Holding hands and facing nudity

Somewhere in the mid-80's, the decade and the streets of New York City, I was walking holding some adults hand, near my grandma's house in the upper west side. 

Summer was blazing. Loving Spoonful summer in the city hot. I would wear a very small Adidas running shorts and no shirt, and would usually get home half smothered in ice-cream, pretzel salt, and a/c drops. It was nice. 

I was about 7 or 8, somewhere in that tooth range. I can remember my tongue navigating the spare parking in my mouth. 

Don't know what we did, but I know what we saw. 

Approaching a corner Burger King, a commotion began to arise. 2 NYPD cars, lights flashing in broad daylight, blocking the road. People began to be pushed to leave the area. You could hear murmur, and tension in the air. 

The adult hand held on tight to mine, as we found ourselves right in the middle of this ordeal. Hard to explain, hard to define, and like most little kids' memory, lacking in narrative fluidity, but full of subconscious detail. 

Big fat lady, holding the arm of a kid, maybe 4 years old, crying, trying to keep hold of his blue tricycle. Cops slowly move in, from both sides, as she spins in panic, holding that kid tighter, making him scream louder. 

Cops shout from left, she spins abruptly and her skirt kicks up and down like a lambada skirt, showing each time, more flesh. 

         My hand is sweaty, I try to free it from this adult protection hand, which does not want to release. It's ok, I say.  And the minute I am loose, my hearted races up a beat. I face this situation alone, I could be that kid being twisted by a big scary lady at gunpoint. It was a surreal and bizarre scene, almost like some bad taste contemporary dance routine. 

 She yells some Spanish cursing. 

    - Hijo de puta. 

 Cops give her specific orders. 

    - Let go of the kid and get on the ground. 

She gestures with the kid flying around as if he was a blue stuffed bunny. The kid drops his tricycle, as the woman makes him her little human shield. 

The cops move in closer, and she suddenly pivots left, scared by a voice behind her. And now, a moment that lasts an eternity, her short, light fabric, yellow tone skirt, kicks up and has a momentum of suspension, enough of a momentum, that I am able to catch a clear and thorough look, not a glimpse, a real look, at the most memorable fact of this situation, the woman was not wearing any panties. 

         I think this was the first time I ever saw a woman naked.