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would. All I want is that you treat us fairly when you write your article and make sure not to print our names, no matter what happens. Fair enough, Brian?” 
    He once again looked in the mirror to observe McGregor’s reaction.  McGregor put his pad down on the seat next to him and placed his pen behind his right ear; underneath his tight brown curly hair.  He extended his hand to shake on the deal. “Fair enough,” agreed the reporter, apparently happy enough that he’d won over the support of at least one of the officers.
    Paul Middlebrook was not happy with this agreement .  He’d only recently transferred to this precinct, and hadn’t even received his detective’s shield yet. He hadn’t been working with Galvin long enough to know him very well and had heard of Galvin’s reputation as a tough street cop.  He hoped Galvin wouldn’t do anything in front of the reporter to jeopardize his eventual promotion.  It didn’t take an awful lot to get in trouble on this job; even if you are just doing your job, reasoned Middlebrook.
    Galvin made his way towards Farmers Boulevard and made a right turn , heading north.  He reached over the visor and retrieved a picture which he handed over to McGregor.  “I’ve been looking for this guy for a couple of weeks now,” Galvin explained.  “He shot a livery cab driver during the commission of a robbery.  The cab was equipped with a camera and we have the whole thing on tape.  He used to sling weed on 111 Avenue and Farmers.  If we get lucky maybe he’s out there now.”
     
    *
     
    Middlebrook grew nervous as Galvin pulled the car over to the curb at 112 th Avenue and Farmers Boulevard. He heard Galvin explain to the reporter that this was one of the worst drug corners in the precinct. Three young men were walking past—men who apparently recognized Galvin. Galvin called one over to the car. As the man approached, Middlebrook prayed that Galvin didn’t intend on randomly searching him. That would be a clear violation of the man’s civil rights, and in Middlebrook’s opinion, would be ill advised to do in front of their guest.
    The Police Department has been embattled as of late over stopping and questioning minorities ; and with this precinct being almost entirely black, almost everyone they stopped fit into that category.  The threat of a federal oversight was being battled in the courts right now and Middlebrook had no desire to be hurled into the middle of it by an article written by the reporter.
     
    *
     
    As the young man approached the car, Brian McGregor nervously compared the wanted photo to the man’s features.  McGregor was a bit nervous, yet extremely excited.  It must be him.  Galvin said he sold drugs on the next corner.  Why else would he be calling him over?
    Then something else crossed McGregor’s mind; if it was the man being sought, he’d likely be armed.  “Is that him Tommy ...the guy from the robbery?” McGregor asked in a barely audible voice.
    Galvin laughed under his breath at the reporter.  Not only was he obviously scared but the two men looked nothing alike.  “No, Brian.  That’s not him.”
    “What up, Galv?” asked the man as he walked over to Galvin’s open windows. He was about eighteen; he wore his shoulder length hair in cornrows and had gold caps on his two front teeth.  Galvin watched the other two males walk into a bodega on the corner as he turned to speak to the man he’d called over.
    “I don’t think your friends like me too much, Leshawn.”
    “ Naw, man, one of their moms just asked ‘em to go to the store. We all took the walk.”
    Galvin studied the young man as he nervously bit his lower lip. He did so whenever he answered one of Galvin’s questions, Galvin observed.
    “I hope you’re not up to your old tricks again, Leshawn. You know the trial is coming up in a couple of weeks.”
    “Word to God, Galv. I ain’t dealin’ no more. You can search me up if y’want,” he offered,