Tales of River City

by Frank Zafiro

  “Try alleys,” Bates told him. The training officer fiddled with the buttons on his door. “And unlock my goddamn window. I’m burning up in here.”

  Romeo hit the window unlock and flipped a u-turn. Bates rolled down the window and hacked out a wad from his lungs.

  At the first alley, Romeo turned right and crawled down the narrow passage. He ignored two winos seated against the rear of the Laundromat door, sharing a bottle wrapped in brown paper. They returned the favor.

  When they reached the end of the alley, he checked both directions. No Antoine. He goosed the accelerator and zipped across the street and into the next alley and resumed crawling. Next to a dumpster behind a restaurant, another transient stood, urinating on the wall. Both officers ignored him.

  “He is one sly cat,” Bates said.

  Romeo wondered what he meant, using the word ‘cat.’ Before he had time to think about it, he saw a flash of yellow and Antoine turned the corner at the opposite end of the alley. He took two steps into the alley. Then, without breaking stride, he wheeled around walked back out, disappearing the way he’d come.

  “There he is!” Bates pointed. “Go!”

  Romeo punched the gas before the words were all the way out of Bates’s mouth. In three seconds, he reached the mouth of the alley and slowed. Up the street, already almost a half block away, Antoine walked at a rapid pace.

  They were on him in another two seconds, pulling up along the curb and stopping just behind him. Romeo jammed the car into park and got out of the patrol car, but Bates was already at the front tire.

  “Hey, Antoine!” he shouted. “Come back here!”

  Antoine slowed and turned reluctantly. A bored, slightly put out expression was plastered on his face. “What the fuck, Officer B? I ain’t done shit.”

  “Come over here,” Bates directed him.

  Antoine rolled his eyes and sauntered toward them.

  Bates pointed at Romeo. “Talk to my partner here,” he said.

  Antoine turned his gaze to Romeo. “Partner? Shit.”

  “Take your hands out of your pockets,” Romeo ordered.

  Antoine removed his hands in an exaggerated motion, reminiscent of his earlier encounter with Vickers.

  Romeo pointed to the push-bar at the front of the patrol car. “Stand there.”

  Antoine gave him a look, shook his head and swaggered to the front of the car. “Partner, huh? Dat’s bullshit, Officer B. Nigga is a fucking Rookie, dat’s what he is.”

  Romeo tensed at the epithet, but chose to ignore it.

  Antoine took up his position at the front of the car and crossed his arms. “Whachoo want, Rookie?”

  Romeo could sense Bates standing on his side of the car, watching them both. He met Antoine’s condescending gaze with his best professional stare. “I just wanted to introduce myself.”

  Antoine cocked his head at him, then glanced over at Bates. “What’s dis, B? Social hour?”

  Romeo watched Bates expression and saw that the veteran wasn’t sure what he was doing. He didn’t care. Romeo McClaren listened and he learned. His Moms taught him that.

  “I wanted to tell you something else, too,” he said.

  “What’s dat?”

  “That you owe me one.”

  Antoine looked him up and down, then back over at Bates. “Nigga is crazy, B. I’m telling you. Where you get dese muthafuckas, anyway? Boy is big and all, but he don’t look too smart, at all, you feel me?”

  Bates didn’t reply, only watched and waited.

  “Don’t talk to him,” Romeo said. “Talk to me.”

  “Talk to you?” Antoine repeated. “Talk to you? Man, fuck you, nigga.” He jabbed his index finger in Romeo’s direction to punctuate his words.

  Romeo moved quickly, stepping toward Antoine and grabbing onto his arm at the wrist and elbow. In one fluid motion, he cranked the arm and planted Antoine face-first into the hood of the cruiser.

  “Motherfuck,” Antoine grunted. “Dis is police brutality, bitch.”

  Romeo leaned down and spoke quietly. “No, it isn’t. You haven’t seen anything close to police brutality. Not yet.”

  Antoine’s eyes widened and his nostrils flared, but he said nothing.

  “Like I was saying,” Romeo continued. “You owe me one, and I’ll tell you why. I’ve been watching you sell your weed for the last hour. I got six contacts on you and I’ve got them all on videotape. My camera’s got a zoom lens and I’ve got you labeled.”

  “Bullshit,” Antoine said, weakly.

  “It’s true,” Romeo insisted. “You know it and I know it. I could take you in for delivery of a controlled substance right now if I wanted to. And you aren’t a juvenile any more, so the judge would drop a load on you.”

  Antoine didn’t reply.

  “All that ‘I’m a poor street kid’ rap won’t work anymore, Antoine. You get the full five years at Walla Walla.”

  “Ain’t no judge giving five years for chronic.”

  “Not for possession. And not for some piss ant case selling it, either.” Romeo increased the pressure on Antoine’s arm and pressed the dealer’s face hard into the hood. “But I’ve got six contacts. And six license plates, all on videotape. You think that when we go arrest those potheads you sold to, they won’t roll over on you in a heartbeat?”

  Antoine looked around wildly for escape.

  Romeo pushed down harder, making the dealer grunt. “I’ve got you cold,” he said. “But I’m going to let you go.” Then he released him.

  Antoine snapped upright and glared at Romeo. He rubbed his wrist and then his cheek before turning to Bates. “What the fuck, B?”

  “His play,” Bates grunted back.

  Antoine returned his gaze to Romeo. “Whachoo mean, let me go?”

  “I don’t care about weed, Antoine. I care about crack. I care about heroin.”

  “What the fuck I care whachoo care about?”

  “Because you’re going to make sure I get lots of it. Make my boss happy.”

  Antoine’s eyes narrowed. “I ain’t no snitch.”

  “No, but you’re a businessman. You play your cards right and you get rid of some competition.”

  Antoine sniffed condescendingly and regarded him. “How I know you and yo’ other cops don’t roust me when I’m working?”

  Romeo shrugged. “You don’t. But it beats knowing we will.”

  Antoine stared hard at him for a long moment. Then he said, “Yeah, fine. I give the word when I know, a’right?”

  “Tomorrow.”

  “What?”

  “Tomorrow,” Romeo said. “I’ll pull up and make it look like I’m hassling you. You can tell me details while I’m patting you down.”

  “Fuck,” Antoine muttered, then nodded. “Yeah, okay.”

  Romeo nodded back. “That’s it, then.”

  Antoine looked up and down and shook his head. “Look at you,” he said, “All dressed up yo’ Gestapo shit. Fuckin’ shame when a brutha throws in against his own kind.”

  Romeo didn’t bite.

  Antoine turned and sauntered away, swinging his legs and bobbing his upper body to show as much contempt as he could.

  Romeo looked over at Bates. The training officer gave him a cool look.

  “Why didn’t you arrest him?”

  “Let me ask you something,” Romeo said. “If I cuffed him and searched him and found no dope at all, what would happen to the case?”

  Bates shrugged. “He’d go to jail.”

  “But not prison.”

  “Not a chance. But we know he’s holding.”

  Romeo turned and walked away, re-tracing Antoine’s steps down the block. He checked a public garbage can and looked under two parked cars, but found nothing.

  Bates watched on, and when he glanced at the veteran over his shoulder, he saw Antoine watching from the corner.

  Romeo spotted a pile of bricks against the wall. He nudged them with the toe of his boot, pushing them aside. Unde
rneath were five tightly rolled baggies of marijuana.

  He reached down and picked them up off the ground and held them up for Bates to see. Antoine turned and ducked around the corner.

  Back at the patrol car, Romeo handed the dope to Bates.

  “He dumped it, huh?”

  Romeo nodded.

  “How’d you know?”

  “You told me.”

  Bates gave him a confused look.

  Romeo shrugged. “I just listened to what you told me about him. And I knew he’d dump the stuff once he saw us.”

  Bates gave him a strange look. “You just knew,” he repeated flatly.

  “Yeah. That’s why I didn’t arrest him.”

  “But you rolled him, anyway?”

  Romeo smiled. “I think it was the part about the videotape that did it.”

  Bates shook his head. “Unbelievable,” he muttered and got into the car.

  Romeo joined him, closing the door and glancing across at the veteran. “What’s the matter?”

  Bates chuckled. “Nothing,” he said. “Let’s go put this shit on the property book, Rook.”

  Romeo McClaren smiled and put the car in gear, feeling a little more like an old bull.

  Take a Hand

  “Dad? I need help.”

  The voice on the other end of the telephone line was tremulous, on the edge of frantic. He sounded like a little boy who somehow got in over his head but was still playing at being big, which was usually the case.

  “Andy? What’s wrong?” I asked him. “Are you all right?”

  He laughed. He might have been trying for sarcasm, but all that came out was a nervous, forced sound. “Oh, yeah. I’m fine.”

  “What’s the matter?”

  “I’m at the hospital.”

  A stab of fear hit me in the gut. “Are you hurt?”

  “Not bad. Just beat up. Trevor’s worse.”

  “Who’s Trevor?”

  “My best friend.”

  I pressed my lips together and suppressed a sigh. “I didn’t know.”

  “Yeah, well there’s a lot you don’t know.”

  That wasn’t a conversation I wanted to have over the phone. “Which hospital?”

  “Sacred Heart,” he replied.

  “I’ll come get you.”

  He was waiting outside the ER when I pulled up. I reached across and unlocked the passenger door of my truck and he slid in. The blond tips of his black hair hung past his collar and covered his eyes.

  He slammed the door and cast a sideways glance at me. “Thanks,” he muttered, pushing his hair out of his face.

  “Sure,” I answered. He looked thinner than the most recent picture I had of him. His mother’s features dominated his face, especially in his large, blue eyes and thin, elfish nose. A large, purple bruise spread across his left cheek and a small bandage covered a cut on his chin.

  My eyes narrowed. He had my chin. I’d never noticed before.

  I drove and said nothing.

  After a few blocks, he cleared his throat. “I—I didn’t know who else to call.”

  “It’s all right,” I told him. “You did the right thing.”

  He scowled and looked away.

  I turned into a diner and parked. “Let’s get some coffee.”

  Inside, I waited until the waitress had filled both cups and walked away before asking, “What’s going on?”

  Andy stared down at his coffee and shifted in his seat.

  “What kind of trouble are you in?” I asked him, my stomach uneasy.

  He sipped his coffee and looked away. I stared at the bruise on his cheek.

  “Andy, I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me.”

  His jaw clenched.

  “You called me—”

  His eyes snapped to mine. “Yeah, well maybe that was a mistake.”

  I shrugged. “That’s for you to decide. Do you want my help or not?”

  He regarded me for a long moment over the top of the table. I saw anger and hurt in his eyes over all the missed birthdays and Christmases, but mostly I saw fear. Finally, he sighed and looked back at his coffee.

  “We screwed up,” he mumbled.

  “How?”

  He glanced up. “Is it true you retired?”

  “Yeah, late last year. Why?”

  “Because this shit that happened ain’t all exactly legal.”

  “What happened?”

  He took another drink of coffee. When he put it down, he drew in a deep breath and let it out. “Trevor and I got jumped by some guys.”

  “What guys?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Why’d they jump you?”

  “Because we had some stuff they wanted, I guess.”

  “Stuff?”

  He looked right and left and then leaned forward. “Yeah—stuff.”

  I cocked my head at him. “Green stuff or white stuff?”

  He licked his dry, cracked lips. “White.”

  “Heroin or coke?”

  He motioned at me with his palms to quiet down and looked around again. “People can hear you.”

  “So? Unless you have it on you right now, no one can do anything.”

  Andy leaned forward and spoke in a hushed voice. “I wish I did have it on me right now. That’s the problem.”

  I sat back and looked at my son, forcing myself to use my cop eyes. I’d tried hard to shed them when I retired, but the truth is that you can never lose them and you can never turn them off. Sometimes, like right now, it helped answer questions. Most times, though, it was a curse.

  I turned those eyes on him. He was thin. Too thin. And twitchy. His hair looked dried out, like weeds in late August. On his neck, I saw a couple of red sores.

  “It was Meth, wasn’t it?”

  He shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. What matters is that it’s gone.”

  “You’re going to have to explain things a little better.”

  He licked his lips again. “Look, I promised a guy I could score him some good shit. He fronted me the cash. Trevor and I went to our connection and bought up as much as we could with the front money. On our way back to Trevor’s apartment, we got jumped. They took all our stuff. So now we’re out the money and the merchandise.”

  “And your guy is going to want one or the other.”

  “Yeah, exactly.”

  “How soon?”

  He shrugged. “Maybe a day before he gets too antsy to put off.”

  “Who is this guy?”

  “Nobody.”

  “Andy—”

  “It don’t matter,” he said. “What matters is I’ve got to figure a way out of this mess and I need you to help me.”

  “How?”

  “I need to find out who took my stuff and get it back.”

  “Andy, you’re asking me to go steal back dope that someone stole from you. Think about that. I was a cop for twenty-one years—”

  “Yeah, I know!” he snapped. “Mom and me know all about how you were a cop for however many fucking years, all right? That’s how come you didn’t come see me, ain’t it?”

  I shook my head. “I didn’t come around your Mom because of what she was into. And you—”

  “Funny,” he said, “because it sure felt like you weren’t coming to see me.”

  The waitress arrived and refilled our cups. Andy glared at me across the table. When she walked away, he leaned forward again. “I don’t even know why I called you. I guess I figured—”

  “You figured I could help,” I finished for him.

  He nodded slightly and then shrugged. “It was stupid.”

  “No,” I said. “It was the right thing to do. I’ll help.”

  “You will?” His eyebrows rose and the corners of his mouth relaxed.

  I nodded.

  He took a deep breath and let it out. “Thanks.”

  “On one condition.”

  His eyes narrowed warily. “Condition?”

  “You go into rehab. Get
clean.”

  He snorted and looked away.

  “I’m serious, Andy. You have a drug problem, and if you want my help—that’s the price.”

  He shook his head. “The only drug problem I have is that someone stole my drugs and the guy who fronted me the money is going to kill me over it. Now, are you going to help me or not?”

  “What’s your mother say about all this?”

  He met my gaze, disbelief in his eyes. “Man, you really are out of touch aren’t you? Who do you think put me in contact with this guy in the first place?”

  We sat in silence while I ground my teeth and mulled over what he’d said. I’d known that Maureen fell into a partying crowd after our divorce, but I didn’t figure it went past some recreational use. If it’d become anything more serious, I’d have heard about it from the other guys on patrol. Still, if she was careful and never got caught—

  “Who’s the guy, Andy?”

  My son sucked on his teeth, ending with a clacking sound. It was a terrible habit that methamphetamine users all seemed to develop.

  “Why do you want to know? Why can’t we just stick on whoever jumped us and stole my stuff?”

  “Options,” I told him. “We need as many options as we can get.”

  He sighed, cursing under his breath. “It was Paco.”

  “Who’s he?”

  “Mom’s boyfriend.”

  My eyes widened. “Her boyfriend’s a drug dealer?”

  “Duh.”

  I sat in silence and steamed for a while, clenching my jaw. Maureen told the judge that I had a violent temper and that having the boy live with me would be an unsafe environment.

  Violent temper, my ass! If I was such a danger, how did I manage to stay on the job for so long? But Judge Petalski bought every conniving word of it and only allowed me one weekend a month of visitation. One lousy weekend. For the other twenty-eight days a month, Maureen spewed all kinds of poison about me to Andy. After a few months of her propaganda, Andy started vetoing the visitations. He was twelve. By the time he was fourteen, I didn’t know my son anymore.

  What a bitch. All high and mighty with the judge and using the system and our son to her advantage—she goes and turns the boy into a drug addict and shacks up with a dealer? I wanted to smash her face in.

  “Dad?”

  I looked at Andy. For a moment, he was twelve again, a scared little boy who needed me. “What?”