by Henry Hack
Jenkins hung up and said, “Julius Carver is one of my best cops. Pay attention and learn from him. Oh, and one important thing—there are rules and there are rules. The first set of rules are the Department ones, the ones you enforced in Internal Affairs and we as supervisors are expected to enforce here. Then there are the rules of the street. These are the rules that Police Officer Julius Carver knows very well. They are the rules of survival. Most times they run directly counter to the Department’s rules. Are you getting my drift, Sergeant Becker?”
“I believe I am, sir,” Rita said remembering Harry’s throat-grabbing of bartender Richie Winston and his strong belief that you had to rule your beat with an iron fist.
“Good. When Officer Carver arrives I will ask you to step out of the office for a few minutes so I can speak with him alone.”
“No problem, sir,” Rita said with a smile. “Guess you have to prepare him for dumping someone like me in his lap.”
Jenkins smiled back. “Something like that, Sergeant.”
When Police Officer Julius Carver entered the boss’s office, he almost filled the door frame. He was big and he was black—a dark coffee color—and he was not smiling. Jenkins introduced them and then asked Rita to leave. Ten minutes later, a frowning, obviously perturbed Julius Carver came out of Jenkins office, looked at Rita and said, “Let’s go.” Then sarcastically, “I mean let’s go, Sergeant.”
Rita followed the big cop downstairs and out the back door of the stationhouse. Carver got into his patrol car and slid behind the wheel closing the door after him. He leaned over and said something to the cop sitting in the passenger’s seat. They spoke back and forth and the cop got out of the car, glared at Rita, slammed the door and stormed off toward the stationhouse. Rita noticed two things about him—he was white and he was big, almost as big as Julie. “Your partner, I assume,” Rita said, “and I also assume he’s pissed off at me for taking his seat.”
“He’ll get over it. Jenkins told me he’d give him a good detail while you’re with me. Denny will do just fine.”
“Denny?”
“Dennis O’Neill. Been my partner for four years. First time we’ll be separated.”
Rita got the feeling she had just broken up a marriage, but decided not to say anything. She eased into the deep depression in the seat just vacated by O’Neill wondering how the patrol car managed to move with the two huge cops in it. As she closed the door, Carver said, “Where do you wanna go?”
“How about a general tour of the whole precinct? Show me the boundaries and which precincts adjoin us.”
“Sure,” he said as he drove out onto the street. He reached into the ashtray and dug out a fat stump of a well-chewed cigar and stuck it in his mouth. Reaching for a lighter in his shirt pocket he said, “Mind if I smoke?”
The rules prohibited smoking in departmental vehicles and while in uniform at all times. Rita said, “No, but crack your window an inch or two.”
Carver lit up, cracked the window and drove on. Rita wondered if this were her first test and if she had passed it. They approached another patrol car on Jamaica Avenue and Carver said, “That’s Sector Boy with Hansen and Medina. Wanna scratch them?”
“Sure,” she said. “Got to meet everyone sooner or later.” After she introduced herself she took their memo books and “scratched” her signature, shield number, date and time on the appropriate line. It was her first street supervisory action and made her feel good.
They drove further west on the avenue and all of a sudden Julius braked hard. “I’ll be damned,” he said. “Dukie Greens out on the street before noon.”
“Who?”
“See the dude with the shades on standing in front of the Cozy Spot Bar?”
Rita looked across the avenue and said, “Yeah, the big guy all dressed up.”
“William Duke Greens thinks he is the biggest, baddest motherfuckin’ nigger in Jamaica, but he is sorely mistaken.”
Ignoring the profanity and racial comment Rita knew what she was expected to ask, so she did. “So tell me Julius, if Dukie is not the biggest, baddest motherfuckin’ nigger in Jamaica, who is?”
A big smile lit up Carver’s face and he said, “Why I is, of course, Sergeant.”
Had this been another test?
“That’s good to hear, Julius, but why is Dukie so bad?”
“Runs all the bad stuff in the precinct—broads, dope, numbers—you name it. If it’s illegal, Dukie’s behind it. But I’ll get him one day and he knows it.”
“Does Vice and Narctoics know about him?”
“Of course, but he’s very slippery. Can’t remember the last time a vice cop got propositioned by one of Dukie’s gals. And no undercover cop, that I know of, ever conned his way into Dukie’s dope or gambling operations. So that leaves me.”
“You?”
“Yeah, me and all the other cops in the precinct, but mainly me. My mission is to take him down.”
“How long have you been trying?”
“’Bout five years.”
Carver drove slowly past Dukie and glared at him. It was hard to see behind his shades to see if Dukie glared back. “You going to roust him?” Rita asked.
“Would you have a problem if I did?”
“Not at all.”
“I’d love to. Done it a hundred times. And a hundred times, he’s been clean. He gets more satisfaction out of it than I do. But I’ve been getting to him, I know I have.”
“How so?”
“Been locking up as many of his people as I can. So have the other cops. I think we’re beginning to annoy him. He looks at me with real hatred now because he knows I’m behind it. Last confrontation he almost threatned me, but bit his lip and swallowed it.”
“And if you push too hard, Julius, will he take a shot at you?”
“Motherfucker wouldn’t dare.”
As the day shift turned into nights, Rita didn’t know if she was impressing Julius Carver or not, but he was certainly impressing her. His ghetto speech was just part of the Job and he easily switched to what he laughingly called “white folks talk” when the occasion arose. Then, during their third week together, on the midnight tours, two things occurred which pleased Julius Carver immensely. At the boring time of five-thirty a.m. on a quiet tour, for want of anything else to say, Rita asked about Julius’s family. After he told her of his wife of fourteen years and three good kids, he asked her about hers. She said, “I have a boyfriend. We’re getting married in the spring.”
“What’s he do for a living?”
“Take a guess,” she said with a smile.
“Well for a college-educated JAP, you probably got yourself hooked up to a Jewish doctor or lawyer.”
“Wrong, Julius. He’s a cop. An Irish-German Roman Catholic cop.”
“You’re kidding me!”
“Nope, he’s a sergeant in the Eight-Three.”
“What’s his name?”
“Harry. Harry Cassidy.”
“Cassidy? Hopalong-fucking-Cassidy?”
“That’s him, but very few people know the Hopalong thing.”
“Sh-e-e-it! Hoppy and I came on the Job together. We sat next to each other in the Academy. You know, Carver, Cassidy, Catalano, Caulfield…”
“Small world,” Rita said.
“You tell Hoppy Big Julie gave him a big hello, okay?”
“I certainly will.”
“You got yourself a helluva catch there, Sergeant Becker. A good cop and a good man.”
“So maybe I have good judgment?”
“Now let’s not get carried away. I have not come to that conclusion about you yet.” But Big Julie was smiling when he said that.
The second thing happened during a visit to another one of Dukie’s joints—The Black Horse Bar. After chatting up a couple of prostitutes on the street they got out of the car and Carver said, “Keep an eye on my vehicle ladies while we check out your boss’s place.”
One of the ladies said, “He ain’t
in there, but if you see him tonight smack him upside the head with your stick.”
Julius looked closer at her and noticed the black eye. He said, “Dukie getting rough with you girls, Janie?”
“Getting to be a nasty bastard,” Veronica chimed in.
Rita and Julius strode into the crowded bar and the place immediately went silent. Rita took the premise license from the window to check its expiration date and Julius scanned the crowd looking for wanted felons. As Rita turned, one of the patrons who obviously had one too many drinks said, “Lookee here! Big Julie look like he startin’ his own stable of ho’s!”
Rita looked at Julius and he nodded slightly. This was a pre-arranged signal that meant, “Do what you have to do.” Julius had told her right in the beginning of their time together to “do as he does.” He had said, “If I talk ghetto, you talk ghetto. If I talk white and polite, you talk white and polite. Don’t hit no one until I do, then bang away, and don’t pull your gun unless I do. But if you want to take some sort of action first, just look me in the eyes and watch my face. If I nod, do it. If I shake my head, don’t. Did you get all that?”
Rita had gotten all that and now had gotten the nod from Julie. She withdrew her nightstick from the ring holder on her belt and walked over to the still grinning comedian and whacked him—hard—in the balls bringing the stick up with two hands between his legs. The grin disappeared and the joker sank immediately to the floor. There were a few gasps from the crowd. Rita then rapped him on his head with the stick—not too hard—and stood over him. “Got anything else to say, motherfucker?”
He groaned a “no” and Rita stood up and looked around the room. “Anyone else in here got a comment?”
Not a word was spoken. Rita said, “Find any wanted scumbags, Officer Carver?”
“Not a one, Sergeant,” he said.
“Then let’s get out of this stinkhole. It smells so bad I thought for sure Dukie Greens was in here.”
Julius had to turn away so Rita couldn’t see the huge grin spread over his big face.
Rita had not told Harry any happenings of her first couple weeks in the Eight-Three. She knew he was always worried about her on those “mean streets” of Jamaica. When he asked, all she said was that everything was going fine, she worked with a good bunch of cops and bosses and it was foolish of him to worry. But when she told him that Julius Carver was driving her for a short time, Harry was ecstatic. “Big Julie! We came on the Job together!”
“I know, ‘Carver, Cassidy, Catalano, Caulfield…’ You sat next to each other.”
“Yeah, a real good guy. You pay attention to what he tells you. He’s a helluva street cop, Julie is.”
“Aye, aye, Sergeant. I certainly will.”
And when she had first mentioned Harry to Julie, in addition to requesting she say hello, he had said, “No wonder you’re doing so good. You have a great teacher right there at home.” It was the first compliment uttered by Julius and all she had said was “thanks.” Then she added, “Julie, I don’t ask Harry a thing. He hates that I am out here on the street. You taught me what I know out here, so if I’m doing good, it’s your teaching that’s doing it.”
Julie just grunted and stuck a cigar in his mouth.
After the four weeks were up and Rita was about to go into a normal rotation, Julius Carver said, “It was good to work with you, Sarge. I’ll tell the boss and the rest of the cops that Big Julie thinks you’re a stand-up boss. You should do fine.”
“Thanks, Julie. All the credit goes to you. You are a great teacher who knows all the Rules. Now that you’re rid of me, go get that fucking Dukie Greens. I’ll be right there with you.”
10
On Halloween Rita and Harry’s schedule finally coincided and they were off a full day together. When Harry realized this a week ago he had asked Rita if he could arrange it, would she join him in visiting his children in Pennsylvania. She readily agreed, and after he confirmed the visit with Peggy he said to Rita, “We could stop at the Viceroy Diner for a good breakfast and maybe say hello to Father Tom at St. Vincent’s. Then it’s three and a half hours to Pennsylvania to be there when the girls get home from school and into their Halloween costumes.”
“Is this going to be a nostalgia tour?” she asked.
“Something like that,” he said.
Halloween developed into a beautiful autumn day and the mellow sun warmed them as they entered the door to the Viceroy Diner. Teddy Stavros and the aromas of frying bacon and sausage greeted them and Teddy escorted them to a booth.
“Don’t yell at me for not coming around sooner Teddy, but…”
“That’s okay, Harry,” he said. “I’m glad you’re both here now. Are you hungry for one of my big breakfasts?”
“Yes, we are,” Rita said. “We’re famished.”
“Wonderful. Let me take your order and I will personally supervise its preparation.”
When they stuffed the last morsels of omelets, the last bit of bacon and the last home fried potato into their mouths, Teddy poured them fresh coffee, then poured one for himself and sat down next to Harry. They had a long chat about the good old days when Harry walked the beat, but eventually it was time to leave. Harry said, “We’re going to stop and see Father Tom before heading to Pennsylvania.”
“Ah, please say hello to the good priest for me,” Teddy said.
“I certainly will, old friend.”
They said good-bye to Teddy at the door and his parting words were, “May God watch over the both of you.”
Ten minutes later they were in the priest’s quarters of St. Vincent’s asking the tough old Irish housekeeper if they might see Father Tom. She squinted at a letter on her desk and without looking up asked her standard question in her standard haughty manner, “Do you have an appointment?”
“No, ma’am. It’s Harry Cassidy to see him. Do you remember me?”
She looked up and…smiled! “Of course, Sergeant, I’ll tell him you’re here. And you…?”
“I’m Sergeant Becker, Rita Becker.”
“Yes, yes, Father Tom mentioned he met you. Just a moment, I’ll tell him you’re here.”
She walked briskly down the hall and Rita said, “Wow, she really perked up when you said your name. I thought you said she was a nasty old biddy.”
“I had to get shot to get the old bitch to smile at me.”
“Harry! You’re in a house of worship!”
“No, that’s the building next door. I can swear in here.”
“Go right in,” the housekeeper said when she returned, still with a big smile on her face.
“Coffee’s coming down,” Father Tom said when they entered his office. “Got some donuts around somewhere—just what you cops like, right?”
“Bad joke, Tom,” Harry said. “And an old one, too. Stick to what you do best, please.”
“And what do I do best, might I ask?”
“Save souls, of course.”
“And have I saved yours, Sergeant Cassidy?”
“That you have, dear Father.”
“Is that true, Rita? Is he saved?”
“No, Father, he’s incorrigible.”
“I’m afraid you’re going to have to handle that one yourself. It’s not on my list of sins.”
“Are you two finished?” Harry asked.
They just smiled at him, so he hugged the priest and said, “Good morning, Tom. How the hell are you?”
“You’re right, Rita. He is incorrigible.”
They drank the coffee, but passed on the donuts explaining that they had just eaten at the Viceroy. “Teddy says hello,” Harry said.
“And how is Mr. Stavros these days?”
“Still the salt of the earth,” Harry said.
“And you two? Any plans in your future?”
“I told you he was a mind reader, Rita. Didn’t I?”
“Yes, Father,” Rita said, “and we would like you to be part of those plans. Would you officiate jointly with Rabbi Taub at
our wedding next spring?”
“Of course! Congratulations to both of you! Harry could always use two blessings.”
“So could I,” Rita said.
After they finished their coffee they said good-bye to Father Tom and drove west toward Pennsylvania, happily thinking of their future life together.
They arrived at two in the afternoon and pulled into the driveway of a modest ranch house set far apart from its neighbors. Peggy’s parents were happily enjoying life in their two-bedroom townhouse in a nearby senior community, and Peggy found this house at a good price about a month later. It was located five miles from her parent’s place and six miles from downtown Allentown where Peggy had already gotten a substitute teaching job with the promise of a full-time position in January. They knocked on the front door and Peggy answered right away and welcomed them inside. “It’s good to see you both,” she said. “How were my directions?”
“Perfect,” Harry said, “and you’re really not far from the interstate.”
“It’s a good location and close to my parents. I invited them to join us for dinner.”
“Peg, you didn’t have to do that. We didn’t expect you to cook for us. We could all go out to dinner.”
“Nonsense, I have a roast beef ready to go in the oven, but what can I get you two now? A drink? Coffee? Something to eat?”
“Nothing for me,” Rita said.
“Just coffee for me.” Harry said. “We had a huge breakfast just before we left and a little something on the road.”
“You look so much better than the last time I saw you. Are you fully recovered?”
“Yes, I am, and I have to thank Rita a lot for that.”
“And what magic did you work, Rita?” she asked.
“Basically just changed his diet from coffee, cigarettes and scotch to a healthier one consisting of beer, pizza and cheeseburgers.”
Peggy laughed and said, “No change at all there. It must be something else.”
“It was,” Harry said.. “Without going into the details, Rita got me through the mental anguish that started after I got shot. I owe her big time for that.”