Chapter 8

The two security guards led Jason and Aja to the elevator. One of them inserted a key and then pressed a button for the basement. Then they were led into a room with a desk with a bank of video monitors. Across from the desk were three small rooms similar to dressing rooms except the doors had windows.

“Once again,” one of the men said, “where is the chain?”

“Once again,” Jason replied, “we don’t have it.”

“Show them the video.”

The other guard brought up an image on a larger display. It was a grainy, black-and-white image of a woman from the back standing at a jewelry counter. She had dark hair in a ponytail that came below her shoulder blades and was wearing a tank top similar to the one Aja had on.

The video showed her speaking with a sales clerk, then picking up a chain and examining it. When the sales clerk’s back was turned, she dropped the chain. Into what, was not visible on the display.

“That’s not me,” Aja said.

“We have a description ... long, black ponytail, tank and shorts.”

“We were not on that floor,” Jason protested.

“Produce the chain and there won’t be any trouble.”

“How can we produce it if we don’t have it?” Jason retorted.

The first guard took Aja’s purse and dumped the contents onto the desk. “Phone, billfold, house keys ... what’s this?”

“It’s my cosmetics,” Aja replied.

The guard dumped the contents of her cosmetics kit onto the desk. The other guard picked up her purse and examined it. “I don’t see a secret compartment,” he said.

“Empty your pockets,” the first guard ordered. Aja slipped her hand into her pocket and retrieved a twenty-dollar bill.

The second guard opened her billfold. “Nothing ... only a voter ID card issued by Motor Vehicles.”

“No credit cards and only a Jackson,” the first guard remarked, “probably needs drug money.” He turned to Aja. “How much dope would a chain like that bring?”

“I wouldn’t have a clue,” she replied icily.

“Maybe he’s got it,” the second guard said and turned to Jason. He took the shopping bag and dumped its contents onto the desk, examined them and then the inside of the bag. “Okay, pal -- empty your pockets.”

Jason gingerly set his phone on the desk; then he produced his wallet, car keys and a handful of loose change. The first guard picked up his wallet and looked through it. “Driver’s license ... bank card, Visa ... health plan card and WNLX employee ID. What, they not payin’ you enough?”

“Are we under arrest?” Jason asked.

“No ... but you will be,” the first guard replied. He grabbed Jason’s arm and twisted it behind his back in a hold. “Get the door,” he said and the second guard opened the door to one of the small rooms.

“Hey!” Jason yelled as the first guard pushed him into the room and the second slammed the door. He realized there was no doorknob on the inside.

Then, the guards placed Aja in an adjacent room. “I fuckin’ can’t believe this!” Jason exclaimed.

“Jason -- keep your cool,” Aja said to him. Since the rooms had only wire mesh for a ceiling he could hear her clearly. “Getting upset will only make matters worse.”

The first guard hung up the landline desk phone. “There’s a squad on the way.” He faced Aja through the window. “That chain was listed at two hundred and eighty-nine dollars,” he said to her. “If you can pay for it, we won’t press charges.”

“We are not paying for something we didn’t take,” Jason yelled from behind the door.

“Oh, yes you are.” The first guard took Jason’s Visa card from his wallet and stepped to a point-of-sale terminal and ran the card through it.

“I will dispute that charge,” Jason hollered.

The desk phone rang and the second guard picked it up. “Yes...” He looked toward the other guard. “Squad’s here.”

“I’ll go get ‘em.”

The guard returned with two uniformed police officers, a man and a woman. “What’ve we got?”

“Shoplifting,” the second guard replied and gestured toward Aja. “She needs a pat-down.”

“M’am,” the female officer said as she opened the door. “Please step this way. Face the wall, place your hands above your head...” The officer patted Aja. “Nothing. Are you going to press charges?”

“We are indeed,” the first guard replied.

“We’ll do a strip search once we get to the hall,” the female cop added.

“Where’s the evidence?” the male cop asked.

“Evidence?”

“What did they take?”

“Gold chain worth about three hundred.”

“Where is it?”

“We don’t know and they’re not saying.”

“Then, where’s your probable cause?”

“On the video.” The first guard brought up the image. Jason could see the display through the window of his cell.

“M’am, turn around,” the female officer instructed and nodded. “Could be her ... looks similar from the back.” She took handcuffs from her utility belt and cuffed Aja’s wrists behind her back. “You are under arrest. You have the right...”

“HEY!” Jason yelled. “HEY, jerk-brains! The one on the video can’t be Aja because she’s NOT BLACK!”

“What?” the male officer replied. and opened the door to the cell.

“They’ve always paused the video right after she drops the chain. If you let it run through, she turns away from the counter. You can get a glimpse of her face, enough to see it’s not a Black woman.”

“Back it up,” the male officer commanded. “Step through it ... hold it...”

“SHIT!” the first guard exclaimed. “He’s right!”

The female cop unlocked the handcuffs and Aja rubbed her wrists. “You can’t hold ‘em,” she said.

“Better luck next time, Doug,” the male cop said and patted the first guard on the back.

“How about you arrest these idiot motherfuckers for false imprisonment?” Jason asked. “I’d press charges on that.”

“We are operating within the law,” the second guard replied. “It’s simply a case of mistaken identity.”

“He’s right, I’m afraid,” the male cop replied. “We’ll see our way out.”

“Okay, you two are free to go,” the guard addressed as Doug said.

“Not so fast,” Jason retorted. “I demand to see the store manager.”

“Yeah, we better get the manager-on-duty. He should know about this,” the second guard said.

The first guard picked up the phone, punched in a number and stated, “M.O.D. code twenty-five. M.O.D. code twenty-five.” He put down the phone. “He’ll be here shortly.”

A middle-aged man wearing a suit and with a red, silk carnation in his lapel buttonhole stepped into the room. “Doug, Gene ... What do we have here?”

“Umm ... Mistaken identity.” He gestured toward Aja. “This one resembles the description of a shoplifter.”

“Who called it in?”

“Felicia in Jewelry.”

“Did you have her come down for a positive ID?”

“No -- she’s on break.”

The manager’s eyes narrowed. “Well, go get her off break and haul her ass down here!”

“Right away,” Gene replied and headed out the door.

Aja glanced at Jason and gave him a sly smile. She began packing her items into her purse.

Gene returned with a short, slightly overweight woman in the Hubbard’s cashier’s uniform of black skirt and white blouse. She wore a nameplate that read F Johnson.

“Felicia,” the manager said, “did someone boost a gold chain from you?”

“Yes ... I had my back turned for only a moment, Mr Levinson...”

“Was it either of these two?”

“Oh, no, Mr Levinson. It was a white woman ... Eastern European, or maybe Hispanic. It wasn’t her.”

“Thank you, Felicia.”

Jason turned toward the guards. “Why the fuck didn’t you do that first?”

“I was about to ask the same question,” the manager added. “You two get back to your posts. I’ll deal with you later.” He turned toward Jason and extended his hand. Jason kept his at his sides. “Mr...”

“Brown. Jason Brown.”

“Mr Brown and Ms...”

“Doctor,” Jason interjected.

“I’m sorry?”

“You are addressing Doctor Aja Morgan.”

“You’re an M.D?” he asked.

“Yes, I am,” Aja replied.

The manager cradled his forehead in his palm and shook his head. “I’m Stuart Levinson, one of the general managers. I want to apologize for his incident. My men did not follow procedures as trained and they will be disciplined, I assure you.”

“They were profiling us ... Aja, specifically. Your store has a reputation in the Black community of profiling and harassing shoppers of color. Why would that be, Mr Levinson?”

“Mr Brown ... we do not permit our security staff to engage in racial profiling.”

“Then explain why, if they were looking for a female with a long, dark pony tail wearing shorts and a tank-top in a store crawling with white girls wearing pony tails, shorts and tank-tops; that your goons detained the first Black woman fitting that vaguest of descriptions, who crossed their path?”

“I will need to talk to my men to determine what led them to suspect...”

“A medical doctor engaging in perfectly legal behavior, and who wasn’t even on floor of the jewelry department? How can what happened to us even be legal?” Jason asked. “We were detained, humiliated, imprisoned and our property taken -- all without the color of legal authority and without due process. How can it even be constitutional?”

“What of your property was taken?” Levinson asked.

“One of your goons ran a two hundred eighty-nine charge on my Visa -- the cost of the chain which neither of us stole -- a charge I intend to dispute vigorously.”

“Did he give you a receipt?”

“No -- I was locked in the cell. He threw it in the trash.”

Levinson rummaged through the wastebasket. “Here it is ... I’ll reverse this right away.” He turned to the point-of-sale terminal and then handed Jason his Visa and two slips of paper. “Here’s the charge and the credit, for you records. Mr Brown ... Doctor Morgan ... I’m sorry this happened, but we are acting within the law. We are permitted to detain someone we suspect of shoplifting, and we are permitted to recover the value of the goods stolen. This simply was a case of mistaken identity.”

“I’m not a lawyer,” Jason replied, “but I will be consulting one. I cannot see how this possibly could be lawful.”

Levinson cleared his throat. “What I can do to compensate you for your inconvenience is to offer each of you a one hundred dollar Hubbard’s gift card.”