There's a certain street savvy that one acquires living in this city. By 16 you've pretty much developed jungle-level instincts that cut on every time you walk out the front door. Ever so often those instincts are put to the test and so it was one calm summer night that I found myself taking an exam.
I was on my way to the old Blockbuster near Eastern Market when I noticed a black SUV slow down as it passed me. I tried to act like I didn't see it, although I was scanning the truck out of my peripheral. The tints were way too dark to be street legal, so my first thought was "drug dealer tints." The average drive-by or jump-out robbery begins with a pass by. That is, the people circle the block once and then come back around to do whatever it is they're gonna do. So, I waited to see if they were gonna turn or go straight. If they went straight then all was good, but if they turned then they were coming back. They turned.
I crossed the street. I knew the area like the back of my hand. There were way more parked cars on that side of the street (that's called gunshot cover), not to mention an alley that I could cut through if I had to. I kept looking back to see if the truck came back, but I didn't see it. Then I saw it coming from in front of me. "What the hell?" I assumed they would think I was still on the other side of the street so I dropped down like I was tying my shoe directly beside this big tree. They passed right by me. Then I heard the tires screeching as they slammed on the brakes. Then I heard it reversing back up the street.
I hauled ass full speed toward the alley. Even though the alley doesn't provide a whole lot of room to run (and we all saw what happened to Morris Chestnut running through the alley in Boyz In Da Hood), my plan was to zig zag, hop over some fences and Ferris Bueller my ass through some people's houses. I wouldn't get the chance though. As soon as I got to the alley another black SUV sped out and blocked my path.
It was like something out of a movie. My brain started racing like, "These niggas are organized like shit. What the hell is going on?" I turned and got ready to run the other way (You know, make the bullets work for it) when the truck started flashing red and blue lights on the dashboard.
The police?
Normally, you'd be relieved to find out that it was the good men and women of law enforcement and not body snatchers, but as the only black person on the street in a neighborhood not exactly overflowing with colored folks, I didn't feel any more sense of security. "Oh shit!" I threw my hands up over my head as four or five people jumped out with guns drawn.
"LORENZO!" one of them shouted out.
"Uh, no. Or-dale!"
"Lorenzo, it's okay! We're friends!"
The dude was talking really slowly like something was wrong with him. So I repeated really slowly, "I'm Or-dale. Who...is...Lorennnzo?" He kept telling me that my parents sent him to come get me. Now this was right after the Amadou Diallo thing, so I was really scared to move. I told him in a really slow voice. "I have a wallet. My license is in it. It is in my back pocket. Please don't shoot me." Without them even having to ask, I locked my arms behind my head, got on my knees and crossed my ankles. The guy walked up, got my wallet out of my back pocket and saw my license.
"What's your name?"
"Ordale Allen. I have no idea who Lorenzo is."
He told me I could get up. They put their guns away and one of the trucks drove off. He explained to me that there was an autistic child who apparently belonged to someone very important in the area (more than likely a congressman since it was Capitol Hill), the kid had gone missing, and that the guy fit my description. Apparently the kid hadn't taken his meds in a while so that's why they had their guns drawn.
"Rrrright. Okay."
He gave me my wallet back, got in the truck and drove off.
The moral of today's story...There are two types of survival techniques: Those that keep you from getting shot by drug dealers and those that keep you from getting shot by the police. It's good to know both.
No comments:
Post a Comment