The Sticking Place

by T. B. Smith

  No one at the exposition could possibly have predicted that, several decades later, a couple of other skirmishes would play out at a gathering going by the elevated sobriquet of the “America’s Finest City Rally.”

  San Diego’s cops were fed up. They were tired of working for a mayor who insisted on running the sixth largest city in the country like Po-dunk-town America. His strongman insistence on tight-fisting the city’s budget while good cops quit for department’s paying decent wages was straining the relationship between the rank-and-file and the almost universally respected Chief of Police.

  Cops who stayed were grossly underpaid and forced to do more with less. Community Oriented Policing was touted as a way for fewer officers to do more efficient work by forging alliances with the public, but it wasn’t working at the street level and the attempted transition added more pressure to cops on the beats. They weren’t giving in without a fight.

  “This is really stupid,” Denny Durango said. “I know it’s totally dumb.”

  “Shut up your rookie face,” Shimmer told him. “You’re a cop now and us cops got to stick together.”

  “Now, you say that,” Denny answered. “But at work, all I hear is how I don’t measure up. How come you need me all of a sudden?”

  “He’s got a point,” Devree said from the back seat. “This is some serious shit we’re getting into and a guy still on probation shouldn’t be sticking his nose into it.”

  “The kid was my trainee and he does what I tell him,” Shimmer insisted. “It don’t get much simpler than that.”

  Shimmer’s forest green GTO rumbled off the freeway exit ramp and headed south on Sixth Avenue toward Balboa Park as he lectured Denny on his upcoming participation in the labor demonstration.

  “That’s right,” Francie interrupted. “If these guys think they can hold this America’s Finest City Rally without us shoving their crappy pay raise up their ass, they got another think coming.”

  “Yeah, but we don’t need to toss the rookie into the grease,” Devree insisted.

  “He’s one of us now and he does what he’s told,” Shimmer said.

  Francie waded in, ignoring Devree’s protestations. “It started when the Mayor couldn’t land the Republican Convention a couple years back,” he told Denny. “He tried passing a measure to build a convention center so he could get one later on and give a speech on national television. The public went to the polls and told him to go fuck himself. So, now he figures the road to the Governor’s mansion is through this ‘America’s Finest City’ bull crap. You don’t think he’s throwing this party for John Q.Citizen to have fun, do you?” Although the question headed in Denny’s direction, Francie’s response came from Shimmer.

  “Hell no, he ain’t. He’s using this as his ladder to higher offices and he’s choking off our salaries like we’re ninety-eight pound weaklings and he’s Charles Fucking Atlas. This is a major city in the country and he pays us like hicks from Dogpatch.” Red blotches formed on Shimmer’s face and spread to his neck. “LA’s the only city in the state bigger than us, but every piss-ant town up and down the coast pays their cops better.”

  “Yeah,” Denny said. “If you guys say so. That stuff means something to you older guys, but I don’t want to get fired.”

  “This ain’t about you,” Shimmer said. “The reason we’re training so many recruits is because you guys leave after passing probation to work somewhere you can make decent money. The Mayor’s gutting our department to prove he’s strong enough to fight labor organizations, which makes him governor material, he thinks. We ain’t standing still for it while our cops bail out of town for higher pay and he crawls over our backs to the Governor’s Mansion by exercising physical restraint.”

  “I think you mean fiscal restraint,” Devree said.

  “Huh?”

  “Never mind.”

  The car lurched to a stop and the four officers piled out at Balboa Park’s Sixth and Laurel Streets near a gigantic Australian Sequoia tree. “Look at that,” Shimmer said. “They’re setting up a goddamned podium to tell everybody what a goddamn paradise we live in.”

  “Some of these morons’ll buy it, too. That’s the part that puckers my ass,” Francie reached into the trunk for the picket signs. “Some more cops and their families are coming. Let’s get ready to bust this faggot’s balls when he starts his speech.”

  “Looks like there’s about four hundred assholes here,” Shimmer said. He helped pass around the signs. “This’ll really fry the Mayor’s gonads.”

  Denny couldn’t help but wince at his mental image of a guy watching his gonads fry in a crackling pan.

  Carloads of off-duty officers started piling out and milling around, waiting for the action to start.

  Denny could almost smell the trouble sizzling in the air.

  He didn’t know for sure that Shimmer could get him fired, but his former training officer’s potential vindictiveness made it damn risky not to cooperate with him.

  They’d come to an uneasy truce back in the training phases. Shimmer actually agreed to start training Denny again, but only because he couldn’t justify turning in a blank evaluation every day. He’d gotten away with ignoring Denny for a while, but the FTO office would only listen to his song about focusing exclusively on report writing for so long. Shimmer could get fired if he made stuff up on the evaluations, so he finally gave in once Luke threatened to go to the training office.

  Denny had every reason to fear Shimmer. On the other hand, even if Shimmer did have the clout to get him fired, he wasn’t the only one, and a lot of people with that kind of clout would be at the rally. That bunch wouldn’t like the sight of a rookie picketing the Mayor’s speech.

  The thought of breaking his mother’s heart with a second transcontinental call announcing he’d failed as a cop really scared him. Apart from his mother’s love, his new career mattered more than anything. Sure, he was a marginal employee, but he got better every day and he’d be all right now that he’d scraped through the training phases.

  The Mayor stepped to the podium and tapped the microphone. “Ladies and gentlemen, it’s a pleasure for me to...” His voice faltered as the picketers stomped toward the staging area, signs held high:

  America’s Finest City Pays Its Cops Diddly.

  Veteran Cops Leave Every Week for Higher Wages.

  Call the Mayor Next Time Somebody’s Breaking into Your House.

  Your Taxes Pay to Train New Police Who Go Away for More Pay.

  It Costs Less to Keep a Cop Than To Train One.

  Shimmer handed Denny a sign that read “Don’t Send the Mayor to the Governor’s Mansion on Money He’s Ripped Off from Cops’ Salaries,” and pushed him into the lead.

  Denny saw someone chugging toward him under a full head of steam. It was Aaron Goddson, chief assistant to the Mayor and the marketing guru who’d coined the “America’s Finest City” slogan. As the picket line wended its way through the rows of metal folding chairs, Goddson worked his way around to the front of the platform and stepped into Denny’s path.

  “You’re ruining this thing for everybody,” he grunted through gritted teeth.

  “Get out of the way,” Shimmer yelled from behind Denny. “We got a right to be here.”

  The tips of Goddson’s ears turned red. He grabbed Denny’s arms and pushed him back. “You’re ruining it for the good people,” he said, digging his heels into the grass with the exertion.

  “Let me go. Are you crazy or something?” Denny said, trying to free himself from Goddson’s grip without dropping the sign.

  “We’re the good people, you dip shit,” Shimmer hollered back. “That’s a crime you just committed. Is that what your good people do in this town? Is that what makes this ‘America’s Finest City?’ You just battered a citizen because you thought we were ruining your precious little rally. This is America you know. Arrest him, Denny,” Shimmer insisted. “That’s a crime and you’re the victim.”

  “You people g
et out of here and let us have our rally,” Goddson insisted. “You’re ruining this for everybody.” He dropped his hands to his side.

  “You ain’t everybody,” Shimmer reminded him. “Arrest him, Denny. We’re all witnesses to the battery.” Shimmer canvassed the other officers to verify their support. Nearly all the heads were nodding.

  “That’s right,” Francie prodded. “Go call a unit over here and arrest his ass.”

  “I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” Devree said. He stepped behind Denny.

  “Bullshit,” Shimmer countered. “It was battery and we all seen it. Arrest him Denny. I’ll go call communications to send a unit so you can arrest him.”

  “Arrest me?” Goddson said. “Arrest me for what?”

  “It’s a battery whenever you touch somebody without their consent,” Francie bellowed. “You can’t go shoving folks around like that just because you work for the Mayor.”

  Shimmer disappeared into the crowd, headed for the public telephone.

  “I didn’t punch anybody,” Goddson blurted out. “That can’t be a crime.”

  “You can’t go putting your hands on people without their consent,” Francie said. “You’ll be sorry you did that, you sonofabitch, when Denny here arrests you.”

  “That’s not such a good idea,” Devree whispered to Denny.

  “He doesn’t have any bruises,” Goddson insisted. “Look at his arms, look at mine.” He held his arms out in front of him. “He doesn’t have any bruises and I don’t have any bruises.”

  “It’s against the law to touch somebody without their consent,” Francie insisted. “Didn’t I just tell you that? Arrest him Denny.”

  “I really don’t think that’s such a good idea,” Devree whispered.

  19

  DR. BRANDON FLECKMAN, A NATTILY DRESSED, Harvard trained neurosurgeon parked his spanking new charcoal gray Volvo GL against the east curb of the 2500 Block of Balboa Drive. A brilliant man, he’d blazed to his elevated station through hard work and attention to detail. On this particular day, though, he was oblivious to the platform, balloons, soft drink stands, television trucks and pickets at the rally a block away as he stepped on a bed of sorrel-colored pine needles at the doorway to the men’s room.

  The door-less stall inside passed for his home away from home, doubling as a rent-free love nest, a place he kept secret from his family, friends and patients. It was a place for the not-so-clandestine rendezvous that he shared with nameless sex seekers who used the park’s public restrooms for sexual trysts uncomplicated by social or emotional attachments.

  Patchy brown paint on the greasy concrete wall was streaked with congealing mucous spread there by previous occupants. An invitation to call Freddie for the blow job of a lifetime was scrawled in red ink beneath the slime. Fleckman noted the phone number as he unzipped his pants, pulled out a partially erect penis and held it in his palm. His gesture of faith was bolstered by numerous previous trysts that had convinced him someone would surely follow him inside.

  The stench of overflowing toilet water and the fecal matter oozing onto the floor in the adjacent stall wafted out into the sun-baked air of “America’s Finest City.”

  The stink greeted Dallas Cleveland, an approaching city councilman whose nose crinkled upward in disgust as he turned to step inside. He clutched his toddling grandson’s hand, directing the boy toward the urinal. “Come on over here and show me what a big fellow you’ve become,” Cleveland said.

  As Cleveland reached for the boy’s zipper, Fleckman shuffled into the open, thrusting a now fully erect penis in front of him.

  The councilman reared in disgust and shoved his grandson behind him.

  Fleckman nearly tripped over his pants. He tried shuffling backwards into the confines of the stall and fell into the toilet.

  Although, he wasn’t about to get his dick sucked like he hoped, Fleckman was about to meet the man who’d made it possible for him to be in this place without fear of arrest. Cleveland’s office had been deluged with a letter campaign protesting “police harassment of the gay community in the park.”

  Fleckman had fired off his own unsigned missive about the San Diego Police Department’s “jack-booted-storm-troopers” and his letter, one of three received that particular day, had morphed into the proverbial straw that drove the city councilman’s camel to its knees. Cleveland decided then and there to protest the enforcement of specific penal code sections “in and around the environs” of Balboa Park.

  “Don’t your cops have anything better to do?” was Cleveland’s question to the chief. He followed with an emphatic, “Let them live in peace,” which really meant he wanted to live in peace.

  Although this encounter stemmed from Cleveland’s public political actions, his private reaction here and now approached apoplexy. His facial muscles twitched and his neck flushed the color of creamed tomato soup as he grabbed his grandson to drag him back to the rally where he saw the more than two-dozen off-duty officers in attendance. “But, Grandpa, I still have to go wee wee,” his grandson cried as Cleveland hurried forward.

  He clomped up to one of the officers, struggling to calm his panting so he could speak intelligibly. “Officer, you won’t believe what just happened to me in that bathroom,” he said. “I saw some pervert in there”— he paused to gulp a breath and look at his grandson—“holding his...”

  “His peepee, Grandpa,” the child said.

  “He just stood there, holding it and staring at me,” Cleveland whispered. “God only knows what he thought I’d do with that thing.”

  “God’s not the only one who knows,” Devree answered back. “He either wanted a blow job or to give it to you up the ass.”

  The time for more apoplexy had arrived. Cleveland covered his grandson’s ears. “Don’t talk like that in front of my grandson.” Cleveland pushed the boy toward his mother who stood near the platform, holding a balloon and waving in their direction. The child toddled off with urine trickling down his leg.

  The sight of it made Devree sick, sick of what Francie and Shimmer were forcing on Denny, sick of the political bullshit keeping him from doing his job; sick of working crappy hours for crappy wages, and sick of looking at Dallas Cleveland. What kind of a stupid fucking name was that anyway? “That stuff happens all the time,” he said. “You told the chief to make us ignore it. ‘You’ve got better things to do’ he tells us, so we’re leaving them alone.”

  “I want that man arrested,” Cleveland insisted. “My grandson saw that pervert, for goodness sakes.”

  “You don’t think other folks have grandkids?” Devree said. “It was kids like him I tried to protect when I enforced the laws around here.”

  “What I saw—it was disgusting. Nobody should be subjected to that,” Cleveland said.

  “They can do whatever they want,” Devree said. “You’ve said so.”

  “IT’S NOT RIGHT!” Cleveland bellowed. “Not in such a public place. I want him arrested!”

  “You’re a citizen,” Devree said. “Go make a citizen’s arrest.”

  “I demand that you go in there right now and arrest this man.”

  “Sorry. I’m off-duty right now and I’m pretty sure you can’t demand shit,” Devree said.

  “That’s right,” Shimmer joined in from behind. “You can’t tell him shit. Go arrest the guy yourself if you want it so bad. We’re busy exercising our constitutional rights to self expression.”

  “Why don’t you take your other grandkids in the bathroom with you?” Francie said. “They can help with the arrest. Let them see what it’s like to try and enforce the laws around here when you can’t get any support.”

  20

  “HELP, MASTER, HELP! HERE’S A FISH hangs in the net, like a poor man’s right in the law.”

  “Ah, come on Luke,” Denny said. “For once in your life, please just say what you mean?”

  “Yeah, what the fuck are you talking about?” Shimmer demanded.

  “It’s a
quotation from Pericles, Prince of Tyre,” Luke said. Out of training now, Luke was working as a single officer unit and had responded to the radio call about a citizen’s arrest at the rally.

  “Jesus Holy Christ,” Shimmer exploded. “What kind of crazy shit are you talking now?”

  “I’m saying you’re screwing my roomie. Is that plain enough?” Luke spun around, turning his back on Shimmer to look his friend square in the eye. “Don’t get bullied into this thing. You know this is stupid, and you can’t afford to do anything stupid.”

  “Luke’s right,” Hartson told Denny as he stepped next to Shimmer. “This is definitely dumb. You should let the whole thing drop. So should the rest of these guys.” Hartson, off-duty, had attended the rally to participate in the picketing.

  “What do you mean, he’s right?” Shimmer insisted. “You don’t even know what the fuck he said.”

  “He said you’re using his friend as your chump,” Hartson answered. “He said that clear as day and you’d have heard it if your head wasn’t shoved so far up your ass.”

  Luke nodded in thanks for Hartson’s support.

  “Bullshit! Bullshit! Bullshit! And more bullshit.” Shimmer bellowed the bullshits as he looked about for support from the crowd of officers surrounding them. “I’m not using nobody. This is bigger than our beef with the Mayor. We all seen the battery on Denny. This is about a crime.” He looked around again and got signs of approval as several heads nodded. “Goddson can’t get away with this shit just because he works for City Hall.”

  “If you all saw it, and this battery thing is so important, why don’t you guys make the pinch?” Luke said. “I can carry Denny as the victim on the case report, but one of you geniuses can make the citizen’s arrest and ride the heat.”