(continued from: 9/27/11)
“I wanna know what’s in the bag”, the florid faced cop repeated, his breathing returning to normal. I stood looking at him glare at me with the rain beating down on both of us as his partner caught up. “I’ll go get loss prevention”, he shouted, hustling back into the store. “Hold him here” he advised the flush faced cop, who positioned himself as to cut off my escape should I attempt to flee.
“Hold me here for what” I said not moving a muscle, hostility edging into my voice. “I didn’t steal anything”. Narrowing his red-rimmed eyes to slits he retorted, “shut up and let me see some I.D.” Stunned by his anger I slowly shook my head no. My view widened to take in the on-lookers, whispering to each other, gawking at the scene like freeway motorists who slow traffic to a crawl in order to view the wreckage from a recent collision.
“I’m not showing you anything’ I replied, you ever hear of the 4th amendment? He stood there slack jawed, infuriated and puzzled by my response. Before he could say anything I added, “What is this racial profiling? Is that why you’re holding me?”
The old cop went ballistic. I could tell he wanted to get physical but there were too many eyes on us. Instead he took out his cuffs, stepped even closer and hissed, “I ain’t no racist. You better not call me a racist profiler.” Stepping back from the spray of his venom I countered, “I didn’t call you a name. I asked you a question.” “Just keep your mouth shut and wait smart boy” he threatened. ‘I’ll have your I.D. as soon as my partner gets back.”
(To be continued: 9/29/11)
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