After going just around the circle and down Massachusetts Ave for a block, Doug turned off the blue and red flashing lights. They used a lot of battery life. It wasn’t likely they would get another call, and certainly wasn’t likely they would get one before the battery in the police car had a chance to recharge, but you never know. So, they headed to the police station moving along with the rest of the traffic. The traffic was actually moving a bit slower than usual because of the presence of the police car. This was fine with Martin. He wasn’t in a rush.

The man didn’t say another word the entire way. It wasn’t far, a few blocks. The main police headquarters was on the corner of New York Ave and L Street. Very close to the red-light district on K street and the main restaurant and shopping district at the circle: Libertad. Although it wasn’t an issue for the police, the main illegal petro station was also just around the corner at the edge of a park on 7th and K st. Interestingly enough, the petro station was the one operation which the residents of the barrio didn’t run themselves. It was run by Russians. Martin never did understand the particulars of that situation. He didn’t concern himself with them either. Martin didn’t own a car.

Within fifteen minutes from the time they left the circle, they were at the station. Doug pulled into the parking lot in front of the building. This time Cappy helped the man by keeping a hand above his head and guiding him as he got out of the car. People were always hitting their heads when they got in and out of the police cars, especially when they were handcuffed. Cappy then held the man’s arm and guided him up the stairs toward the police station. The station was a stern looking red brick building that didn’t have enough windows. The man saw the large white sign on the side of the building and looked confused. The sign read: Metro Police, traffic division. It was a normal reaction. 

At least once a week someone would drive up to the place to explain that a car somewhere in Maryland was abandoned somewhere or another. It was part of the job of the desk officer to explain, that they had nothing to do with anything other than Latinos and maintaining of peace and order inside the barrios. Then they’d give the person a phone number, but first they would very carefully explain that the contractor who dealt with such things would charge them a fee for reporting the abandoned vehicle. 

Although this building had been the headquarters of the DC cops for more than a decade and even though every single complaint dealing with a vehicle from Richmond to Baltimore would eventually be brought to their attention, the sign remained. The people who worked there were just glad the sign didn’t say City Morgue or Division of Animal Control.

Cappy and the man walked over to the desk officer, Alan Gray. Technically Alan Gray was Cappy’s junior officer, and second in command of the DC Cops. In reality, because Cappy was usually on the street, they were more like equal partners. Alan ran the headquarters; Cappy ran the street.

“So what we got?” asked Alan.

“Disturbing the peace,” said Cappy.

“Disturbing the peace?” said the man. He no longer looked like an animal caught in the headlights to Martin. “What about that guy. He was the one disturbing the peace.”

“What guy?” asked Alan.

“I don’t know. Some guy at Dupont circle.” 

He used the old name. Martin hadn’t heard the place called anything but Libertad since he started working there. He had forgotten completely, that it once had another name. Martin had noticed over the years that the word “Dupont,” was carved on the large fountain in the middle of the circle. It didn’t matter. Names and signs that no longer applied were everywhere, even on the front of the headquarters of the DC cops.

“John Brown,” replied Cappy, answering Alan’s question.

Alan Gray nodded. Nothing else needed to be said. This guy was one of the faithful and John Brown said something to tick him off. It had happened before.

“I hope you kicked the fucker’s face in,” said Sal to the man. Sal was brand new. He had only been a cop for two weeks. Martin already hated Sal. Sal was an idiot, one of the faithful. Sal wasn’t allowed to go on patrol by himself yet. Martin didn’t think he ever would be ready. Martin was just glad he never had to babysit the man. Doug had, he said the man was “a swaggerin’  nazi.” Just the kind that got themself killed in the barrio. And worse, just the kind that got their partner killed because he had the misfortune of standing next to the guy when he pissed off the wrong person. 

“I would’ve kicked his fuckin’ face in,” said the man. 

Martin shook his head. 

Cappy spoke again, “yeah well, the Greenhats want him out of the barrio.”

“Permanent?” asked Alan.

“Yep.”

“That’s bullshit,” said Sal.

It was a very serious punishment. Virtually everything bought and sold in the United States of America came through the barrios. Martin was thinking about what it would be like to live in this county and not be able to shop in a barrio.

“Regardless, That’s what they said,” said Cappy.

“Fuck them,” said Sal.

Sal was pissed. He thought it was unfair. The man hadn’t realized the ramifications. He would soon enough.

Alan was being more practical, “Did they say every barrio or just DC?”

“He said here.”

“Well, That’s something.”

At least, the man would be able to move to a different city, Philadelphia or New York.

“Who said?” asked Sal.

“Raúl.”

The second in command of the DC Greenhats said it and that was that. There was no appeal, no debate, no nothing. That’s the way it was. 

Sal said, “fuck.” 

Even Sal had been in the barrio long enough to know that if Raúl said it, it was the final word on the subject. When it came right down to it, Ernesto was the only person in the barrio who had the authority to overrule Raúl. And even Ernesto wasn’t going to piss off his strongman, his right hand. 

Cappy then walked the man to the squad room. The squad room was a fairly large vacant looking room crammed with desks. Currently no one sat at any of the desks. Cappy said that at one time the room was always filled with detectives. There were no detectives in the DC Cops anymore. Now the room was used for processing citizens who got arrested in the barrio. There were no assigned desks. A cop would use whichever desk was handy. There was also an office separated from the rest of the room by a glass wall. A sign on the door to the office said Capt. Marcowitz. Martin had no idea who Captain Marcowitz was. This office was used as a storeroom.

Cappy walked the man to a desk near the center of the room. Martin walked behind them. Martin took off the handcuffs and the man sat down. The chairs were designed so that you could actually handcuff a person to them. They rarely did this to anyone, and certainly weren’t going to do it with this guy. 

Cappy was all business. He took the man’s name, address and so forth. The man was unemployed, which was about expected. Just about everyone who followed Cassandra blindly and who believed every word about the barrios causing all the problems with the rest of the world, seemed to be unemployed. And no doubt they blamed the people of the barrio for taking their jobs. Simply put, “it was the Wets fault.” The it that the Wets were to blame for varied.

Cappy finished by explaining what not being allowed in the barrio meant. “You understand, that you will not be allowed in the DC barrio for any reason. You realize that the DC Police do check IDs at Metro Center and at the Automobile and Pedestrian entrances at New York and Wisconsin Avenues. If you are discovered at the New York or Wisconsin Avenue entrances, you will be denied entrance. Furthermore, the civilian authorities of the barrio empowered to deal with Citizen and barrio residence interactions, the Greenhats, will be informed of your attempt to illegally enter the barrio.”

“Illegally! I’m a citizen. I have a right to go where I like.”

Cappy ignored him and continued, “Furthermore, if you enter the barrio through the subway and are discovered at Metro Center, the Greenhats will be informed immediately and will almost certainly take custody of your person. We will not be able to intercede on your behalf again.”

The part about handing over illegals, who got caught at Metro Center, to the Greenhats wasn’t actually true. It made a hell of a deterrent though.

“This is bullshit,” said the man.

“Yes,” said Cappy. “I suppose it is. But that’s the way it is.”

“I haven’t been tried. I haven’t talked to a lawyer. They can’t just tell me I can’t enter the barrio.”

“It’s their barrio, son. They can.”

“Bullshit. It’s our barrio. The United States pays for everything here. It belongs to us.”

Doug who was back from plugging in the car spoke up. “Well if you really want, all you need to do is ride on the subway right into Metro Center. You can tell the Greenhats while they’re throwing your ass over Great Falls all about your rights and stuff. Don’t bother telling us, friend. We’re not the guys who push you in. We’re just the guys who fish you out.” Doug was referring to the widespread stories that the way the Greenhats disposed of people was to throw them over Great Falls, the very impressive and dangerous waterfalls on the Potomac River, just north of the DC line. 

“I didn’t do anything. It was that asshole at the circle.”

“Would you like to talk to my boss?” asked Cappy. Cappy meant Alan Gray, who was not his boss. From past experience Cappy understood that allowing the guy to air his grievances to what he would perceive as an unbiased superior officer helped smooth things over. Alan would be sympathetic to the man’s plight. This would calm him down. Alan Gray would also again explain to him the reality of the situation: he was banned for life from the DC barrio.

Cappy got up and got Alan Gray. Cappy took over at the front desk. This allowed the man full freedom to say anything he wanted. Even before Alan Gray sat down, the man began to explain. The man went on explaining, both rambling and circling for quite a while. Basically, appealing to Alan Gray about the unfairness of the situation. At least three times the man said that John Brown should be suspended from the barrio too. Martin wondered why he kept coming back to this particular injustice. It wasn’t as though having John Brown thrown out of the barrio was going to help him any. It was at about this time that the man suddenly realized exactly how much he depended on the barrio for the basic necessities of living. All clothes and food were bought in the barrio. 

“How can I be kicked out of the barrio for going after that fuckin’ traitor,” said the man.

Martin, who had been off to the side listening, used this opportunity to speak up for the first time. “Sir, you are not being kicked out of the barrio for attempting to attack Mr. John Brown. You are being kicked out for calling a Latina lady a Wet.”

“They don’t tolerate it,” said Alan Gray. “I don’t suppose if you were in their place you’d let people come to your home and call you racial slurs. Right where their children can hear. I’m very sorry Sir. If it was up to me I’d let you apologize, but it isn’t.”

“The Greenhat did let him apologize. You told him, fuck you. If you remember sir,” added Martin.

The man was speechless. He looked shocked.

“Well,” began Alan Gray. “At least, they only said this barrio. You can always move to Philadelphia.”

“I don’t see why I have to move.”

“You don’t,” said Alan Gray. “But life without having a barrio nearby is very hard. You don’t have to move, but if I were you, I believe, I would.”

Martin felt downright sorry for the man. He was relieved that the man didn’t make any last-minute attempts to get them to not put his name on the list. Maybe he didn’t think of it till later. Maybe he never realized that the Greenhats never took his name. They just ordered Cappy and Martin to do it for them. And when it came right down to it, Cappy and Martin needed the good graces of the Greenhats and not this poor schmuck. He sat in silence and waited while the paperwork was prepared. Afterwards, Martin and Doug took him to the New Carrollton Metro Station, in Maryland, by patrol car. 

The man had other options, he could stay low, out of sight for a while, until everyone forgot what he looked like and then come back using a fake ID. It wasn’t hard to get fake IDs, but if he got caught by the Greenhats he’d be in real trouble. Martin had no idea how the Greenhats did dispose of people, but they did do it. He was fairly sure they didn’t really push ‘em over Great Falls. After all, sooner or later, the bodies would resurface. Martin figured there must be a large unmarked cemetery somewhere in the barrio.

****

“I don’t know why we let that nut say that shit. I mean who the hell does he think he is?”

“I would explain it to you Sal,” began Cappy, “but I’m waiting for my taco, and it’s your turn.”

Doug started to laugh. Martin and Doug had just returned from dropping the man off at New Carrollton. Sal was, of course referring to John Brown. 

The Police Headquarters had its own lunchroom. That’s what the sign on the door said: lunchroom. In the lunchroom there were a bunch of tables, and an entire wall of non-working vending machines. Nobody ever ate lunch in the lunchroom, but each day after work a group of DC Cops had their dinners there. Martin, Doug, Cappy and Alan Gray were always there. Occasionally another Cop or two would join them. Cappy always invited the new Cops, which was why Sal was there. The Cops took turns going to the taco stand down the road for food. It was Sal’s turn.

“Fuck,” said Sal. “Now I got to go fuck with more Wets.”

“There’s a rule in the barrio,” began Martin. Everyone looked at Martin for him to finish the most obvious and first rule of the barrio. Everyone knew the rule. You never use the word Wet unless you were one. Martin however didn’t say this. He said: “Never piss off the guy who’s making your taco.”

Cappy laughed.

Cappy said, “Chickan,” in a fake Mexican accent.

“Pollo,” said Martin.

“Tres pollo,” said Calvin who only ate with them when his wife and kids were off visiting the grandparents. 

“Carne,” said George, another semi regular. 

“A bi’ig spenda,” said Cappy still using his Mexican accent.

“Beans,” said Doug sounding very much like a Gringo.

“No” said Martin using his fake Mexican accent, “Dey make you fa’at.”

“Sí,” said Doug, “but I knew you be down win’. And I know how much you enjoy et.”

Sal looked slightly lost and very annoyed. 

Cappy said, “That’s three chicken, a beef and a bean.”

“I got it.”

Everyone handed Sal their money. He headed off.

Everyone sat in silence for a while, finally Doug said, “I got it,” using an accent that reminded Martin of Goofy. 

Cappy sighed then said: “We got Tunnel next week.”

“Tunnel’s good,” said Doug. Tunnel was good too.

Cappy looked at Doug and said, “You’re with me. We got the Factory.”

“Hey,” said Martin. He and Doug always did Tunnel together. 

“You’re at the Factory too, babysitting.”

He meant watching Sal.

“Oh come on.”

“You keep him alive for six months you get a promotion.”

“Yeah right,” said George. 

There was no way Sal was going to make it six months and everybody there knew it.

“It’s ok,” began Cappy, “We don’t have promotions anyway. And I certainly can’t afford to pay any more money.”

Doug started to laugh.

“No bullshit Cappy,” said Martin. “He probably won’t make it back from the taco stand.”

Everyone laughed.

Martin stopped laughing first. He really didn’t want to be in charge of keeping this guy alive. He spoke seriously, “There’s no way I can keep that joker alive for six months, Cappy, and you know it.”

“Then just keep him alive tomorrow,” said Cappy.

Everyone other than Martin began to laugh again. Martin shook his head and then began to laugh with them. Well, maybe he could keep him alive for a day, he thought.