold a briefcase, swollen and a bit worn, but might be pushing a square suitcase of plastic material supplied with little wheels, guided by a chrome stick that can be folded up."
We found nothing from the raid. It was almost 3:30 when we were done there. Derek and I had to cruise the quarter until the shift was over.
"Want some coffee from Dunkin' Dounuts"?
"Sure, why not." I wondered if the man in suit liked Calvino as I did.
"What was in the suitcase?" Derek asked.
"I have no idea. I thought you would know for you were inside with the other, where the suitcase was."
"Yeah, somehow we thought you were the one who took a glance in it outside, before he drove away."
"Well..."
"It is probably just documents."
"I am sure of it."
A couple of months after that night shift, I decided to quit the job and got a position in the public library instead. On a very ordinary afternoon, I saw the man in suit at the newspaper desk, with his suitcase leaning against the chair, open. I collected a few books, pretending to be putting them back to the shelves; as I walked passed the suitcase, I nervously took down --- there was a small bottle of sparkling water and ..... lots of documents, black and white. Man in suit turned around, he might have sensed me sniffing his personal belongings; but he looked a bit puzzled when he met my eyes -- it only lasted a second, then he figured that I must have been just looking for the right places for the books in my arms. He didn't recognize me, why would he anyway? Mystery solved.
