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Bus Riders(continued) Brenda wanted to scream bloody murder. What was wrong with this man?
This was insane. "Please officer," she said, panting now with
a dreadful fear. "Don't let this man take me away. I haven't done
anything." "Federal matter, Miss Finley. It's not for local law enforcement
to interfere with immigration policy." "Here, here!" Riley said, placing his hand back on Brenda's
shoulder. Brenda thought she would collapse, when a queer, squeaky high pitched
voice seemed to rise from the street. "Hello," the voice said.
"Perhaps I can be of some assistance?" The three of them looked down with amazement at a short, squat woman,
not even four feet tall, standing amidst them. Somehow she'd sidled
her way through during the heated exchange, escaping noticed. The woman
leaned back and twirled around, looking up at each in turn, eyes pushed
too close together and half popping out. Her facial features were squashed,
as if pressed against a glass, and her lower lip protruded below her
chin. Gray-brown hair set in cornrows covered her head. Her clubby hands
sprouted stubby, jointless fingers. She wore a green, shapeless smock
and old granny shoes. "And who might you be, ma'am?" the astonished policeman asked. "Nora Finley," the woman answered. Riley began to windmill his arms about, his eyes opening so wide that
Brenda thought they'd shoot off his head. He sputtered and spat for
a few seconds, then blustered, "Do you see, constable? I was right
all along," and his long flapping arms accidentally struck some
of the alarmed pedestrians walking by. "This here woman, right
here," and he moved his right hand until it settled on Nora Finley's
shoulder, "is the woman we've been seeking in this affair, sir." "But — but, the description doesn't match," the officer
protested. Riley snatched the papers away from the officer. "Ah ha!"
he said. "It says right here, 'A-K-A,' officer. Don't you see what
that means? She's traveling incognito. That's why you didn't recognize
her." "You're Nora Finley?" the befuddled policeman stammered. Brenda began backing away from them, as they all spoke at once and
seemed to have forgotten that she was there at all. Step by stealthy
step. Still no one noticed. Soon she was out of earshot, as they all
gestured excitedly, talking over each other. Finally she dared to turn
around. She hurried down Windsor Avenue, weaving between pedestrians,
until she reached the next block, where she would turn left onto Montague,
cross over to Rockford and proceed to her apartment. She took one last
look back at the threesome. But Riley and Finley had disappeared. The
policeman stood alone, cap in hand, scratching his head. Brenda allowed herself a chuckle, then resumed walking. She hated driving
to and from work during rush hour, but there was no way she'd ever set
foot on a city bus again. She put a hand in her suit jacket pocket,
and felt a crumpled up ball of paper. Startled, she pulled it out, opened
it and read:
Good lord. Now the description matched that funny looking woman, and
the case made a kind of weird sense. "I don't believe this,"
she said. She passed a wire mesh trash basket, wrinkled the paper up
and tossed it in. Somehow, this bizarre tear in the fabric of reality
had patched itself up. She allowed herself a secret smile and went home.
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