Theo Jones took the subway to 116th Street. On the way to the Mosque, he came to the street corner where he had met Lumier last year. He had been working undercover on behalf of his client, Rolex, at the time. His backup was two officers from the precinct’s peddler squad. Lumier was using a fold up table to display knockoff Rolex watches and bolts of a brilliantly coloured African fabric with a finely woven geometric pattern. Jones was wearing western cowboy boots, a bandana, and wrangler jeans to complete his ruse as an out of town ‘dude.’

“Howdy, now looka here.” He inspected a knockoff Rolex to ensure it was fake. “This looks interesting. Nothing like this in Tennessee. How much?”

“Fifty dollars, Monsieur.” Lumier was a small man dressed in jeans and sneakers. “Special today. Mon Dieu, what a bargain.”

“Mighty nice. You from France?”

He laughed. “Non. From Senegal.”

Jones asked where he obtained the knockoffs, but the peddler winked. The investigator used his cell phone to notify the backup, waiting for his signal on an adjoining street.

“I’m a private investigator,” he snapped, as the officers charged into view. “I’m seizing these watches.”

As the backup surrounded Lumier, Jones demanded to know the source of the knockoffs – but someone intervened. “Leave that man alone. He’s doing no harm.”

He thought the distinguished black man looked familiar. “It’s none of your business. Back off.”

“Do you know who I am?”Jones recalled seeing him at a televised press rally. “That’s right. I am the Imam Ibin Saud.”

By now a crowd of people had gathered. Some were tourists – but the majority was angry Africans.

“Leave that man alone,” a tall, burly man said.

“Yah, leave ‘im be,” another one yelled.

Jones took the Imam aside. “Imam, this man is breaking the law.”