Brooklyn Bay, New York (2012)

This was one of my worst travel experiences, which is saying something because I’m generally able to make the most out of any situation.

I wanted to interview a kid who was a minor suspect in a much larger fraud scheme. Normally I would have just located the individual, cornered him, and interviewed him right then and there before he knew what hit them.

But since he was of relatively minor importance and I was trying to build goodwill with a partner agency, I let them handle the approach, which the bungled.

They located the kid, and then instead of interviewing him, gave him their cards and told him to call them to schedule an interview.

The kid, who was illegally in the U.S., went promptly to his immigration attorney (isn’t it weird how they all have one and how they even exist at all…?) who called them, who called me, who then had to call him and explain why I wanted to talk to his client.

So, hoping to sweet talk the attorney into letting his client speak to me, I hopped on a shuttle to LaGuardia, whereupon I promptly left my handcuffs behind in my seat and had to be called back by the bemused airport security to retrieve them.

The interview was scheduled for that afternoon in the attorney’s office in Sheepshead Bay, which is a curious mix of Orthodox Jews and expatriate Russians.

I went straight from the airport in my rental car in my suit and tie to the neighborhood and couldn’t find parking anywhere because:

A. It’s Brooklyn
B. They were doing construction everywhere

The entire scene was calamitous and cacophonous. There were cars everywhere, workers laying blacktop, the stench of tar, horns blaring, people yelling in Russian and Yiddish. Plus it was summer and I was sweating in my suit and tie, weighed down by my sidearm and Bat Gear, and I had to pee.

It was one of the most unsettling experiences of my life.

After grabbing a quick and shitty bite to eat in the restaurant located literally next door to the attorney’s office, I climbed the spongy and rotten stairs whereupon I was met by the suspect, his attorney, and a translator.

The office was so small there was barely room for the four of us and two of them were sitting in lawn furniture.

After about five minutes of attempting rapport, the attorney wanted to know about what formal protections his client would have before speaking to an investigator like me?

I tried to use the Jedi Mind Trick on him and minimize his client’s importance, but he wasn’t having it.

After ten minutes I knew it wasn’t happening and he said he’d be happy to talk to me after I’d obtained a formal letter from the prosecutor guaranteeing that his client would not be charged.

Dejectedly, I hopped back into my rental car and headed to the Best Western I’d reserved a short distance away. This was the scene that awaited me while waiting to check in.

From FB:

“Guy screaming and muttering to himself in the lobby. Hotel clerk says he’s OK.

I felt compelled to ask about bedbugs…”