Back to Blood - By Tom Wolfe Page 0,112

a little package.” He put his forefinger near his thumb to show how small it was. “Whattaya call that? You don’t call that work?”

The moment the big man saw the Sergeant’s finger charade of the drug sale, he began moving crabwise in front of the bars on the window, toward the door. Nestor moved with him from three feet away. The moment the Sergeant said the words “call that work,” the big man bolted for the door. Nestor sprang onto the porch after him, yelling, “STOP!” ¡Manténla abierta! The big man reached the door before Nestor could stop him. But he was so big, he had to open the door another two feet just to get through it. Nestor lunges for the doorjamb… manages to get his foot between the frame and the door just as the big man tries to slam it shut. Hurts like hell!… not wearing good cop shoes with a leather sole but CST sneakers. The big man kicks at Nestor’s toe, then tries to stomp on it. An adrenal wave sweeps through Nestor’s body. Nestor has the willpower the willpower the willpower the willpower, and he gains about three inches—just enough to use his lungs to yell, “Miami Police! Show me your hands! Show me your hands!” All at once the resistance on the other side of the door—no longer exists! Nestor finds himself hurtling forward—the eyes!—he sees all these eyes!—in the dark and tubercular blue glow of a TV set in the millisecond before he lands sprawling on the floor. ::::::Where’s the big guy? I’m inside the house, completely vulnerable. In the time it takes me to get back on my feet, if the big guy has a gun—what is this?—can’t see a goddamn thing!… It’s these $29.95 CVS Cuban cop supremo darkest shades with the gold bar… plunged from the sun outside to here in the dark—they’ve covered the windows so nobody can see in—damned Cuban cop shades! I’m in and I still can’t see; I’m practically blind.:::::: He starts scrambling to his feet… The moment lengthens lengthens l e n g t h e n s for an eternity, but his motor responses are paralyzed paralyzed p a r a l y z e d… all he can see are eyes eyes eyes e y e s… and the tubercular glow! He’s on his feet—the eyes—what the hell is that? Jesus Christ! It’s a white face! Not just a light-skinned black woman but pure white!… holding a black child she is… ::::::what the hell is this place?::::::

—and all of that rushed through his head in the less than two seconds since he came hurtling through the contested doorway—and he still can’t find that black hulk he was after—::::::I’m nothing but a big fat target now… no shield but my authority… I am a cop:::::: starts bellowing, “MIAMI POLICE! SHOW ME YOUR HANDS! SHOW ME”

—four seconds—

“YOUR HANDS!”… Babies start crying—Jesus Christ! Babies!… Off to one side, four or five feet away: a tan-faced boy and girl, six or seven years old ::::::I can’t see them:::::: scared to death, holding the palms of their hands up before him… obediently! WE SHOW YOU OUR HANDS!… Babies crying! Almost directly ahead a big momma holding a bawling baby… a momma?—a bawling baby?—in a dope den? Look at her!—sitting down holding the baby, but that doesn’t obscure her bulging belly… too much for the too-tight jeans she should have never even looked at… gray hair frizzed out in some kind of wannabe-young ’do… big jowls, deep lines in her face… belligerent: “Whatchoo trying to do to my son? You people—he ain’t done nothing! He ain’t never spent a day in jail, and you—”

—six seconds—

“come in here—” She begins shaking her head in disgust… Jesus Christ, this ain’t a dope den, it’s a goddamned nursery! A small room it is, a hovel of a room, filthy… no light… the windows are blocked… two plates on the floor, bits of food left on them, abandoned… a girl about ten squatting over another plate… Jesus, they eat on the floor… got next to no furniture… one small couch against the back wall with a fat boy cowering on it with wide eyes… an old wooden table in the back and a TV set somewhere over here glowing like it’s radioactive… Shit! Nestor hears a low voice saying, “Fuck the cops… ram the bastards… your call,”

—eight seconds—

“dude… He whack you… or you whack him, the motherfucker”… followed by the squeal of

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