Today, I am presenting:
Chapter 5: In Which I Do Not Actually See a Penis
For the next ten minutes, I sat in the dark and stared out the back window, where Mr. D-in-the-W was hovering, naked, and peering out intermittently from behind a curtain. I was hoping to see the police burst, S.W.A.T. Team-style, into Mr. D-in-the-W’s apartment and throw him against a wall, where he would hopefully suffer an irremediable bruise to the penis and be too embarrassed forthwith to show it to anybody.
Instead, there was a flurry of activity behind the curtain, and the lights went out.
Several minutes passed.
Then, the lights came back on, and the curtain was pulled aside. There stood Mr. D-in-the-W, now clad in a pair of pants, and looking like he was about to cry. Officers Talky and Not- were flanking him on either side. My phone rang. I snatched up the receiver.
“Ma’am, this is the New York Police Department. Did you have officers respond to your call?”
“Yes, they were just here,” I said.
“They’d like you to look out your window.”
“Are you looking?”
“Yeah, but why am I—“
Across the alley, Officer Talky whipped out a giant, NYPD-issue flashlight.
“Whoa,” I said.
Della came out of her room again.
“What’s happening now?” she asked.
“They went over there to talk to him, and they’re standing in the window, and one of them just… well, look!”
“What’s with the flashlight?”
“I don’t know… oh, wait,” I said, remembering that I still had the NYPD operator on the phone. “Sir? Sir, why do the officers want me to look out my window?”
“Hang on,” said the operator.
“Maybe they’re going to beat him with it,” said Della.
“Or stick it up his ass,” I said.
“What?” said the operator.
“Uh… nothing,” I said.
Across the alley, Officer Talky switched the flashlight on and turned toward Mr. D-in-the-W, who was visibly shaking and appeared to be jabbering non-stop at the police.
“Ma’am,” said the NYPD operator, “They want to know if this is the man you saw earlier.”
“Oh, it is.”
“No, ma’am, they’re going to shine the light on him, and then you tell me if it’s the same man.”
“What? No, it’s ok, it’s definitely the same guy, I can see him fine right now.”
“It’s procedure, ma’am.”
“Ma’am, are you looking out the window?”
“Yes! Geez, yes, I’m looking.”
Across the alley, Officer Talky turned his flashlight full on the face of Mr. D-in-the-W, who jumped and tried to struggle away.
“Yes, yes, it’s him! Can I stop looking now?”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
Across the alley, the curtain fell closed again.
“This is like Theatre of the Absurd,” said Della.
Five minutes later, a knock came at my front door. I opened it to find Officers Talky and Non- once again.
“Hi there,” I said.
They trooped past me into the living room again.
“Well,” said Officer Talky, puffing his chest out, “We had a little chat with him.”
“Ok,” I said.
“He, uh, he had some mental problems,” said Officer Non-Talky, piping up for the first time.
“But,” Officer Talky continued, “We went over there and we told him, we said, ‘You can’t be exposin’ yourself to a lady like that.’”
“Yeah,” said Officer Non-Talky, “And we said, ‘Hey, if you wanna do that, you do it on your own time, you don’t do it in the window where a lady can see your bid’ness.’”
“And then,” said Officer Talky, “We said, ‘If you do that thing again, we’re comin’ back, and we ain’t gonna be so nice next time.’”
There was a pause.
“And then we left,” Officer Non-Talky added, as an afterthought.
“Great,” I said.
“So don’t you worry, he won’t be doing that again.”
“Great. Well, ok,” I said. “Thanks, Officers, for… uh, serving and protecting me.”
“No problem,” said Officer Talky.
I closed the door behind them and listened to them clomp down the stairs. Once they were gone, I went back into my bedroom, and switched on the light.
Across the alley, Mr. D-in-the-W peeked out from behind the curtain. He was wearing a plaid shirt, pants, and a hat.
He shook his fist at me.
(And…. I’ll see you on Monday, for the exciting conclusionary epilogue of ROOOOOOOM WITH A VIIIIIEEEEEEWWW OF A PEEEEEENISSSSSS!!!)