They harangued him about coming
to Melbourne for a police interview.
`It is your best interest to cooperate,' one of the cops told him. `It
would be in your best interest to come with us now.'
Anthrax pondered that line for a moment, considered how ludicrous it
sounded coming from a cop. Such a bald-faced lie told so
matter-of-factly. It would have been humorous if the situation with
his mother hadn't been so awful. He agreed to an interview with the
police, but it would have to be done on another day.
The cops wanted to search his car. Anthrax didn't like it, but there
was nothing incriminating in the car anyway. As he walked outside in
the winter morning, one of the cops looked down at Anthrax's feet,
which were bare in accordance with the Muslim custom of removing shoes
in the house. The cop asked if he was cold.
The other cop answered for Anthrax. `No. The fungus keeps them warm.'
Anthrax swallowed his anger. He was used to racism, and plenty of it,
especially from cops. But this was over the top.
In the town where he attended uni, everyone thought he was Aboriginal.
There were only two races in that country town--white and Aboriginal.
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