“He didn’t do anything.” Jack kept his hands on the wall and craned his neck to get a good look at the cop.
The cop scowled but didn’t respond.
“Jack, you’re going to get us arrested,” Chandler said out of the side of his mouth.
“For what? We’re the good guys.”
“Just be quiet, okay?”
The police officer directed his next question to Chandler. “Now what’s your story?”
“We were coming out of Ma Barker’s on D Street when this junkie stole an older woman’s handbag,” Chandler politely explained, keeping his hands in the air.
“Is she all right?” Jack asked.
“She seemed more worried about her husband’s medicine than about herself.” Chandler looked down at the handbag. “She’ll be happy you got it back.”
“Did you see the other man steal it?” The policeman finished patting Jack down.
“Neither of us did,” Jack said over his shoulder, “but the lady was screaming, ‘He stole my bag,’ and that junkie didn’t exactly look like the purple handbag type.” Jack started to turn around.
“Keep facing the wall.” The policeman pointed at Chandler. “You too.”
“Yes, sir.” Chandler turned right around and put his big hands against the brick.
“He didn’t do anything,” Jack persisted.
“Shut up,” the policeman snapped. He patted down Chandler, then stepped back and looked back and forth between them. “What’s your name?”
“Chandler Carter, sir.”
“And you?”
“Stratton. Jack Stratton.”
The policeman reached for his shoulder radio. “This is Officer Denby. Have there been any reports of a situation around D Street and 43rd?”
As the officer called it in, Chandler whispered to Jack, “How about trying to get us out of this?”
“We didn’t do anything. We’re fine.”
“No, we’re not. Have you forgotten what it’s like to live in the hood?”
“What took you so long to get here, anyway?”
“I… er… I wanted to make sure the old lady was okay.”
Jack frowned. “You haven’t been exercising, have you?”
“I have,” Chandler muttered.
“Yeah, right.” Jack cocked an eyebrow and looked toward Chandler’s belly. “You’ve got three months to lose fifteen pounds.”
“Ten.”
“That’s what it was last month. You gained weight.”
“I plateaued.”
Jack chuckled.
The policeman’s radio beeped, and the dispatcher came on: “Officer Jenkins is on scene. Possible mugging.”
“Eat less, run more,” Jack said.
“Just keep your big mouth shut or I won’t have to worry about my weight.”
“Why?”
“Because we’ll be disqualified before the weigh-in,” Chandler grumbled.
The policeman spoke into his radio. “Officer Jenkins? This is Officer Denby. Do you copy?”
Jenkins’ voice came through the speaker: “Copy.”
“Can you give me a description of the perp?”
“Tall. Thin build. He’s wearing a red hoodie.”
“Was anyone with him?”
“No. But two teenagers chased after him. One African-American, one Caucasian, both male.”
Jack kept his hands on the wall and looked over his shoulder. “Ask him if one of the teens is tall and really good-looking.”
“That would be me.” Chandler grinned as he raised himself up to his full six-foot-six.
“I’m with the teenagers now,” Denby said.
Over the radio, Jack could hear the old woman asking, “My handbag, where’s my handbag?”
“Hold on, ma’am.” Jenkins said. “Did you recover the handbag?”
Jack smiled broadly.
Officer Denby responded, “That’s affirmative. We did.”
Jack glanced over at Chandler and mouthed, We?
Chandler gave Jack his shut-your-big-mouth face.
“I’m driving the victim over to you. What’s your location?” Jenkins asked.
“I’m in a dead-end alley between J and K Streets.”
Denby clicked his radio off. “Okay, you two can turn around.” The officer took a long breath and then somewhat begrudgingly added, “I know you thought you were doing the right thing, but you should have called the police.”
“I didn’t want him to get away,” Jack said.
“He won’t. We’ll pick him up.” Denby took a small notebook and pen from a pocket on his shirt. “Anything you can tell me about him?”
“Approximately five foot eleven. One hundred and fifty pounds. Newer white Nikes, ripped blue jeans, grubby red Puma hoodie. He has medium-length sandy hair with a Grim Reaper tattoo on his neck.”