In Which The Mayoress Narrowly Avoids a Stabbing

Oh, the irony.

Perp is seated next to guy in background;
guy in foreground is blocking my view of him.

After nearly six months of searching, I'd finally found an affordable, adorable apartment.  I had a few reservations, one of which was its subway stop and distance from the main street I really want to live off of, so last night Nicolle and I went on a "safety walk" to assess my comfort level (not comfortability, that is not a word) in the area after dark.

We were doing okay, all was good, entering the Q train at Church (Caton Ave entrance) we were chatting about how enriched our lives have been having lived in Brooklyn (you can see this coming, can't you?), and we go down to the platform and the train is stopped as if it's stalled, people standing in the doorways and whatnot.  And we duck into the first car, ask what's going on, and some guy says there's been a fight.  Then we notice a man in the car covered in blood.  Um, where are the cops?  What happened?


So we walk out of the car and down the platform, clearly we don't need to hang out in the fight car, and about halfway down we spot a seat.  I ask the guy next to Nicolle how long the train has been stopped, he's sitting there like a statue, so I ask the girl across from him and she says five minutes or so.  Um, blood-covered person, where's the cops?  Shouldn't I at least hear sirens by now?

The perp is the guy in the red shirt.
You know, just strolling along!

I'm saying something of the sort, and of course, it's 2010, tweeting it, and my eye catches the guy next to Nicolle - he's kind of hiding his hand behind his bag, and it has this long slice in it, and he's bleeding but trying to cover it up.  So I do the eye-signal to Nicolle and nonchalantly say, "Hey, we should just get a cab," and thank god, after 12 years of friendship she picks up on the act and plays along calmly, and we walk out onto the platform, looking for cops so we can point out the perp.

But there are no cops anywhere.

We point out the guy to a few people around, I want to snap a photo with my iPhone but don't want to upset the guy - who knows if he's crazy, has a weapon, etc. - and as the train conductor approaches, we all start silently pointing at the guy.  And the guy realizes people have noticed him, and just strolls out of the car into the next car, where no one realizes who he is.  And continues to do this all the way to the back of the train, quite casually, until he exits the platform and I assume the station at the Church Ave side.  By now it's been 15 minutes, and no NYPD.  And unfortunately I didn't get a clear photo.

15 minutes, still no NYPD!

By the time the cops arrive a few minutes later, Nicolle and I realize the train is a crime scene and probably not going anywhere anytime soon, so we exit up at Caton, not all too thrilled about crazy guy on the loose, try to find a cab or car service for at least 10-15 minutes, finally have to walk over to Flatbush, which I've been warned against since starting to apartment-search south of the Park.  Finally we get a car and get dropped off at Atlantic Terminal, in the part of BK we're used to.  We're not so much shaken or fearful as dazed, just affected by that sketchy energy.

If that's not a sign to resume my apartment search closer to my original target area, I don't know what is.

Bonus question!  What race did you automatically picture the people in this story as?  I'm not going to tell you, but if you jumped to a conclusion, it's something to consider.