Play it Cool

You keep walking towards the squad car. It stops and the cop shines his spotlight on you. You cover your eyes. “Hands where I can see them!” comes the booming voice from the car. You squint your eyes and put your hands up. “Up against the wall!” yells the officer. You do as you’re told. The officer sprints over, throws you on the ground and cuffs you. “Shit.” You think to yourself “I’m toast.” The officer pats you down. Nothing. He picks you pack up. “ID.” He says gruffly. “Back pocket, sir.” You reply. He fishes out your wallet, takes out your ID and throws it to his partner. “What are you doing here, son?” he asks. “Just cutting through the alley, sir.” You respond. “Did you not see the police cars back there?” he replies. “Yes sir, I thought it would be easier just to cut through the alley to get around them.” You make up on the spot. “Came back negative.” The partner responds from the car “Besides the guy we’re looking for is a Mexican guy in his mid twenties.” “Luis…” You think. “Ok, son. You’re free to leave.” The officer says as he’s taking off your cuffs. You stand in shock for a second before you high-tail it to BART and head back to Oakland.

The ride back to your stop is about 25 minutes. You’re looking over your shoulder the whole way. You have no idea how you got so lucky. You get off at Fruitvale and make your way the four blocks to your apartment. It’s a shabby one-room on the top floor of a house that’s been split into six similar apartments. You have a chair, a TV, a fridge, a bed and a hotplate. Your bathroom is shared. You settle down with a beer and start watching the news. Luis is plastered all over it. “The daring robbery at Neilsen Partners last week came to a conclusion today when one of the burglars tried to fence the stolen coins.” Recited the anchorwoman “The anonymous tip came into SFPD this morning, nailing Luis Lerma – a career cat-burgler.” “Wow.” You think to yourself. “Luis is done for. What does this mean for me?” You don’t have long to think as there is a knock at your door. “Shit.” You think. Do you answer it? Or do you jump out the window?