Circumcisions had been illegal for months now. Henry knew the risk he was running by continuing to remove foreskins in secret but he felt it was his calling. He pull the hood up on his sweatshirt, somewhat ironically, to conceal his identity as he slipped down an alley, into the secret facility where he and a few other mohels still worked. No one outside of their circle knew about this operation, ignorance was briss.
But today, he discreetly closed the door to his hidden facility behind him and turned to find no client and no fellow mohels, only Detective Hawkins with a pair of handcuffs. Henry didn’t resist. He knew this was a possibility when he started this underground, unsanctioned practice. “How’d you find me?” He asked as the metal cuffs tightened around his wrist.
“We got a tip,” the detective told him. “And your fingerprints were all over it.”