What’s your date of birth, Henry? the driver asked. He told them. Where do you live, Henry? Moab, Utah. Says here your address is P.O. Box 69, Moab, Utah; you live in a mailbox? No sir; I get my mail there. Where’s your car, Henry? He explained. All right, you came by bus. The driver returned his license. What are you doing here? Henry hesitated. I’m waiting to see a friend. Waiting to see a friend. Why here? Kind of wet, wouldn’t you say? She was gonna meet me here. She a little late? Again he hesitated. Henry Lightcap wore no wristwatch. Neither wristwatch nor underwear. I’m not sure, he said; I guess so. You guess so. Funny place to meet. Where’s she live? Sir? Your lady friend; where’s her house? Henry made a vague gesture up the street, pointing with thumb and chin. His hair and shirt were now soaked with rain. He shivered. The police sergeant opened his door, getting out. Turn around, he said to Henry. Sir? Turn your back to me; lean against the car; spread your legs. Henry did as ordered. The policeman searched him quickly, running his hands up and down Henry’s body from armpits to boots. He removed the jackknife from Henry’s pocket. You always carry a knife, Henry? Yes sir. Doesn’t everybody? But that was the wrong remark. He felt steel cuffs clamped on his wrists. Get in the car. What? Get in the car. The driver opened the rear door. Henry crouched low and eased himself into the back seat. At least he was out of the rain. The driver slammed the door shut. The door lacked an inside handle, as did the opposite door. Henry found himself separated from the two men in front by a black mesh of heavy-duty steel. He could hardly see their faces.

Now Henry, the driver said, where’s this lady friend live?

He hesitated again. Both of the cops looked like reasonable, intelligent men. Surely he could explain everything easily enough—but how?—maybe even get a free ride back to the bus station. Well, he said, she lives up the block. I think.

Up the block you think. The driver twisted in his seat, looking back at Henry. Both men watched him. Maybe I’d better explain your situation, Henry. There’s been a dozen rapes and robberies in this part of town in the last six months. The driver paused.

Henry said nothing.

That mean anything to you, Henry? Henry said, I never heard of a woman getting raped in broad daylight. On a public street. I have, the driver said. He looked at Henry. I’d like to believe your story, Henry. But it’s not a good one. Now show us where this friend lives or we’re taking you to city hall. What’s the charge? Oh we’ll hold you for a while, put you in the lineup, see what the victims have to say. We’ll think of something. Henry shivered. Guilt rose up to match the sick dread in his stomach. All right, the driver said, putting the car into drive and moving forward, I didn’t believe you anyhow.