Chapter 2: In Which a Protestor Spits on Inspector Vinod

Inspector Vinod resolved never to discuss this issue with Evelyn again. He had broken up an arranged marriage with the daughter of a close family friend in Bombay, and had taken the next flight to New York just so that he could be with Evelyn.

Relationships were hard enough between two people. Why get the rest of the world involved and complicate matters even further? Inspector Vinod could not afford to play the role of an idealistic young man any more. He was at that age when a man needed to focus on a few select friends, immediate family members and bloody murder.

The lobby of the building had more gold handrails than Inspector Vinod would have liked. There were also one too many waterfalls. Whatever happened to good taste? Had we all moved to Jersey Shore?

Inspector Vinod decided to take a long walk and clear his mind. He said Como Esta to the Puerto Rican doorman and stepped out into the blue autumn air. He felt his mind clear with the first touch of the cool breeze from the Hudson River. Looking into the spotless sky, he found that he had been filled up with a wordless ecstacy.

He could hear the sounds of the chanting and the mad beating of metal on metal from Zuccotti Park only a few blocks away. A man brushed by his shoulder and walked on without an apology. His hands deep in his pockets that bulged out with his fists, and hopefully, just his fists. He was muttering angrily to himself. Inspector Vinod felt thankful that he wasn't on patrol duty anymore.

He felt himself overcome with the desire that a person experiences within a few hours of stepping foot in New York – a need to say ‘I’ve been there.’ He quickened his footsteps to walk towards Zuccotti Park. At the intersection of Wall Street and Williams Street he was carried forth by a stream of passengers exiting the subway. The next block passed by in a blur and Inspector Vinod stepped out of the intersection into the broad expanse of Broadway.

-Hello there, Inspector Vinod.

Inspector Vinod smiled and his lips stretched out underneath his thick moustache. He was always happy to see Detective James Crisafi. He had worked with him on the case involving the bike messenger and been impressed with the young man’s enthusiasm, diligence, but most importantly restraint -- always a commendable quality in a young man with a gun.

-This whole protest thing is a bit overwhelming huh? Inspector Vinod had to raise his voice to be heard over the drum beats.

-I’ve never been shouted at so much in my life. Detective Crisafi paid for his coffee and shook his head ruefully. Not even by my mother when I was at school.

They fell into step as they began to walk towards Zucotti Park.

-And getting shouted at by whom? A bunch of kids who have no idea what they want. I asked a kid outside the Starbucks the other day what he was fighting for. And do you know what he said? He said something about wanting to grow organic tomatoes in his garden. Ha! Tomatoes. Do you believe that Inspector Vinod? There are so many countries in the world with a shortage of tomatoes. We should be thankful for the tomatoes we have.

Inspector Vinod nodded in agreement. A country that had tomatoes, no matter where they came from, was a country that had every reason to be thankful. After his fight with Evelyn, he had decided not to vocalize his opinions on the protest. However,he heard a protestor shout, We are the 99% and felt that he had to speak up.

-I agree with you that these people don’t know what they are fighting for James, he said. But surely, that’s not their job. That’s the job of the elected representatives…

He was going to launch into a measured discourse of the duties of the democratic citizen, but stopped. A young man with an unkempt beard and a T-shirt that said I'd Rather Be in New York had spat on him. The saliva rolled stickily and resentfully down Inspector Vinod's cheek.

-We will stay, he shouted, even as his words sprayed spittle on Inspector Vinod's face. Detective Crisafi, exhibiting that very same restraint that had won the admiration of Inspector Vinod did not reach for his tazor. He merely held the young man by his wrist.

-Let him go Officer Crisafi, said Inspector Vinod. He is young. And surely, we’ve all done something impulsive when we were young.

Detective Crisafi thought about what Inspector Vinod had said. He smiled as he thought about a pastry from a Brooklyn bakery that he hadn't paid for all those years ago. He released the young man and let him go.