Tales of River City

by Frank Zafiro

  “You have his property?” Jeff asked me.

  I nodded and retrieved the plastic bag from the front seat while the three of them walked Heiser into the booking area.

  The actual booking went quickly and with a minimum of backtalk from Heiser, even when I read the details of his warrant to him. I’d hoped to have a few minutes to chat with Jeff, but Arnie kept him busy the whole time. I completed my paperwork, retrieved my handcuffs and my pistol, and returned to patrol.

  Dispatch nabbed me immediately and sent me on a neighborhood dispute. The address, 1119 West Prudence, seemed like one I should know. When I parked up the street and walked to the house, the same sense of vague familiarity struck me. That’s what I get after thirteen years of patrol—ghosts on every block.

  I knocked on the door.

  A woman in her fifties answered, her face twisted in a sneer. “Well, it’s about goddamn time! I’ve been waiting for over an hour.”

  I gave her my automatic reply. “Sorry you had to wait, ma’am. I just got the call from dispatch about three minutes ago.”

  “Good thing I wasn’t choking to death,” the woman snapped back.

  I pressed my lips together, then relaxed and forced myself to smile at her. “Good thing.” I removed my pen and notebook from my shirt pocket. “Can I get your name, ma’am?”

  “Oh, for Chrissakes, how many times are you people going to ask for the same stupid information? I already gave it twice!”

  “Not to me.”

  Her eyes narrowed at me. “Oh, so you’re something special, then?”

  I shook my head. “No, ma’am. I am just the one who is going to help you with your problem.”

  She sighed. “Fine. Evelyn Masters.”

  That’s when it hit me. I’d been on another call with her, years and years ago. Some kind of neighborhood dispute. She was the same way back then, even pointing out that her husband worked for—

  “You know, my husband used to work for the county.”

  I bit back a grin. “Really?”

  She nodded adamantly. “Yes, he did. And don’t you think that just because he’s passed on that there aren’t people I can call to—”

  “Ma’am, this is the city.”

  Her nostrils flared. “I know this is the city. Are you being some kind of smartass?”

  “Look, we can come back to your personal information. Why don’t you tell me what I can help you with?”

  She glared at me for another second, then snapped her arm outward and pointed to the street. “That is the problem.”

  I followed her finger. A dark blue Honda sat at the curb directly in front of the house. The windows were tinted and a spoiler adorned the back end of the car. None of the windows were broken out, so I didn’t imagine the vehicle had been prowled. Stolen, maybe?

  “What’s wrong with it?” I asked her.

  “What’s wrong is that it is there. In front of my house. In my spot.”

  “Where’s your car?”

  “None of your business!”

  I leaned back in surprise. I’d had just about enough of this woman. “Listen, Mrs. Masters, I’m not here so you can yell at me. If you want my help, just tell me, but don’t yell—”

  “I just did tell you! I want that car towed!”

  I glanced at the car again. It was legally parked and not blocking any driveways. “Why should it be towed?”

  “You really are stupid,” she snapped at me. “It's in front of my house, that’s why.”

  I lowered my voice. “If you yell at me or call me stupid again, Mrs. Masters, I am leaving and listing this as a nuisance, do-not-respond call. Do you understand me?”

  She snorted in disdain, but crossed her arms and remained quiet.

  “As far as the car goes, it’s legally parked. I can’t tow it.”

  “It’s in front of my house!”

  “So it is. But you don’t own the street.”

  “Then where am I supposed to park?”

  I shrugged. “Wherever you legally can.”

  “Oh, this is just ridiculous! How stupid are you people?”

  I clenched my jaw and gave her a strained grin. “I warned you. Have a safe afternoon.”

  I turned and strode away, ignoring her screams. After a few moments, she slammed the front door.

  I cleared the call “one-David”—officer handled, no report—and made a note in the computer regarding the disposition. I added a tag that listed Evelyn Masters as uncooperative and resisted the urge to hang the label of anti-police on her.

  I cruised around East Central, watching the ebb and flow of the neighborhood life. The population was largely poor white and black, living in one- and two-bedroom houses. Many were supplemented by welfare and food stamps and yet, in two out of three instances, the living room sported a big-screen TV that they were renting by the week at forty-three percent interest.

  A rusted out Ford truck busted the four-way stop at Fifth and Haven and I made a traffic stop. The driver, an unshaven man in his fifties, was a self-employed hauler on his way to the next dump job. I gave him a warning and cut him loose.

  Another twenty minutes passed without incident. I drove slowly, and wondered if I was going to miss patrol once I was in the detectives’ office. Patrol subsisted on a constant element of uncertainty, and that kept things interesting. Then again, I knew I wouldn’t miss dealing with the likes of Evelyn Masters.

  My computer beeped. I glanced down and read the screen.

  From C257/Hey, doll…join us for lunch?

  C257 was Anthony Giovanni. “Us” probably meant him, Bates, and Ridgeway. Since I came onto day shift, they’d adopted me like a little sister. Sometimes it was nice and other times it was a pain in the ass, but I knew they had good intentions. Well, mostly. Gio pestered me to go out with him a few times, but he eventually got used to the idea that I didn’t date coworkers. I did it once a long time ago and it turned out to be a disaster.

  Gio was the closest person to my own age, and he was a little past forty. Still looked twenty-eight, though, and probably never would get married.

  Look who’s talking.

  I tapped the keys one-handed while driving.

  To C257/Sure. Where?

  A reply came back almost immediately.

  From C257/David’s Pizza

  I considered sending him a message back and complimenting him on how fast he could type one-handed, but I’d heard that Lieutenant Hart in Internal Affairs periodically screened the computer messages. I didn’t need any trouble messing up my promotion.

  I typed back, To C257/En route, hit send and pointed my car toward David’s. When I arrived, the other three were already crowded around a small table.

  “Hey, doll,” Gio said.

  I pantomimed reaching for my gun. “I told you I’d shoot you the next time you called me that.”

  He raised his hands in surrender. “Sorry, sweetheart. It won’t happen again.”

  I rolled my eyes at him and sat down.

  “Thanks for taking that dickhead to jail for me earlier,” Bates said. He already had a cup of coffee in front of him, as did Ridgeway. Gio drank Coke.

  “No problem.”

  “He give you any lip?”

  “Not any more than usual.”

  “How far from the house was it before he called you a dyke?”

  I shrugged. “About as far as the odometer reset.”

  Bates nodded. “I figured. When guys like that give up that easy, you just know they’re gonna run their sucks afterward.”

  “No big deal. I played a little of God’s music for him on the way to jail.”

  Bates chuckled. “Now, see, I woulda figured he’d hate country.”

  Mark Ridgeway glanced at his watch and jotted the time on the napkin in front of him. Then he keyed his radio. “Charlie-251, 254, 257 and 259 will be out signal seven at Sharp and Hamilton.”

  The radio was silent for a moment. I suppressed a smile. Ever since the computers went
in the cars about five years ago, dispatch wanted us to check out for non-emergency activities on the computer. Ridgeway had over twenty-five years on the job, though, dating back to when radio handled everything, and he wasn’t about to change, especially not so near to retirement.

  Finally, the ruffled dispatcher called back. “Copy.”

  “You should use the computer,” Gio said.

  “Screw the computer,” Ridgeway growled. “Let her do her job.”

  Gio shrugged. “I’m just saying. You piss off radio and pretty soon you’re shagging all the shit calls.”

  “I thought they saved those calls for guys that date ’em and dump ’em.”

  “That, too,” Gio agreed. “It’s a woman thing.” He looked over at me. “Right, Katie?”

  Like I should know. I’m not a dispatcher. “Sure,” I told him. “Just like being an asshole is a man thing.”

  “Exactly,” Gio said, totally missing my point. He gestured to Ridgeway. “See?”

  Ridgeway grunted.

  I ordered a salad and a slice of pizza and a Diet Coke to go with it.

  “You know that pizza still has the same number of calories in it whether you eat it with a salad or drink the Diet Coke with it, right?” Gio asked.

  I blinked stupidly and tilted my head. “No, Gio,” I said in my best ditzy blonde voice. “I didn’t know that. You’re so smart and sexy, too. Hee-hee.”

  Ridgeway and Bates laughed. Gio tried to scowl, but it broke into a chuckle.

  “I’m gonna miss you, MacLeod,” he said. “You bust balls with the best.”

  “Why you wanna go be a detective, anyway?” Bates asked. “Patrol is where it’s at.”

  “Can’t be the hours,” Ridgeway said. “You’ve got day shift already.”

  I shrugged. How about a normal life? “Something different, I guess.”

  All three men sort of nodded and shrugged at the same time.

  The food came and we ate. Lunch conversations were almost always the same. Calls we went on earlier, who’d landed in IA and why, what a prick Lieutenant Hart was, and anything else worthy of gossip. I’m sure the “who’s sleeping with whom” conversation came up at lunch when I wasn’t around, but thankfully, they skirted this one while I was present.

  Exactly thirty minutes after he checked us out, Ridgeway got on the radio and cleared all of us. The dispatcher came back with a weary “Copy.”

  “You still going to come for choir practice once in a while?” Gio asked, and this time his voice had none of the suave quality he used to charm people.

  “Sure,” I said, “if I know when and where you guys are going.”

  Bates laughed. “That’s easy. Always Friday. Always Duke’s.”

  Ridgeway nodded. “Consider it a standing invitation. You’re still one of us.”

  I felt a tightness in my chest and willed myself not to cry. “Thanks,” I answered, and took a sip of my Diet Coke. “I will.”

  “Sure you will,” Bates teased. He removed a toothpick from his pocket and picked between his teeth. “You’ll get into the dix office and pretty soon you’ll start to believe what all those weenies say about us patrol schlubs.”

  I shook my head. “Won’t happen.”

  “Everybody says that.”

  “I mean it.”

  Bates picked his teeth and said nothing.

  “You nervous?” Gio asked.

  I shrugged and sipped my drink. “A little. Something new, you know?”

  “You’ll do fine,” Ridgeway said. “Investigating a burglary is the same back there as it is out here. You’ve just got more time to do things back there.”

  “Like bust balls,” Gio said. “And along those lines….” He reached under the table and produced a small gift bag. “Ta-da!”

  I smiled cautiously. “What’d you do?”

  Gio shook his head. “Not me. All of us.”

  Bates and Ridgeway looked on, trying to hide grins.

  I lifted the bag, hoping it wasn’t a negligee or some sex toy. The bag was heavier than I expected. I peered inside. A blue felt box rested at the bottom. I glanced up. All three men were watching me.

  “Go ahead,” Gio urged.

  I lifted the felt box out of the bag. It was a little too big for jewelry. “Gio, if this is a gag and I get electrocuted—”

  “Relax, MacLeod. Just open the box.”

  I flipped open the top. Two large steel balls rested in the cut-away depressions. I stared at them for a minute, then looked over at Gio, Bates, and Ridgeway.

  “What…?”

  “We just figured you were such a good ball-buster that we didn’t want you getting soft back in the dix office,” Gio explained. “So these are for working out with while you’re sitting at your desk.”

  I grinned and shook my head. “You guys…”

  Gio nodded.

  “…you’re such…”

  Bates raised his eyebrows.

  “…assholes,” I finished.

  Ridgeway laughed. “That right there is why that’s a perfect present.”

  I closed the box and replaced it in the gift bag. “Thanks, guys.”

  Gio smiled. “You’re welcome, but it was Mark’s idea.”

  Ridgeway leaned forward slightly. “Believe it or not, rolling those things around in your hand can be relaxing.”

  “She knows that, Mark,” Gio said. “It’s not like she hasn’t done that before. She’s a grown woman.”

  Ridgeway ignored him. “It helps you concentrate, too. Figured you could use something like that back there through the looking glass.”

  “Thanks,” I said, a little softer.

  Ridgeway dipped his chin and returned to his coffee.

  “L-117 to C-259,” crackled all four of our radios.

  “What’s he want?” Gio wondered aloud.

  I waited for the other three to turn the volume down on their radios to avoid feedback, then I answered up. “C-259, go ahead.”

  “Location for contact?”

  All three immediately waved their arms and said, “No,” in subdued voices.

  I keyed the radio. “Saint Al’s?”

  “Copy. See you there in a few.”

  I slid my radio back into the holder. “What do you guys have against Sergeant Michaels?”

  All three stared at me like I was stupid and just shook their heads.

  I stood, reaching for my small money clip in my shirt pocket.

  “Don’t even think about it, MacLeod,” Ridgeway said. “I’ll be goddamned if any cop is gonna pay for lunch on his last day of patrol.”

  I smiled at him, partly because of the sentiment and partly because he probably didn’t realize what he’d just said. “Thanks, Mark.”

  He gave me a nod.

  I grabbed my gift bag and held it up in thanks to all three, then turned and headed out to my car. I resisted the temptation to look back and catch one or more of them watching my ass as I walked away. I didn’t want to ruin the moment.

  Sergeant Michaels waited in the empty parking lot of Saint Aloysius. I pulled my car in tight to his, stopping when our driver’s side windows lined up.

  “What’s up, Sarge?”

  Michaels' face was fat except for where it was creased by age. “You go on a call earlier today involving an Evelyn Masters?”

  Oh, great.

  “Yeah, I did.”

  “She wants to file a complaint against you.”

  Normally, my reaction would border somewhere between getting mad and calling it bullshit and saying “Who cares?” But with my promotion pending….

  “What’s she complaining about?”

  “Inadequate response. Says you didn’t help her, told her to shut up and walked away.”

  I snorted. “That’s not what happened.”

  “What did?”

  I took a deep breath. “She wanted a car moved from in front of her house, but it was legally parked, so I told her I couldn’t tow it. She kept yelling at me and callin
g me stupid.”

  “Did you tell her to shut up?”

  I thought about it. “I don’t think so. But I warned her that if she didn’t stop yelling and calling me names, I was going to leave.”

  “She didn’t stop, I take it?”

  I shook my head. “So I left.”

  Sergeant Michaels flipped open his steno notepad and made a few notes in it. “I wouldn’t worry about this, MacLeod. This woman’s kid is sixteen and already has two felony convictions. You’ll probably work cases on him back in the Dix Office.”

  “Are you shipping this to IA?” I asked. I wasn’t worried about it coming back as a founded complaint, but any pending IA complaints held up promotions.

  Sergeant Michaels shook his head. “Nah, I’ll handle this one.” He tipped me a wink. “If I sent it over to Hart, he’d sit on it a month just to screw with you.”

  I swallowed. “Thanks, Sarge.”

  “No sweat. I figured this old bat was just venting off, anyway.” He gave me a salute with two fingers. “That’s all, Detective.”

  I grinned in spite of myself. “Thanks,” I said, and pulled away.

  I headed south, crawling through downtown and up onto Cliff Drive. Several blocks later, I turned into a small parking lot. The lot was built right on the edge of the cliff and I nosed my car up to the curb. I stared out over River City, past the few modest skyscrapers, across the Looking Glass River, over the thick green blanket of trees in the residential zones, and to Mount Joseph in the distance. The clock in the dashboard read 3:11. A little less than two hours of patrol left to go. I wasn’t sure what would happen. It could be boring, or all hell might break loose. Maybe that’s what Bates meant when he said, “Patrol is where it’s at.”

  Maybe it was, but not for me. Not anymore. I needed a change. A chance at a normal life. Besides that, every street I drove down was full of memories. Everyone I spoke to seemed to be like Evelyn Masters. It was time to move on.

  I glanced down at the small blue felt box on the passenger seat and smiled. For all its toil and boredom, its biting cold and oppressive heat, its never-ending supply of bullshit calls and asshole suspects...some days, patrol could be its own little paradise.

  Three Days of Christmas

  First Day