Run for Your Life (Michael Bennett 2)

I ripped the paper out of her hand.

Chapter 41

THE PROBLEM

Some people say the problem today is materialism. I disagree. There is nothing inherently wrong with things, nothing wrong with having money, or with being beautiful or appreciating beauty.

What is wrong is flaunting your things, your wealth, your beauty.

That is the disease.

I love our society, our country. Never before in the history of man has a nation been dedicated to human freedom. But human freedom requires dignity: respect for oneself and for those around them.

In that sense, we have grossly veered off course. Most of us know deep down that the way we behave is wrong. Yet because there are rarely any consequences, we go through with committing our daily acts of disgrace and disrespect.

That’s why I’ve decided to start providing the proper motivation.

The penalty for obnoxiousness is now death.

I can be anyone. That person next to you on the train as you turn up your iPod, the person behind you in the restaurant as you take out your cell phone.

Think twice before you try to pull something you know for a fact you shouldn’t be doing.

I am watching.

Best wishes,

The Teacher

I reread it three times before I put it back down.

It took me only another second to decide my next course of action—to give Cathy Calvin a shake-up that she’d remember for the rest of her life. I unhooked my handcuffs from my belt and chicken-winged her arm behind her back.

“What are you doing?” she cried, now in panic mode.

“Just what you think,” I said. “They’ll read you your rights at the station.”

Her squeals of protest continued, and as I pinched down the second cuff on her slender wrist, a bunch of middle-aged white guys in rolled-up shirt sleeves and bow ties came tromping down the hall.

“I’m the city desk editor,” one of them said. “What in the name of hell is going on here?”

“I’m the city cop,” I said, “and I’m arresting this person for obstruction of justice.”

“You can’t do that,” one of the younger Ivy Leaguers said, stepping in front of me. “Ever hear of something called the First Amendment?”

“Unfortunately, I have,” I said. “I hate that one. You ever hear of something called a paddy wagon? Because that’s where you’re going to be sitting if you don’t get out of my way. Hey, why don’t you all come and finish your editorial meeting at Central Booking?”

Shocked and angered though they were, the reality of the situation prevailed. They backed off, and I perp-walked Calvin past them.

“Shut up and don’t struggle, or I’ll add a resisting charge,” I told her. At least she was smart enough to know she’d better not push me any further. She sniffled and watched me with big tearful eyes, but she didn’t argue anymore.

When the security guy in the lobby saw us, he jumped to his feet, looking astounded.

“Found her. Thanks,” I said.

Outside, I bent Calvin over the hood of my Chevy and left her there while I stepped out of earshot and made a couple of phone calls. They were just to check up on the status of the case, but I wanted her to think that I was arranging her booking.

Only after that, very reluctantly, did I unlock the cuffs.