Blink

Diallo’s apartment building is flush with the sidewalk, separated
by just a four-step stoop. There is no white space here. When
they step out of the squad car and stand on the street,
McMellon and Carroll are no more than ten or fifteen feet from
Diallo. Now Diallo runs. It’s a chase! Carroll and McMellon
were just a little aroused before. What is their heart rate now?
175? 200? Diallo is now inside the vestibule, up against the
inner door of his building. He twists his body sideways and digs
at something in his pocket. Carroll and McMellon have neither
cover nor concealment: there is no car door pillar to shield
them, to allow them to slow the moment down. They are in the
line of fire, and what Carroll sees is Diallo’s hand and the tip of
something black. As it happens, it is a wallet. But Diallo is
black, and it’s late, and it’s the South Bronx, and time is being
measured now in milliseconds, and under those circumstances
we know that wallets invariably look like guns. Diallo’s face
might tell him something different, but Carroll isn’t looking at
Diallo’s face — and even if he were, it isn’t clear that he would
understand what he saw there. He’s not mind-reading now. He’s
effectively autistic. He’s locked in on whatever it is coming out
of Diallo’s pocket, just as Peter was locked in on the light
switch in George and Martha’s kissing scene. Carroll yells out,