The New Centurions Part 5

"No, the officer screwed those up when he took the clip out, but there were prints on the cartridges. They got part of the friction ridges on the center portion of the suspect's right thumb on several of the sh.e.l.ls where he'd pushed them in the clip. The officer claimed the liquor store owner had handled the gun first so the officer decided all possibility of getting prints was destroyed. I'd like to know how the h.e.l.l he knew that. It doesn't matter who handles the gun, you should still treat it like it's printable and notify the latent prints specialists."

"Tell them about the rags," said Sergeant O'Toole without looking up.

"Oh yeah. In another job recently, an officer had to be reminded by a sergeant at the scene to book the rags the suspect used to bind the victim. And the suspect had brought the rags with him! Christ, they could have laundry marks or they could be matched up with other rags that the d.i.c.ks might later find in the suspect's pad or on some other job. I know you guys know most of this s.h.i.t, but some of you are getting awful careless. Okay, that's all the b.i.t.c.hing I have for you, I guess. Any questions on the supervisor's meeting?"

"Yeah, you ever talk about the good things we do?" asked Matthews.

"Glad you asked that, Mike," said Sergeant Bridget, his teeth clenched on the black pipe stem. "As a matter of fact the lieutenant wrote you a little commendation for the hot roller you got the other night. Come on up and sign it."

"In eighteen years I guess I got a hundred of these things," grumbled Matthews, striding heavy-footed to the front of the room, "but I still get the same G.o.dd.a.m.n skinny paycheck every two weeks."

"You're getting almost six bills a month, Mike. Quit your kicking," said Bridget, then turning to the others said, "Mike went in pursuit and brought down a hot car driven by a d.a.m.n good burglar and he likes a little 'at-a-boy' once in a while just like the rest of us, despite his b.i.t.c.hing. You new men are going to find out that if you have a yen for lots of thanks and praise, you picked the wrong profession. Want to read the crimes, William, me boy?" he said to Sergeant O'Toole.

"Lots of crimes in the division last night, but not too many good descriptions," said O'Toole with a trace of a New York accent. "Got one happy moment on the crime sheet though. Cornelius Arps, the Western Avenue pimp, got cut by one of his wh.o.r.es and he EX-pired at 3:00 A.M. A.M. in General Hospital." in General Hospital."

A loud cheer went up in the room. It startled Gus.

"Which wh.o.r.e did it?" shouted Leoni.

"One calls herself Tammy Randolph. Anybody know her?"

"She worked usually around Twenty-first and Western," said Kilvinsky, and Gus turned for another appraisal of his partner who looked more like a doctor than what he imagined a policeman should look like. The older ones, he noticed, looked hard around the mouth and their eyes seemed to watch things not just look at things, but to watch as though they were waiting for something, but that might be his imagination, he thought.

"How'd she do him?" asked Lafitte.

"You'll never believe this," said O'Toole, "but the old canoe maker at the autopsy today claimed that she punctured the aorta with a three and a half inch blade! She hit him so hard in the side with this little pocket knife that it severed a rib and punctured the aorta. Now how could a broad do that?"

"You never saw Tammy Randolph," said Kilvinsky quietly. "A hundred and ninety pounds of fighting wh.o.r.e. She's the one that beat h.e.l.l out of the vice officer last summer, remember?"

"Oh, is that the same b.i.t.c.h?" asked Bridget. "Well, she atoned for it by juking Cornelius Arps."

"Why didn't you get the lieutenant to write her an at-a-boy like he did me?" asked Matthews as the men laughed.

"Here's a suspect wanted for attempted murder and two-eleven," said O'Toole. "Name is Calvin Tubbs, male, Negro, born 6-12-35, five ten, one eighty-five, black hair, brown eyes, medium complexion, wears his hair marcelled, full moustache, drives a 1959 Ford convertible, white over maroon, license John Victor David one seven three. Hangs out here in University at Normandie and Adams, and at Western and Adams. Robbed a bread truck driver and shot him for the h.e.l.l of it. They made him on six other jobs-all bread trucks. He's bought and paid for, you can render that a.s.shole."

"Really raping those bread trucks and buses, ain't they?" said Matthews.

"You know it," said O'Toole, glancing over the bifocals. "For the benefit of you new men, we should tell you it's not safe to ride a bus in this part of town. Armed bandits rob a bus almost every day and sometimes rob the pa.s.sengers too. So if you have a flat tire on your way to work, call a cab. And the bread truck drivers or anybody else that's a street vendor gets. .h.i.t regular, too. I know one bread truck driver that was held up twenty-one times in one year."

"That guy's a professional victim," said Leoni.

"He can probably run a show-up better than the robbery d.i.c.ks," said Matthews.

Gus glanced over at the two Negro officers who sat together near the front, but they laughed when the others did and showed no sign of discomfort. Gus knew that all the "down heres" referred to the Negro divisions and he wondered if all the cracks about the crimes affected them personally. He decided they must be used to it.

"Had kind of an interesting homicide the other night," O'Toole continued in his monotone. "Family beef. Some dude told his old lady she was a b.u.m lay and she shot him twice and he fell off the porch and broke his leg and she ran inside, got a kitchen knife and came back and started cutting where the jagged bone stuck out. Almost got the leg all the way off by the time the first radio car got there. They tell me they couldn't even take a regular blood test. There was no blood left in the guy's veins. Had to take it from the spleen."

"Wonder if she was was a b.u.m lay," said Leoni. a b.u.m lay," said Leoni.

"By the way," said Sergeant Bridget, "any of you guys know an old lady named Alice Hockington? Lives on Twenty-eighth near Hoover?"

No one answered and Sergeant Bridget said, "She called last night and said a car came by on a prowler call last week. Who was it?"

"Why do you want to know?" asked a ba.s.s voice from the last table.

"G.o.dd.a.m.n suspicious cops," Bridget said, shaking his head. "Well screw you guys then. I was just going to tell you the old girl died and left ten thousand dollars to the nice policemen who chased a prowler away. Now, who wants to cop out?"

"That was me, Sarge," said Leoni.

"Bulls.h.i.t," said Matthews, "that was me and Cavanaugh."

The others laughed and Bridget said, "Anyway, the old girl called last night. She didn't really die, but she's thinking about it. She said she wanted that handsome tall young policeman with the black moustache (that sounds like you, Lafitte) to come by every afternoon and check for the evening newspaper. If it's still on her porch at five o'clock it means she's dead and she wants you to bust the door in if that happens. Because of her dog, she said."

"She afraid he'll starve or she afraid he won't starve?" asked Lafitte.

"The sympathy of these guys really is touching," said Bridget.

"Can I go on with the crimes or am I boring you guys," said O'Toole. "Attempt rape, last night, 11:10 P.M., P.M., three-six-nine West Thirty-seventh Place. Suspect awoke victim by placing hand over her mouth, said, 'Don't move. I love you and I want to prove it.' Fondled victim's private parts while he held a two-inch blue steel revolver in the air for her to see. Suspect wore a blue suit . . ." three-six-nine West Thirty-seventh Place. Suspect awoke victim by placing hand over her mouth, said, 'Don't move. I love you and I want to prove it.' Fondled victim's private parts while he held a two-inch blue steel revolver in the air for her to see. Suspect wore a blue suit . . ."

"Bluesuit?" asked Lafitte. "Sounds like a policeman."

"Suspect wore blue suit and light-colored shirt," O'Toole continued. "Was male, Negro, twenty-eight to thirty, six foot two, hundred ninety, black, brown, medium complexion."

"Sounds exactly like Gladstone. I think we can solve this one," Lafitte said.

"Victim screamed and suspect jumped out window and was seen getting into a late model yellow vehicle parked on Hoover."

"What kind of car you got, Gladstone?" asked Lafitte and the big Negro policeman turned and grinned, "She wouldn't have screamed if it'd been me."

"The h.e.l.l she wouldn't," said Matthews. "I seen Glad in the academy showers one time. That would be a.s.sault with a deadly weapon."

"a.s.sault with a friendly weapon," said Gladstone.

"Let's go to work," said Sergeant Bridget, and Gus was glad there was no inspection because he didn't think his b.u.t.tons would pa.s.s and he wondered how often they had inspections here in the divisions. Not very often, he guessed, from the uniforms he saw around him, which were certainly not up to academy standards. He guessed things would be relaxed out here. Soon, he would be relaxed too. He would be part of it.

Gus stood with his notebook a few steps from Kilvinsky and smiled when Kilvinsky turned around.

"Gus Plebesly," said Gus, shaking Kilvinsky's wide, smooth hand.

"Andy's the first name," said Kilvinsky looking down at Gus with an easy grin. Gus guessed he might be six feet four.

"Guess you're stuck with me tonight," said Gus.

"All month. And I don't mind."

"Whatever you say is okay with me."

"That goes without saying."

"Oh, yes sir."

"You don't have to sir me," Kilvinsky laughed. "My gray hair only means that I've been around a long time. We're partners. You have a notebook?"

"Yes."

"Okay, you keep books for the first week or so. After you learn to take a report and get to know the streets a little bit, I'll let you drive. All new policemen love to drive."

"Anything. Anything is okay with me."

"Guess I'm ready, Gus. Let's go downstairs," said Kilvinsky, and they walked side by side through the double doors and down the turning stairway of old University station.

"See those pictures, partner?" said Kilvinsky pointing to the gla.s.s-covered portraits of University policemen who had been killed on duty. "These guys aren't heroes. Those guys just screwed up and they're dead. Pretty soon you'll get comfortable and relaxed out there, just like the rest of us. But don't get too comfortable. Remember the guys in the pictures."

"I don't feel like I'll ever get comfortable," Gus said.

"You will, partner. You will," said Kilvinsky. "Let's find our black and white and go to work."

The inadequate parking lot was teeming with blue uniforms as the night watch relieved the day watch at 3:45 P.M. P.M. The sun was still very hot and ties could remain off until later in the evening. Gus wondered at the heavy long-sleeved blue uniforms. His arms were sweating and the wool was harsh. The sun was still very hot and ties could remain off until later in the evening. Gus wondered at the heavy long-sleeved blue uniforms. His arms were sweating and the wool was harsh.

"I'm not used to wearing such heavy clothes in the heat," he smiled to Kilvinsky, as he wiped his forehead with a handkerchief.

"You'll get used to it," said Kilvinsky, sitting carefully on the sun-heated vinyl seat and releasing the seat lock to slide back and make room for his long legs.

Gus placed the new hot sheet in the holder and wrote 3-A-99 on the notebook pad so that he would not forget who they were. That seemed odd, he thought. He was now 3-A-99. He felt his heart race and he knew he was more excited than he should be. He hoped it was just that-excitement. There was nothing yet to fear.

"The pa.s.senger officer handles the radio, Gus."

"Okay."

"You won't hear our calls at first. That radio will just be an incoherent mess of conversation for a while. In a week or so you'll start to hear our calls."

"Okay."

"Ready for a night of romance, intrigue and adventure on the streets of the asphalt jungle?" asked Kilvinsky dramatically.

"Sure," Gus smiled.

"Okay, kid," Kilvinsky laughed. "You a little thrilled?"

"Yes."

"Good. That's the way you should be."

As Kilvinsky drove from the station parking lot he turned west on Jefferson and Gus flipped down the visor and squinted into the sun. The radio car smelled faintly of vomit.

"Want a tour of the division?" asked Kilvinsky.

"Sure."

"Almost all the citizens here are Negroes. Some whites. Some Mexicans. Mostly Negroes. Lots of crime when you have lots of Negroes. We work Ninety-nine. Our area is all all black. Close to Newton. Ours are eastside Negroes. When they got some money they move west of Figueroa and Vermont and maybe west of Western. Then they call themselves westside Negroes and expect to be treated differently. I treat everyone the same, white or black. I'm civil to all people, courteous to none. I think courtesy implies servility. Policemen don't have to be servile or apologize to anyone for doing their job. This is a philosophy lesson I throw in free to every rookie I break in. Old-timers like me love to hear themselves talk. You'll get used to radio car philosophers." black. Close to Newton. Ours are eastside Negroes. When they got some money they move west of Figueroa and Vermont and maybe west of Western. Then they call themselves westside Negroes and expect to be treated differently. I treat everyone the same, white or black. I'm civil to all people, courteous to none. I think courtesy implies servility. Policemen don't have to be servile or apologize to anyone for doing their job. This is a philosophy lesson I throw in free to every rookie I break in. Old-timers like me love to hear themselves talk. You'll get used to radio car philosophers."

"How much time do you have on the Department?" asked Gus, looking at the three service stripes on Kilvinsky's sleeve which meant at least fifteen years. But he had a youthful face if it weren't for the silver hair and the gla.s.ses. Gus guessed he was in good condition. He had a powerful-looking body.

"Twenty years this December," said Kilvinsky.

"You retiring?"

"Haven't decided."

They rode silently for several minutes and Gus looked at the city and realized he knew nothing about Negroes. He enjoyed the names on the churches. On a corner he saw a one-story, whitewashed frame building with a handmade sign which said, "Lion of Judah and Kingdom of Christ Church," and on the same block was the "Sacred Defender Baptist Church" and in a moment he saw the "Hearty Welcome Missionary Baptist Church" and on and on he read the signs on the scores of churches and hoped he could remember them to tell Vickie when he got home tonight. He thought the churches were wonderful.

"Sure is hot," said Gus, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand.

"You don't have to wear your lid in the car, you know," said Kilvinsky. "Only when you get out."

"Oh," said Gus, taking off the hat quickly. "I forgot I had it on."

Kilvinsky smiled and hummed softly as he patrolled the streets, letting Gus sightsee and Gus watched how slowly he drove and how deliberately. He would remember that. Kilvinsky patrolled at fifteen miles an hour.

"Guess I'll get used to the heavy uniform," said Gus, pulling the sleeve from his sticky arms.

"Chief Parker doesn't go for short sleeves," said Kilvinsky.

"Why not?"

"Doesn't like hairy arms and tattoos. Long sleeves are more dignified."

"He spoke to our graduating cla.s.s," said Gus, remembering the eloquence of the chief and the perfect English which had deeply impressed Vickie who sat proudly in the audience that day.

"He's one of a vanishing kind," said Kilvinsky.

"I've heard he's strict."

"He's a Calvinist. Know what that is?"

"A puritan?"

"He professes to be Roman Catholic, but I say he's a Calvinist. He won't compromise on matters of principle. He's despised by lots of people."

"He is?" said Gus, reading the signs on the store windows.

"He knows evil when he sees it. He recognizes the weakness of people. He has a pa.s.sion for order and the rule of law. He can be relentless," said Kilvinsky.

"You sound as if you kind of admire him."

"I love him. When he's gone, nothing will be the same."

What a strange man Kilvinsky is, Gus thought. He talked absently and if it weren't for the boyish grin, Gus would have been uncomfortable with him. Then Gus watched a young Negro strutting across Jefferson Boulevard and he studied the swaying, limber shoulder movement, bent-elbowed free swinging arms, and the rubber-kneed big stepping bounce and as Kilvinsky remarked, "He's walkin' smart," Gus realized how profoundly ignorant he was about Negroes and he was anxious to learn about them, and about all people. If he could just learn and grow he would know something about people after a few years in this job. He thought of the squirming muscle in the long brown arms of the young man who was now blocks behind him. He wondered how he would fare if the two of them were face to face in a police-suspect confrontation when he had no partner and he could not use his sidearm and the young Negro was not impressed with his glittering golden shield and suit of blue. He cursed himself again for the insidious fear and he vowed he would master it but he always made this vow and still the fear came or rather the promise of fear, the nervous growling stomach, the clammy hands, the leathery mouth, but enough, enough to make him suspect that when the time came he would not behave like a policeman.