Interpretation of the Law 9: Free

9. Free

The sergeant stands up and signals for me to gather my things from the plastic box. I pocket my items and grab the scarf-wrapped Leatherman. He leads me out the door, the young cadet following behind. The office is empty-there’s not another cop in sight. Perhaps everyone clocked out.

We turn the corner into the hallway, and there they are-all the detectives who brought me in, plus the interrogator. All eyes on me. I scan the group and spot a tall Dutchman in a cowboy hat and glasses, wearing a rare buttoned-up dress shirt for the occasion. I give him a casual salute, like a general on the battlefield. He keeps his game face on, a silent reminder that even though I’m out of the interrogation room, I’m still deep inside police headquarters.

Next to him stands my much smaller Japanese amiga, sweetly dressed in white like a counselor ready for court. She probably made the biggest impression tonight.

The sergeant walks me over to the group. The Dutchman gives me a firm, stoic handshake. I smile at mi amiga and pull her into a big hug, grateful-knowing she did something for me, even if I’ll never know exactly what. It reminds me of when Mom got me out of jail.

I turn around and see a hallway lined with cops. The Dutchman says, “Thank you. Goodbye.” Then, all the officers bow to us.

“Arigatou gozaimasu,” I reply, mixing a western bow with a salute to the young officer and her senpai.

In the blink of an eye, the three of us are in an elevator heading down to the lobby, unescorted. The feeling is strange-like stepping out of a battlefield long after the fighting has ended, yet at the same time like my parents picking me up from the principal’s office. Is this relief? Exhaustion? Or is it just the surreal quiet that follows a blind man’s chaos?

We stay silent until we step outside the building and hail a cab.

“Sorry to put you guys through this,” I say as we walk out to the parking lot.

“No, don’t worry about it,” he replies.

“Yeah, we’re just happy you’re okay,” she adds.

“They were gonna fucking charge you. You don’t know how lucky you are,” he says, keeping his eyes on the cab he’s trying to hail.

“Yeah, I had to calm him down and be extra polite to the police,” she says. “I must have apologized a hundred times.”

A cab pulls up, its doors opening automatically for us.

“Yotsuya onegaishimasu,” the Dutchman tells the driver.

“Thank you for letting them use your scarf to wrap the tool,” I say to her.

She smiles warmly. “No, don’t worry about it. It’s nothing.”

“I had to show them photos of you behind the slider with the camera and the set we built for that CEO’s presentation,” he says, sounding relieved. “Lucky I took the photos. I kept arguing, ‘You see those chains hanging? He had to use the knife to cut the rope so he could hang them.’”

“I had to tell them that all our production people use this tool and you just forgot you were carrying it,” she says.

“It’s crazy we were planning to cut it down to five centimeters before I left the office, but decided to save it for Monday,” I remind them.

“That wouldn’t have mattered. I told them we’d cut it down to five centimeters so it wouldn’t be a problem, and they were still like, ‘mada dame,’” he says, frustration in his voice.

“So they would have still brought me in if I had it at five centimeters?” I ask.

“Probably,” he replies, looking out at the Akasaka streets.

“Well, I appreciate you two dressing up for the occasion. I’m sure it made a difference."

“No, it’s okay. I had this outfit sitting behind my chair,” she says with a small laugh.

“I couldn’t go in there wearing my Grumpy Old Man T-shirt,” he says, then adds, “When we get back, you’re fucking throwing that tool in the trash. I already ordered you a new Leatherman without the blade.”

I thank him with silence. I know the real gratitude will be shown by not getting caught up in this mess again and working even harder on all our shoots.

The Dutchman has the cab stop near the supermarket instead of the office so he can pick up a bottle of whisky to close out the night. Before he can take another step toward the market, I tell him, “This round of drinks and cigars is on me.”

“Okay,” he says, quickly turning the corner with our Japanese amiga without another word.

I get the impression he half-expected me to say that.

-The End-