He can have no name lest he become an enemy of the state and the underworld.

He is a tall, fit, intelligent and assertive African American officer on the Baltimore Police Department.

At 10:48 he took a call to take a police report in an alley in West Baltimore behind a bar.

There stood a small woman besides her falling-apart beater, a baby in a baby carrier in the back seat.

She told him that she had arranged to purchase a car for $3000 in this ally at 10:45. She even pointed to the car she had come to purchase when the man selling it took her money and ran. $3000 in the hole, she was livid and wanted some police action.

Her boyfriend then showed up and said, “Bitch, what da fuck you doin’ back in hea? You fuckin’ some nigga or buyin’ dope?”

The not very smart woman pleaded with the officer and the boyfriend that she had arranged for the purchase of the car, showing them social media messages. This was one day after a woman who this author knows by name, a Miss Moore, was broadcasting her location at a social service parking lot on Instagram, just before lunch, when someone put a gun to her head and blew her brains out, so the cop told her that she had been marked, “the wrong people” knew about her and probably where she lived and worked and she needed to take evasive action.

As he said that she said, “That man is taking my car? That’s the car I came to buy,” pointing to a man unlocking and taking a seat in the vehicle.

The man then got back out of the car and said, “I work here. I’m the bartender. This is my car and I ain’ sellin’ it to nobody—specially not in this fuckin’ alley!”

With instruction to the victim and her boyfriend to be wary of such scams and the culprit, one of Harm City’s few functional police officers shewed them out of the alley and went on his bemused way, “Who the hell buys a car in a West Baltimore alley at 10:45 in the P.M.?