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That’s the reason I practically fall over when Nana Mama shouts up the stairs on the second day of my punishment, “Ali, there’s a friend of yours down here who wants to see you!”
This is highly suspicious.
Nana is the person my dad counts on to make sure I’m not breaking any of the grounding rules, and there’s no arguing with Nana Mama when she’s the warden. She would have handed me my behind for walking out of here the other day, except Dad got to me first.
When Nana’s on watch duty, Gabe and Cedric and Mateo don’t even bother trying to make it inside the house. Their usual approach—lines like “I just need to ask Ali some questions about the math homework” or “It’ll only take a second”—just won’t work.
But Nana Mama is no fool. She knows we all basically live on our phones. She’ll just say to my friends,Well, if you need math homework or you need Ali for just a second, give him a yell on one of your phones. They’re very helpful devices. That’s why people call ’em “smartphones.”
So, thinking about that, I’m a little confused when she tells me about a “friend of yours down here who wants to see you.” Not just confused. I’m confused and super curious.
I run down the stairs. I run into the kitchen. And there’s Nana Mama standing pouring a cup of coffee for my dad’s best friend, John Sampson.
Hey, it’s not that I’m disappointed. Sampson is my friend, too. He’s also a fun guy, a grown-up I’m usually really happy to hang with. But… well, I’ve got to admit it. I was hoping for Cedric or Gabe.
Sampson and I give each other a hug. Of course, he squeezes hard enough that I think my ears might fly off. (Why do some old guys do that?)
“Don’t pretend you’re happy to see me, Ali. My guess is that you were hoping for a friend about thirty years younger,” he says.
“No, it’s not that— It’s just that—” I stammer like a fool. Detective Sampson tries to help me out.
“Ali, I’d feel the exact same way. But would it interest you to know that I’m actually here on official business?” he asks.
Nana is making herself some hot water with lemon. She’s not even paying attention to our conversation, or at least she’s pretending not to. Well, Sampson’s visit can’t be about anything serious or Nana would be all over it. Anyway, I’m wondering what makes the detective’s business “official.”
So, think about it. When I walked into the kitchen and saw that John Sampson was my visitor, at first I thought he was here for some horrible scary reason. Right now, I make a total about-face, and I’m thinking he might be here to present me and my friends with some sort of official police commendation for helping find that girl. Wait. Did I sayhelpingfind that girl? Man, we found her. Bring on the commendation.
“Does this have to do with finding the lost child down by the river?” I ask. I’m pretty sure now that this is going to be a big-deal thank-you. But—hey, wait a second—where’s the mayor? Where’s the little girl? Where’s the band? Where’s the cake?
“Yes, sir,” Detective Sampson says. “It is connected with the exceptional assistance you gave all of us in the MPD.”
Then he explains a little more, and, not to jump ahead, but now we come to the part where I feel like a total fool, a total fool who’s been brought down a peg or two.
Sampson explains.
“The officers on the scene where you and your friends exhibited such bravery did not have the opportunity to complete a full and comprehensive interview. When your dad heard that we had to do a follow-up, he suggested to the chief that he’d rather not have you come down to the station house. So that son-of-a-gun Alex volunteered me to come out and do the interview for the record.”
There’s a pause. Then Detective Sampson says, with a very small smile, “Your dad seemed pretty certain that I’d find you home.”
My dad was “pretty certain” that John Sampson would find me at home? Very funny. A “grounded” joke.
As Nana Mama leaves the kitchen with her hot water and lemon she says, “Well, I’ll leave you men alone. Call me if you need anything. And by the way, there are four marshmallow brownies hidden on the second pantry shelf behind the baked beans. Enjoy them.”
John Sampson takes out his laptop and logs on. Then he pauses again, and sort of stares off into space.
“Okay, Detective, we can get started,” I say. But Detective Sampson is still just gazing off into space. Then he looks at me and raises his eyebrows.
“You waiting for your computer to load?” I ask.
“No, man,” he says. “I’m waiting for you to get us those brownies.”
SO WE BEGIN.
Most of the “interview” questions are kind of boring, but I really do appreciate the fact that my dad’s best friend took the trouble to come out to our house to do it in person.
Some of the questions are questions Detective Sampson could have answered himself (although I do a great job giving my name, address, date of birth, and where I go to school).
Some of the questions I just don’t have an answer for.
