Red lights flashed in Jaime's rearview mirror. He clenched in terror as a lifetime of struggle flashed in his mind. In a blurry second, he pulled his yellow Volkswagon Beetle over, sizing up the large, familiar cop walking toward him. Officer Leon.
Jaime gripped the steering wheel.
The bulky older cop with powerful tattooed arms and a cocky swagger approached and scowled.
Jaime shrunk in his seat.
Officer Leon tapped the window as sweat rolled down his puffy chipmunk-like cheeks. “License and registration,” he barked.
“Yes, sir.” Jaime fumbled through his wallet. His license wasn’t there!
The cop leaned in with a hard stare.
Jaime searched more and then found his license behind his sister’s photo. With a shaky hand, he gave it to the officer.
Officer Leon snatched Jaime's cards and swaggered back to the patrol car.
Jaime watched through his mirror and waited with dread. He had done nothing wrong.
A moment later, Officer Leon returned. “I knew it was you,” he said coldly. “Didn't I tell you to leave town?”
Jaime looked on helplessly.
“Maybe this will help you remember.” Office Leon pulled out his billy club and rammed it through the open window into Jaime’s face. Jaime’s vision blurred. Black pulsed, and he tasted blood. He reached up a hand defensively, but it was too late. The massive officer struck him again.
“Tell all your little butt-buddies at the Stonewall Inn that the citizens of this city will not stand for you deviants any longer!” Officer Leon yelled.
Pain pierced Jaime’s mouth. His heart beat fast, and he moaned.
“Oh, shut up!" Officer Leon shouted. "Shut the fuck up, or I'll hit you for real!"
Jaime swallowed blood. His eyes were fixed on the billy club, and he didn't dare flinch.
“Leave this city, Jaime Harper. Or the next time, you won't be so lucky." Officer Leon strode off.
Jaime’s head throbbed, and his mouth bled. Then he realized something was in his palm. He opened it. His tooth.
When Jaime got his bearing, he started the car. He arrived home to his Greenwich Village apartment a half-hour late.
Dustin, a tall, black-haired Italian man still in his suit from his job as a music producer, paced nervously. “Where’ve you been?” he asked sharply when he heard the door open. Then he saw Jaime’s bloodied face and ran to his partner. “My God! What happened?”
Jaime's mouth hurt, so he didn't answer. Instead, he fell into Dustin's arms and cried, and Dustin stroked his Irish red hair. Jaime closed his eyes, trying to ignore his throbbing face. Dustin kissed Jamie’s forehead. Then he grabbed a tissue and wiped the blood around Jaime’s mouth and freckled cheeks.
After a moment, Jaime attempted to speak through his swollen lips. “Officer Leon...” Jaime reached into his pocket and pulled out the broken tooth.
Dustin grabbed it and clenched it, and his whole body tensed. “Again.”
“Yeah.”
“I’m so fucking sick and tired of this.”
“I know.”
“We have a right to live here in peace!” Dustin declared.
“Yes, we do.” Jaime put a hand on Dustin's chest to calm him.
Dustin again looked at Jaime’s bloody tooth and shook his head.
Jaime knew that look. “Dustin?” he said warily.
“He had no right!”
Jaime pointed to their lime-colored couch beside the piano and tugged on Dustin's hand. "Let's just sit down. Please. There's nothing we can do about it. I have you, Dustin. That's all I need."
Dustin continued to stand, his body shaking. “I have to protect you, Jaime. I have to do something about this.” He let go of Jaime and turned toward the door.
“Don’t go! Please...”
“It's now or never, Jaime. I have to take care of you. I have to put a stop to this. I'm sorry.”
Jaime watched Dustin storm out of their apartment, leaving him alone. Not only was he bloodied and broken, but now he was worried his partner, the most important person in his life who he loved with all his heart, was about to do something drastic.
