Free Ralph

Last Thursday night I walked down Lafayette to repay a debt to the local bodega owner. Crossing South Portland I spotted several undercover NYPD cops gathered before Lafayette Ave. Meat Corp. Just the other day the bearded Palestinian had lent me $80, so I could send money to my son Fenway. All I had to say, "Can you give me 8-0." "You got it." Ralph chucked down $80 from his office without question. There was no 'no' from Ralph Jawad, unless he can't say 'yes'. I approached the cops and asked, "Did Ralph get robbed? Is he okay?" "Ralph's fine, except we arrested him for selling drugs." An older cop informed me with pride. "And it wasn't a little amount either." "Pot?" I had heard the rumors, but my only trafficking with Ralph was beer, Perrier, and conversations about sports. "Can't say, but it was a lot." He was acting like he had busted Pablo Escobar. "What? A couple of bags of weed." I shook my head. "Sorry ass law." "You want to go to jail too?" The haughty officer straightened up to show his authority and I slunk away muttering about the 'pigs'. Calling them that isn't against the law, at least it wasn't in the days of the Black Panthers. Over the next two days I discussed the matter with several residents of the neighborhood. My landlord's wife said that she remembered the days when that corner was one of the hottest in Brooklyn. "Dealers hung out there all night playing loud music and dealing drugs from their cars. Two men were killed on that corner. It was bad. I knew that Ralph was dealing a little pot, but nothing else. I one time asked him about it and he said, "I don't know nothing." "Me neither." I was a little upset that I hadn't noticed the trade in weed, since I used to have a good sense of radar for such activity. Jay, the young attendant at the laundry, suspected that someone had snitched out Ralph. "I seen a couple of strange guys in there. Like one Latin brother who didn't fit in. He looked like Rickie Ricardo. Always watching everything. Ralph shoulda been more careful. But fuck that, Ralph ain't done nothing wrong and he was always there for you if you needed something. He was the Mayor of the Block. Fuck the PD. Fuck Bloomberg. In two years there'll be design weed store on Fulton." "Probably someone got busted and snitched him out." "Coulda snitched out someone bad, but not Ralph." "Free the weed." We slapped palms and departed with a nod of righteousness. The next day the hat salesman on the corner told me that the raid had netted some reefer and a gun. "Every bodega got to have a gun. Not like you can call 911 when someone is looking to stick you up." Nobody was happy about the bust and a retired pot dealer said, "None of this made the papers, which was strange if it was such a big deal. They got him on drugs and a gun charge. It's almost as if they were arresting him so they can steal his property. Remember Ralph's Palestinian and that's not an easy thing in this city." "I know." Ralph had recently returned from a vacation to see his family in Palestine. "Damn, po-lice." An elderly lady pushed a cart up the street. "Ralph always gave me a special deal on food. Ain't none of them supermarket gonna treat you like that?" Everyone agreed with her. Yesterday I saw Ralph's brother and gave him my $80. "Tell your brother thanks. He's a good man." "He'll be out Monday maybe." "That's good news." I walked back home, feeling a little better, but not 100%, because a friend was behind bars. Free the Ralph.