From 2011 to 2013, I commanded the New York City Police Department's 6th Precinct, which covers Greenwich Village. We had a team of plainclothes officers who went out looking for serious crimes in progress. Sometimes they worked out of a dilapidated unmarked van that looked like the one driven by the villain in The Silence of the Lambs. When things were slow, the team would arrest people who had slunk off from Bleecker Street to smoke weed on Minetta Lane. The sergeant who led these officers had come down from the Bronx, and he thought there was a certain justice in holding the Village's nightlife crowd to the same standard we held Black teenagers in Kingsbridge Heights. One evening in 2012, the team noticed a woman smoking in the shadows and decided to make an arrest. The officers placed her in handcuffs, led her to the van, and opened its back doors. At the other end of the cargo bay, a burly man sat on a milk crate in the dark, waiting. The woman went weak in the knees, her eyes...
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