No Place Read Free

parties, although now that I thought about it, not recently.
    “What’s she doing there?” I wondered out loud.
    “You have to ask?” Noah said.
    Meg Fine was homeless?
    *  *  *
    It took about twenty minutes to get to Burlington. Derek’s studio was in a run-down neighborhood of old factories,auto repair establishments, and pawn shops. Broken glass glittered along the curbs. Empty bottles inside brown paper bags littered the sidewalks.
    A few blocks from the studio we passed a police car with its blue and red lights flashing. Two cops had a big tattooed man bent facedown on the hood of a dark green Range Rover. They were cuffing his hands behind his back while a young woman argued with them.
    “Hey, stop,” I said. “It’s Olivia and Oscar.”
    Noah slowed down.
    “Come on, pull over,” I said.
    “It’s a bad idea, man,” Noah warned.
    “Just stop.”
    “Dan, you don’t—”
    “I said stop! ”
    Noah pulled to the curb and I got out in time to hear one of the cops say to Olivia: “Sorry, miss, but he’s got no license or registration for this vehicle.”
    The handcuffed man’s name was Oscar, and he’d once been a promising college running back until a couple of severe concussions ended his career. Now that he was handcuffed, the cops let him straighten up.
    “I told you I changed clothes and left my wallet in my other pants,” Oscar tried to explain. “I work for Buzzuka Joe. This is his car.”
    While I watched from the sidewalk, Noah stayed in his car. We both knew why he hadn’t gotten out. I leaned into the car’s window.“Call the studio. See if you can get someone over here.”
    Noah tried his phone, listened, shook his head. “I got the message. They’re probably recording.”
    “Then go over there and get someone.”
    “I hope you know what you’re doing,” Noah muttered, and pulled away.
    The truth was, I had no idea what I was doing. I just had this strong feeling that if Oscar had been a different color, or in a different part of the city, this wouldn’t be happening. By now the cops were glancing at me with puzzled expressions; this wasn’t a part of Burlington where you saw a lot of white teenagers.
    I cleared my throat. “Excuse me, officers, but I think there’s been a mistake.”
    One of the cops scowled. “Sorry?” he said in a tone that implied, And just who do you think you are?
    I took my time answering. This wasn’t about changing their minds. It was about stalling while Noah went for help. Nodding at Olivia and Oscar, I said, “I’m a friend of theirs, and I’m sure everything they’ve told you is true.”
    Both cops looked at me like I was whacked. “Oh, really?” One of them snorted.
    “Yes, sir. This young lady works at Williams Sound, the music studio down the street, where Buzzuka Joe is recording his new album.” Buzzuka Joe was a former gangbanger turned rapper who was a big deal around Burlington. “You gentlemen are familiar with Buzzuka Joe, right? ‘If The Phone Don’t Ring, You’ll Know It’s Me’?”
    “Yeah, so?” one of the cops said.
    I didn’t have an answer. I’d been ad-libbing and suddenly had no libs to add.
    The cops seemed to sense that I was at a loss. “Listen, kid,” one of them said, “I don’t know who the hell you are, but if I were you I’d disappear, pronto.” He took Oscar by the arm and started to guide him toward the police car.
    I stepped between them and the police car, blocking their path. The cop with Oscar stopped and gave me an astonished look, then jerked his head at his partner, who came toward me. “I’m gonna count to three before I bust you for obstruction of justice and interfering with police duties. You got that? This is none of your business .”
    My heart was pounding and a voice in my head was screaming to get out of the way. But in my gut I knew that if Oscar were white they wouldn’t have bent him over the hood of the car and handcuffed him. There was a time when I might have