Reconciliation 14

Chicago, Illinois

June 21, 1957

“Look, Officer,”

hesitating,

not wanting to go in there,

“please, you can’t do this!”

“Oh, yeah?”

Jabbing the young man in the chest,

“You’re a f***in’  ‘deviant’!”

“A ‘Deviant’? Me?”

“Yeah, you!

An’ like I tol’j’ya;

I can do whatever the hell I want!”

His hand going to the nightstick at his side,

“an’ like I said,

 get your ass in there,

now!”

Having no choice,

the young man stepped into the car

and the door was slammed shut.

Opening the front door,

leaning in,

Mahoney whispered to Stan,

who laughed,

then,

looking over his shoulder,

looked at the man in the back seat.

“Take your time, John.

This f***er ain’t goin’ no­wheres.”

“Thanks.”

Pointing his thumb and forefinger

as though a gun

at the young man.

Slamming the door,

Mahoney started off in the direction

they’d come from.

Frightened before,

now all of his concern for his wife.

“Where’s he going?

Why am I…”

Reaching for the door,

he found there was no handle.

“Why am I locked in here?”

Turning,

looking at him,

“He’s goin’ to talk to your girlfriend…”

Stan said,

“to see if she, uh,

really wants us to haul ya in

an’ toss ya in the clink.”

“My ‘wife’!”

Understanding the implication of Stan’s words,

 “She’s my ‘wife’!

And we know people,

and if that son-­of-­a­-bitch so much as touches her,

we’ll…”

“Yeah?

What’ch’ya gonna do ’bout it?”

the City of Chicago police officer said childishly.

©November 30, 2011 / Mark M. Lichterman

To be continued as “The Reconciliation 15