‘I can’t,’ Passman replied.
‘Then we’ll have to help you, ma’am.’
‘Go ahead,’ Passman said.
De Souza and another officer got Passman under each arm and hoisted her up while Rhoad hung back at a safe distance. Cutchins hopped out of his white Dodge van and went around to the back to open the tailgate. De Souza bent over and briskly slid her hands up Passman’s stout legs, over sagging pantyhose with runs, feeling her way up into areas where no woman, other than Passman’s gynecologist, had ever gone before. Passman tried to kick De Souza and almost fell.
‘Get the flex cuffs!’ De Souza demanded as she held Passman’s legs still. ‘You do that again, ma’am, and I’m gonna hogtie you!’
De Souza held on as an officer looped the plastic flex cuff around Passman’s ankles, jerking it tight as if she were a tall kitchen bag.
‘Ouch!’
‘Hold still!’
‘That hurts!’ Passman screamed.
‘Good!’ Rhoad cheered.
Detective De Souza resumed her search, running experienced hands over Passman’s topography, into its crevices, through its canyons, between its foothills and under and over them while Passman cursed and yelled and called her a diesel dyke and cops helped Passman to her feet.
‘Get your fucking hands off me, you queer!’ Passman shouted. ‘That’s right! You sleep with the coach of your fucking queer softball team the Clit Hits and everybody in the entire police department and radio room knows it!’
Cutchins momentarily forgot his puzzle game. He’d always thought it a waste that a good-looking woman like De Souza was into same, not that he minded lesbians, and in fact watched them whenever he had access to pay TV.
He simply objected to discrimination. De Souza did not share herself with men, and Cutchins didn’t think that was fair.
‘Nothing on her but an attitude,’ De Souza said.
Unfortunately, Cutchins had parked on the other side of 10th and it was shift change at the Medical College of Virginia hospital. Instantly, traffic was heavy, sidewalks and streets congested with nurses, dietitians, orderlies, custodians, security guards, administrators, resident doctors and chaplains, all of them worn out, underpaid and cranky. Cars stopped to let the tied-up lady and the cops cross to the awaiting wagon. Pedestrians slowed their impatient get-out-of-my-way steps as Passman hopped ahead awkwardly.
‘Fuckheads! What are you staring at!’ she yelled to all.
‘Go jump!’ a secretary yelled back.
‘Jumpin’ Jack Flash! Jumpin’ Jack Flash! Jumpin’ Jack Flash!’ chanted a group of sleep-deprived residents.
‘Hop-a-long!’
‘Motherfuckers!’ screamed Passman, whose blood sugar was as low as it had ever been while she was conscious.
‘Jumpin’ bean!’ cried a records clerk.
Passman struggled, writhing like a python, hissing and baring her teeth at her detractors. Officers did their best to move her along while bystanders and drivers got more worked up and Rhoad tagged along out of range.
Pigeon had gotten bored with the cemetery and was rooting through a trash can, where so far he had salvaged part of a 7-Eleven breakfast burrito and a twenty-two-ounce cup of coffee that was half full.
He watched the heartless parade pass by, some woman hopping along as if she were in a sack race. He suddenly felt self-conscious of his stump and was angered by the crowd.
‘Don’t pay any attention to them,’ he counseled the fat lady as she hopped past and he took a bite of the burrito. ‘People are so rude these days.’
‘Shut up, you crippled garbage-picker!’ the woman yelled at him.
Pigeon was sorrowed by yet another rotten example of human nature. He continued his treasure hunting, always drawn by crowds that might throw things away.
De Souza gripped Passman’s arm like a vise. ‘He started it!’ Passman twisted around to glare at Rhoad. ‘Why don’t you lock his ass up!’
Cops shoved her inside the wagon and slammed the tailgate shut.
It was Chief Hammer’s NIJ mission to implement the New York City Crime Control Model in the Richmond Police Department, as she had in Charlotte and would do in other cities should health, energy and grant money allow. Understandably, this created a bit of a dilemma for her.
She was losing stamina and professionalism as she stood close to Bubba and listened to him talk. She wanted out but simply could not and would never pass the buck, look the other way, walk off and make this a problem for someone else. Hammer was here, and that was that. When a cop asks a suspect a question, the cop must listen to the answer, no matter how long and drawn-out it is.