limited-edition product, Irish informedrnme that I was under arrest.rnThe untucked shirt should haverntipped me off. Undercover cops wearrnbaggy, untucked shirts if they’re packingrna piece, to keep it from showing. I guessrnthe gun was to cut me down if I tried tornescape: I was now a criminal, an unlicensedrnvendor. Dinkins readily understoodrnthe “rage” that leads to senselessrnmurder in Crown Heights and elsewhere.rnBut not unlicensed vending! Thatrnshakes Big Brother’s paternalistic systemrnto its roots. After all, one in five NewrnYorkers now receives some form of publicrnassistance. What if they all startedrnworking instead?rnIrish took me quite firmly by the armrnand started to lead me away. He arrestedrnthe T-shirt artist too and handcuffedrnus together. He didn’t arrest Miss Channeling;rnshe was still busy being interviewedrnfor Joan Jett Blakk’s cable show.rnHe didn’t bother with the artist’s wife either.rnThose two actually offered to go inrnmy place, telling the officer that I hadrnjust been passing by and killing time.rnHe would have none of it! He knew arnreal criminal when he saw one. After all,rnI was caught red-handed holding thernshirts and offering them for sale. A clearrncrime, a New York crime for the NewrnTax 90’s.rnNot knowing the intricacies of the Tshirtrnstatute, I started to ask Irish questionsrnon the way to the paddy wagon. Nornproblem, he said. Just a violation, hernsaid. Like a parking ticket. A court appearance,rna little fine, maybe 25 dollars,rnand that’s it. No record. He evenrnpromised me that the shirt designer,rnwhose first name was Gary, and I wouldrnbe in court together. Gary assured mernthat he would speak up for me. I was sornreassured that I didn’t even get his lastrnname.rnWe took a short ride to the station.rnThe only other criminal in the van withrnus was an unlicensed wallet vendor. Hernwas bitter. “You can sell crack out therernon the streets anywhere you want, man,”rnhe repeated, “but I can’t sell my wallets.rnI’m trying to make a decent living, andrnthey haul me in.”rnAt the station we were handcuffed torna wall and given milk cartons to sit on.rnThere was quite a catch of rogues: arnweeping Chinese woman copped forrnvending unlicensed jewelry and threernother T-shirt vendors. No muggers, nornrapists, certainly no murderers, althoughrneach tabloid had already carried lengthyrnaccounts of imprudent Midwestern conventioneersrnshaken down by the everalertrnlocals after a night on the big town.rnWhen the wallet salesman repeated hisrncomplaint about crack dealing he got arnroar of agreement, but no explanation,rnfrom one of the policemen on duty.rnWhat could he say? After an hour ofrnforms (“How much money do you havernin your possession?”), we were let go. Irntold Gary I’d see him in court andrnthanked him in advance for his help.rnOf course I never saw him again. Thatrnwas only one of the unpleasant surprisesrnI got at my first court appearance. Thernfirst was the Manhattan Criminal Courtrnbuilding itself, where I had to wait 15rnminutes in the rain just to get in. ThernCriminal Court may be the only placernmore dangerous than the streets of NewrnYork. It’s the “Criminals’ Court”: it’srntheir turf. So eager are New York defendantsrnto put the past behind them andrnplease their social workers by makingrnsomething positive of their lives that asrnsoon as their cases are dismissed theyrnstart mowing each other down rightrnin the halls of justice. I’ve so far beenrnspared having to witness this recreationalrnhorseplay, but I’ve seen its effects: thernpolice have decked out the entrancesrnwith the kind of metal detectors usuallyrnfound in airports and, in this city, publicrnschools. Only court officials, of all people,rncan get in without passing throughrnone of the machines.rnThe metal detectors were no use: arngood many people had apparently beenrnable to smuggle in aluminum spray-paintrncans without any trouble. Not only werernthe hallways covered with graffiti; therncourtrooms were, too. I’ve counted atrnleast five uniformed policemen at thernfront of the courtroom during each ofrnmy appearances here; nevertheless, thernoppressed youths’ artistic expression wasrnall over the benches. A bathroom on arnhallway of courtrooms was graffiticovered,rnlightless, and downright frightening.rnMore surprises were coming. It seemsrnIrish had been wrong about everything.rnGary was nowhere. The fine had grownrnfrom 25 dollars to 50. The charge wasrnnot a violation, but a misdemeanor. Ifrnconvicted, I’d have a criminal record.rnThe People were going to make sure itrnwould be difficult for me to threatenrnthem again. But Cod protects unlicensedrnT-shirt vendors; in court the firstrnday I happened upon a lawyer friend,rnwho agreed on the spot to take the casernand quickly got a postponement.rnBefore the second court appearancernmy lawyer spoke to one of the assistantrnDAs on the phone. He got her to agreernto an ACD: Adjournment with Contemplationrnof Dismissal. An ACD isn’trna bad deal. The ACT UP protestors whorndesecrated the Sacred Host and chainedrnthemselves to pews in St. Patrick’srnCathedral in 1989 got ACDs. An ACDrnmeans that if the defendant stays out ofrntrouble for six months, the charges willrnbe dropped.rnSince I’m not really in the T-shirtrnbusiness, I agreed. But when we gotrnthere. New York justice was served again:rna different assistant DA, who’d probablyrnbeen thrown my file right before goingrninto the courtroom, knew nothing of therndeal. The wheels of justice ground toornslowly for the news to have gottenrnthrough. He did magnanimously offerrnme an ACD attached to a 50-dollar finernand ten hours of community service, butrnI wanted my name cleared and got anotherrnpostponement. (Where does NewrnYork send unlicensed vendors for communityrnservice? The Socialist Internationalrnhome office?)rnThe third appearance, a few monthsrnlater, was no better. My lawyer made arnmotion for dismissal in the interest ofrnjustice, a legal term for the People’s admittingrnthey made a mistake. Again,rnhe’d gotten the People to agree to thisrnover the phone, but again, they denied itrnonce we got there. My lawyer made thernmotion anyway, but was told that herncouldn’t make it right there, in front ofrnthe judge. That would be too easy forrnthe city government! It had to be madernin writing and submitted beforehand.rnAnother offer of community service, anotherrnpostponement.rnFor this appearance I’ve hired another,rnhigh-powered lawyer experienced withrnhardened criminals like me. He’s submittedrnthe written motion for dismissalrnand the People have agreed to it overrnthe phone. Despite their track record Irndon’t think there will be trouble thisrntime, for the money spent on my prosecutionrnis no doubt beginning to outweighrnthe return I’d give in fines and socialistrnlabor.rnNo end is in sight, however, for therncity’s woes. The guy who was really sellingrnthe T-shirts and the wallet salesmanrnwere, as they themselves put it, “onlyrntrying to make an honest buck.” ButrnNew York keeps regulating the honestrnbuck away. Dinkins’ replacement isrn32/CHRONICLESrnrnrn