In and Out of Jail

My Polish neighbor, Yakov, is eighty-seven years old. He knows about a park in East New York where he can feed the pigeons while waiting for prostitutes, and if the weather is nice, he’ll bring a sandwich and make a day of it. However, last Sunday, Yakov got himself in trouble. I was still in bed when he called, and despite his predicament, he sounded calm and collected.

“Listen Royal, in sock draw of mine you find ten thousand dollars and Walter PPK pistol. Please bring both to police station at seventy-fifth precinct.”

“Yakov, what are you talking about?”

He explained. He was in the park, when two hoodlums came by and began teasing him. I’ve seen this happen before. Bored young men will find an irascible old man, and make a game of taunting him. They’ll pull his hair and run away, and then the cruel boys will laugh and easily dodge the old man’s cane when he swings at them. Yakov, however, played his end of the game by shooting one of the boys in the thigh.

“I need money for bail, and Walter PPK to replace weapon the police have taken. I will not ride subway unarmed.”

I quickly showered and got dressed, but by the time I arrived at the precinct, Yakov was being released. I found him eating green Jell-O, as an officer returned his valuables and gave him a release form to sign.

“What happened?” I asked.

“Parents of little bastard no press charges. Sorry Royal, I make you come for nothing.”

I gave him the bail money, which he got to keep, but after we left the precinct, a rude young man pushed past him and shoved another slow moving senior to catch a departing bus.

Yakov was livid.

“You bring Walter PPK pistol like I ask?”

“Yakov, I’m not going to bring a gun to a police station.”

“Why can you no follow simple instructions!”

“We only have a few subway stops. Why do you need a gun?”

“To shoot little bastards!”

He was beginning to scare me. If someday the police should find themselves looking for a vigilante, I suggest that they talk to Yakov first. They can always find him in East New York. He’ll be the one feeding the pigeons while waiting for prostitutes.