Of Crime and Punishment

It’s two O’clock Thursday afternoon at the intersection of Fifth and Claire St. The rustle and bustle of big city life echo and radiate in all directions. A Taxi cab blares his horn at a careless pedestrian who ventures into the street to retrieve his lost dime. A filthy crow perches on the edge of a public waste can to snag a meal. An old man sweeps the sidewalk in front of his deli. And Gregory Porter stands on the south corner of Claire St. wearing an overcoat, brown slacks and a white shirt, and doesn’t know who he is.

His eyes on edge and his brow narrowed, he surveys his surroundings. The area feels at least somewhat familiar. His stance and posture seem to indicate that he was about to cross the street before, before what? What had just happened? A feeling of the profound sweeps over him as he struggles to remember how he got to this particular location, where had he come from?

Suddenly the intersection has a changing of the guard and the flashing walk sign flashes across the way. A crowd of about ten or fifteen people flood by him, pushing, shoving, he is the only one standing still and is paying the price. These people, they weren’t here a second ago, were they? He struggles against the grain, not ready to venture from his current position. Could he have been so busy trying to remember, that he could have been oblivious to this small mob that just poured by?

A young girl remains standing at the corner with him, the top of her head comes just above his waist. She looks up to him with inquisitive eyes.

"Sometimes were just not ready to cross," she says.

He frowns at her presence, her pasty skin and pigtails. Her expression is sullen and her eyes reflect something deeper than her external ten years.

"Excuse me?" he replies.

"You didn’t cross" she says.

Gregory looks behind him at the walk sign now signaling to stop. Slowly he turns his head back to face the girl.

"No… no I wasn’t ready…" says Gregory.

"That’s what I said" she snaps with the scorn of a little girl and her eyes flare.

The sound of glass breaking instantly pierces through the air. Gregory’s head darts in the direction of the distant noise on reflex. A man runs out of a jewelry store about twenty yards off on the same side of the street. Right behind him comes a uniformed security guard. The man is approaching Gregory’s direction fast as the guard pulls his revolver.

"Stop thief!" yells the guard, then without warning fires a single shot.

In the same brief instant the burglars shoulder collides into Gregory as he rolls off of the encounter and across the street. The bullet penetrates Gregory’s right side in the lower torso and knocks him to the ground. His hand quickly comes to the wound and he winces at the sharp pain. The guards eyes widen as he realizes he missed his mark and he runs over to the man down.

The guard nervously kneels by Gregory and asks,

"Are you okay?"

His eyes keep shifting however to the thief who is quickly escaping as he turns and disappears down an alley. The guard is shifty as he contemplates what to do, his instincts all urge him to follow the criminal. Gregory struggles to catch his breath and make sense of his circumstance when he hears a muffled but distinguishable voice.

"You’d better run Gregory"

He frowns up to the guard.