American flag flutters in the moonlight. Not a cop is in sight.
As soon as he has the shots, Levitt races off with his film as agreed, and Clarence and I catch up to Dante and Marie as they hesitantly enter the East Hampton station. Marty Diallo is the sergeant behind the desk. His eyes are shut and his mouth wide open, and when the door closes behind us, he almost falls out of his chair.
“Marty,” I say, and I’ve been rehearsing this, “Dante Halleyville is here to turn himself in.”
“There’s no one here,” says Diallo, rubbing the cobwebs out of his eyes, and also taking out his gun. “What the hell am I supposed to do?”
“This is a
good
thing, Marty. We’re going to sit down here while you make some calls. Dante just turned himself in. Put down the gun.”
“It’s four thirty in the morning, Dunleavy. You couldn’t have waited a couple hours?”
“Of course we couldn’t. Just pick up the phone.”
Marty looks at me with some strange mixture of confusion and contempt, and gives us our first inkling of why Dante was so insistent that I accompany him.
“I don’t even know why you’re here with this piece of shit,” Diallo finally says.
Then he cuffs Dante.
Chapter 29
Dante
SOON AS THE desk sergeant wakes all the way up, something pretty scared and angry clicks in his doughy face, and he pulls his gun and jumps out of his chair like he thinks the four of us are going to rough him up or maybe steal his wallet. The gun points straight at me, but everyone puts their hands up in the air, even my grandmoms.
Just like on the court at Smitty Wilson’s, Tom’s the only one steady enough to say anything.
“This is bullshit, Marty,” he says. “Dante just turned himself in. Put down the gun.”
But the cop doesn’t say a word or take his eyes off me. Folks being scared of me is something I’m used to. With white strangers, it’s so common, I’ve almost stopped taking it personally. But with Diallo—I can read his name tag—I can almost smell the fear, and the hand with the gun, with the finger on the trigger, is dancing in the air, and the other one, fumbling for the handcuffs on his belt, doesn’t work too well either. For everyone’s sake, I put out my hands to be cuffed, and even though the cuffs are way too small and hurt, I don’t say a word.
Even when the cuffs are on me, Diallo still seems nervous and unsure of himself. He tells me I’m under arrest for suspicion of murder and reads me my rights. It’s like he’s cursing me out, only with different words, and every time he pauses, I hear
nigger.
“You have the right to remain silent (
pause
). And everything you say (
pause
) can and will be used against you. Got that (
pause
)?” Then he pulls me toward the door to inside, and he’s rough about it.
“Where you taking my grandson?” asks Marie, and I know she’s mad, and so does Diallo.
“Marty, let me wait with Dante until the detectives arrive,” says Tom Dunleavy. “He’s just a kid.”
Without another word, Diallo shoves me through a small back office crammed with desks and then down a short, tight hallway, until we’re standing in front of three empty jail cells, which are painted blue.
He pushes me into the middle one and slams the door shut, and the noise of that door shutting is about the worst sound I ever heard.
“What about these?” I ask, holding up my cuffed wrists. “They hurt pretty bad.”
“Get used to it.”
Chapter 30
Dante
I SIT ON the cold wooden bench and try to hold my head together. I tell myself that with Grandmoms, Clarence, and most of all Tom Dunleavy outside, nothing bad is going to happen to me. I hope to God that’s the truth. But I’m wondering,
How long am I going to have to be here?
After twenty minutes, a new cop takes me out to be fingerprinted, which is some bad shit. Half an hour later, two detectives arrive in plainclothes. One is young and short and about as excited as the sergeant was scared. The older
As soon as he has the shots, Levitt races off with his film as agreed, and Clarence and I catch up to Dante and Marie as they hesitantly enter the East Hampton station. Marty Diallo is the sergeant behind the desk. His eyes are shut and his mouth wide open, and when the door closes behind us, he almost falls out of his chair.
“Marty,” I say, and I’ve been rehearsing this, “Dante Halleyville is here to turn himself in.”
“There’s no one here,” says Diallo, rubbing the cobwebs out of his eyes, and also taking out his gun. “What the hell am I supposed to do?”
“This is a
good
thing, Marty. We’re going to sit down here while you make some calls. Dante just turned himself in. Put down the gun.”
“It’s four thirty in the morning, Dunleavy. You couldn’t have waited a couple hours?”
“Of course we couldn’t. Just pick up the phone.”
Marty looks at me with some strange mixture of confusion and contempt, and gives us our first inkling of why Dante was so insistent that I accompany him.
“I don’t even know why you’re here with this piece of shit,” Diallo finally says.
Then he cuffs Dante.
Chapter 29
Dante
SOON AS THE desk sergeant wakes all the way up, something pretty scared and angry clicks in his doughy face, and he pulls his gun and jumps out of his chair like he thinks the four of us are going to rough him up or maybe steal his wallet. The gun points straight at me, but everyone puts their hands up in the air, even my grandmoms.
Just like on the court at Smitty Wilson’s, Tom’s the only one steady enough to say anything.
“This is bullshit, Marty,” he says. “Dante just turned himself in. Put down the gun.”
But the cop doesn’t say a word or take his eyes off me. Folks being scared of me is something I’m used to. With white strangers, it’s so common, I’ve almost stopped taking it personally. But with Diallo—I can read his name tag—I can almost smell the fear, and the hand with the gun, with the finger on the trigger, is dancing in the air, and the other one, fumbling for the handcuffs on his belt, doesn’t work too well either. For everyone’s sake, I put out my hands to be cuffed, and even though the cuffs are way too small and hurt, I don’t say a word.
Even when the cuffs are on me, Diallo still seems nervous and unsure of himself. He tells me I’m under arrest for suspicion of murder and reads me my rights. It’s like he’s cursing me out, only with different words, and every time he pauses, I hear
nigger.
“You have the right to remain silent (
pause
). And everything you say (
pause
) can and will be used against you. Got that (
pause
)?” Then he pulls me toward the door to inside, and he’s rough about it.
“Where you taking my grandson?” asks Marie, and I know she’s mad, and so does Diallo.
“Marty, let me wait with Dante until the detectives arrive,” says Tom Dunleavy. “He’s just a kid.”
Without another word, Diallo shoves me through a small back office crammed with desks and then down a short, tight hallway, until we’re standing in front of three empty jail cells, which are painted blue.
He pushes me into the middle one and slams the door shut, and the noise of that door shutting is about the worst sound I ever heard.
“What about these?” I ask, holding up my cuffed wrists. “They hurt pretty bad.”
“Get used to it.”
Chapter 30
Dante
I SIT ON the cold wooden bench and try to hold my head together. I tell myself that with Grandmoms, Clarence, and most of all Tom Dunleavy outside, nothing bad is going to happen to me. I hope to God that’s the truth. But I’m wondering,
How long am I going to have to be here?
After twenty minutes, a new cop takes me out to be fingerprinted, which is some bad shit. Half an hour later, two detectives arrive in plainclothes. One is young and short and about as excited as the sergeant was scared. The older
Similar Books
