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Brooklyn – 70 – Diary

Every once in a while the Lt. kicks us out of the house and instead of sitting reading reports of mopery, maliciousness, and sorted mayhem, we go out to investigate and write one or two.
Today was one of those days. I came out of the office, grabbed my hat, and looked for Dubinsky. Noticed my newspaper not in evidence and knew I had a few minutes. Sat and thought.
I felt my shoulder being nudged, wiped the corner of my mouth, not with the newspaper, which hadn’t returned when Dubinsky did. We left.
Today was Wednesday and we were still ankle-deep in snow gone gray, but only where it covered the ice slicks, or where it was piled along the sides of the streets. We took my car, I drove.
I always drive, Dubinsky always, outside, assumes his protective paranoia. He was a rookie once, and he got caught unaware once, and he got cut once. Once was enough for him and when it came to the second time someone tried, it was another story. But that’s another story.

Today he’s wide-eyed and gassy-looking and a I’m driving through the slush. We’re going to the college, Brooklyn College. They’ve got a college here and they’ve just built a big, bright beautiful wall all around the side of it, the side that’s across the street from the high school. Nice high school, nice college, nice new wall. We’re going to look at the wall. When we get there we find it immediately and not because we’re skilled. We are, but that’s not the story. It’s new and, even amidst the snow,it’s very white where it still is.

Twenty-two minutes into the investigation, we’ve got snaps of the more colorful and uninteresting irregularities

We’re back in Arby’s for the third time and Dubinsky is sitting somehow stiff-backed and scanning while hunched over, wolfing the sandwiches that he never goes and gets. As I’m too-usually ferrying the food from the front, I’ve gotten to notice the dowdy kid with the too-big whirt shirt and tag. Woody, he says to call him,though the tag says otherwise, is sweeping up. Half-past the hour, being the Chief Assistant, he sweeps. then he wipes the tables, ties the trash bags, mops and he’s back to be being in the back and bored staring at the screens.

Security screens, sales figures, inventory and employee hours.
Twelve on, twelve off, and it’s tedious, tedious, and tedious, so he says and I believe him, because I’m bored hearing about it.

The time or two it was interesting, it was probably too interesting, he says, and I think he’s right because twelve hours of tedium can leave a boy feeling that something interesting has to be going on.
But nothing is.

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