“Construction company laid him off last year.”
“He lost his apartment?”
“Couple months later.”
“Shelter?”
“Church basement most nights.”
Sharon sighed.
“People treat him like he’s dangerous because he doesn’t have an address.”
“You ever have problems with him?”
“Never.”
Sharon looked toward Devin.
“He sweeps the sidewalk when I’m busy.”
“Doesn’t ask for anything.”
“Sometimes I give him food that’s about to expire.”
Alicia nodded.
Then a police cruiser rolled slowly past the park.
Devin immediately stopped reading.
His shoulders tightened.
His eyes went down.
Alicia noticed.
That was not the response of someone preparing to run.
It was the response of someone who already knew what usually happened next.
The cruiser stopped.
A second police SUV pulled behind it.
Sergeant Wade Granger stepped out first.
He was forty-six, barrel-chested, sunburned across the neck, with mirrored sunglasses and the relaxed swagger of a man accustomed to controlling the temperature of every room he entered. Four officers followed.
Derek Shaw.
Trevor Pike.
Mason Bell.
Jacob Reed.
The mood changed before anyone spoke.
A man near the newspaper box walked away.
Two teenagers left the park.
The owner of the bakery across the street suddenly disappeared inside.
Sharon whispered something behind Alicia.
“Here we go.”
Alicia looked over.
“This normal?”
Sharon laughed once.
Nothing about it sounded amused.
“You’re about to find out.”
Granger walked straight toward Devin.
“There he is.”
Derek smiled.
“Our favorite citizen.”
Devin carefully closed his book.
“I haven’t done anything.”
Granger took it from him.
“You always say that.”
“I’m just reading.”
Granger looked at the worn paperback.
“You’ve got plenty of time for books.”
Then he tossed it into a muddy gutter.
Devin reacted without thinking.
“My book.”
He took one step.
Derek shoved him backward.
“Stay where you are.”
Devin raised both hands.
“I’m not doing anything.”
“That’s not your decision.”
Granger began circling him.
The other officers spread around them.
No one explained why they had stopped.
No one asked for identification.
No one described a complaint.
It looked less like policing than a performance everyone involved had rehearsed before.
Granger pointed toward Devin’s backpack.
“What’s in it?”
“Clothes.”
“Give it here.”
Devin hesitated.
Mason took it anyway.
He yanked the zipper.
The contents spilled onto the sidewalk.
A toothbrush.
Work gloves.
Two shirts.
A small Bible.
An envelope containing construction certifications.
A family photograph in a cheap plastic frame.
Nothing illegal.
Derek looked almost disappointed.
Mason nudged the family photograph with his boot.
Devin immediately bent toward it.
“Please.”
Mason stepped on it.
The plastic cracked.
Devin froze.
“My dad’s in that picture.”
Mason shrugged.