Chapter 21: Arrested
Wes, Trina and Jafiro all stood waiting by the unconscious police officer for Wulf to return on the horse. Sirens were sounding, coming nearer, and then they heard the hoof beats. The giant youth, hair shining like bronze under the street lamps, came into view. Blood splashed the black hooves and fetlocks of the horse. Wulf swung himself down, obviously an experienced rider, and at that moment blue lights shone over the scene from all directions. A good dozen police cars pulled all around the scene in a ring, and spotlights were shown over the group.
“Put your weapons on the ground!” came out of a megaphone. A circle of officers pointed weapons at the four, of which only Wulf had a weapon to put down. Although it rasped him to do so, he put his big knife on the pavement. He also pulled a large revolver from under his shirt, and put it, gleaming bluely, on the ground as well.
“Well that about does it!” said a yellowish colored black man. Thin, with a little mustache below beady black eyes, he pointed towards the gun and then Wulf with unconcealed relish. “Do you know I can lock you away for years just for possessing a firearm in this city? Much less using it in a hate crime like this!” he said, pointing with his arm that had leather patches on the elbows and pockets like he was British from the upper classes rather than a low level bureaucrat in a corrupt, decadent American city. He was pointing at the downed officer, still unconscious. The officer was black.
Wulf was cuffed and put in a squad car, as Wes and Trina, along with Jafiro, tried to explain that he was a hero here, not a perpetrator, but when they police found the trampled body a few blocks away of Rasha the punk, the yellowish detective with the patches, named Antigone Gibbons, knew he had it made. A white man, who probably (he’d make sure it was likely, not probable), had shot a cop, stole his horse, and trampled to death a young black man- oh, my gosh, he would get a commendation for this at least, and lots of air time on TV… He smiled briefly to himself. Black on white crime happened all the time, and the media downplayed it. White on black violence was like a “man bites dog” story- it almost never really happened, and when it did- wow- make hay while the sun shines!
Wes told detective Gibbons that he was an officer with the private police force of the U of C, but if anything this just lost him credit with the man. “Give your information to that officer,” he said, nodding towards an officer who had walked up with a clipboard. “All of you. Do not leave home, we will need you in court.” Then, as if noticing the stunning looks of Trina for the first time, he asked her with a leering smile he must have thought looked fetching- “What did he do to you, that white trash we just arrested?” He looked at her old car with the smashed window, and asked her, this time including Jafiro in the question, “Did he try to carjack you? He did, didn’t he?”
Everyone knew how improbable, impossible this was really; there had never been a carjacking of black people by white people in this city, ever! But he could hope…
“Of course not,” said Trina, and Jafiro shook his head “no” vigorously. “We’re trying to tell you. The man you arrested saved us, saved us from that dead man who shot this officer,” she indicated the officer, now being carried on a stretcher to an ambulance. “He, the man who is dead, he’s the one who is the criminal here!”
“I’m sure you believe that right now, honey,” he said with another creepy leer, “but after you think it over, I’m sure you’ll remember that a felon, for that he is just for owning those weapons here, and a murderer, cannot be a hero anymore than a white can be a victim of a black hate crime. They are mutually exclusive.” Another creepy smile.
Wes walked up. “Come on, I’ll drive you two home.” he said to Trina and Jafiro. To the detective, he said “You have our information. We will be in touch.” The three walked away towards his sedan.
Detective Gibbons called after them. “See that you do!” ‘Especially you…’ he thought, watching Trina as she walked away. He thought how many viewers would love to see her on television, how ratings would go up. What a looker! He’d have to convince her to see things in the “correct” light. Again, that smile. Creepy.