See, one of the unique downfalls of the Charleston area is all the beautiful old historic buildings in the city. There’s a ton of scenic parks and green spaces, along with a whole mess of history and culture and other crap. You mix all that stuff together in one place, and invariably it becomes a perfect formula for attracting all those “alternative lifestyle” types. Now I’ve never been particularly bothered by the huge number of art galleries or all the high-end gift boutiques that seem to spring up out of nowhere, but the blatant homosexual cruising and illicit casual hookups were another matter entirely. Since there’s only one or two openly acknowledged gay bars within the city limits, public places like the Battery and Waterfront Park have always been treated as unofficial meat markets by dudes in search of a fifteen-minute love affair. It’s all done in pretty poor taste, if you ask me.
I shuddered at the thought of the heinous acts I might have had to witness if I’d shown up just five minutes later, but quickly shook off my disgust. Armed with my best game face, I quickly marched forward to deal with the situation. These two lovebirds were in my beat so at the moment they were technically my problem, but there was no policy that said I couldn’t just set them walking a couple blocks further south. Once they stepped off the curb at South Adger’s Wharf, those dudes would have to face the wrath of Team Two’s rookie patrol cops. With that stroke of genius in mind I quickly closed the gap, coming to a halt about ten yards away. The distance was just close enough for us to chat comfortably, but still far enough away that I couldn’t honestly testify to seeing any petty contraband they might have had. I called out to them with my sternest voice of authority, “I’m sorry folks, but the park’s closed. I’m going to have to ask you two to leave.”
The white dude stood up first, giving me a quick nod of friendly submission. As his face came into the full light of the gas lantern overhead, I felt a surprise at seeing none other than Duke Regan in front of me. It was simply unbelievable! I mean, everyone knew that those old-money society types had some odd character quirks and all, but I’d never for one minute pegged Regan to be a down-low queer. Judging by how fast he stood up, though, the dude was clearly looking to avoid the embarrassment that would have come from an adverse encounter with the cops. “Absolutely, Officer Larsen” he said. “It’s no trouble at all.”
I returned his nod, making sure to maintain my most professional bearing. It was a tough job, but laughing in his face would have only served to prolong the encounter. “Thank you, sir. I really appreciate your cooperation, especially in light of everything you went through yesterday.”
Regan nodded again, his chin moving up and down like a steady, rhythmic metronome. “Very unfortunate, yes. Cost of doing business, though. Mmm-hmm.”
I guess that getting caught in the act must have stripped away some of Regan’s usual arrogance, since he wasn’t nearly as chatty as he’d been the day before. It was actually kind of awkward to see him acting so polite, since humility wasn’t a trait that suited him. His young boyfriend must have been trying to compensate for this behavior, because the kid seized the opportunity to give me some lip. He looked me straight in the eye, with this false look of innocent confusion painted across his dark face. “But Officer, the sign out front says that the park is open until midnight.” He glanced down at his watch, some blingy-looking chrome number that probably would have set me back a month’s pay. “It’s only just now nine o’clock.”
Before I had the opportunity to remind the kid of his station in life, Regan stepped in and clapped a firm hand down on his companion’s shoulder. I felt my own shoulders shudder a little at that disgusting public display of affection. Now I’m no bigot, let me be clear on that— I’ve got absolutely no problem at all with homosexuals, just as long as I don’t have to be around them. Yeah, it was probably better for everyone concerned that Duke Regan seemed to be doing my job for me, even if the dude did happen to be a closet chickenhawk. “Come, Antoine” he said in this soft, sugar daddy tone of voice. “Let’s just do as this nice officer says.”
But little Antoine kept his seat. The kid looked back up at me with an expression of amused defiance that sent my blood pressure skyrocketing, and it was a struggle to stay calm as I schooled him to the facts of life. “Son, there’s been quite a rash of criminal activity in the park lately, so I’ve been instructed to increase my patrols around the area. For your own safety, it’s probably better that the two of you find another place to…” I paused, glancing at my suspects. Regan’s hand was still solidly in place on Antoine’s shoulder, his fingers applying firm, steady pressure. “…spend time together.” The two of them went silent as they considered my words. The kid wasn’t arguing anymore but since he still didn’t seem to be in any kind of hurry to move toward the exit, I had no choice but to turn up the pressure of my sales pitch. “My boss really wanted me to make a few arrests to show our increased presence in the park, but I personally don’t see what that would accomplish. At most, we’d be creating some completely unnecessary paperwork. I mean, does anyone really need written proof that all three of us were out here together this evening?” It was technically a true statement, even though I had absolutely no intention of taking a couple twinks into custody as long as I still had the option of just running them down the street.
The threat of an arrest was all it took to get Antoine moving, and the couple started heading out of the park the same way I’d come in. Regan’s strong, manicured hand was still gripping his lover’s skinny black shoulder. As I took a long look around the park bench, I shook my head in disbelief that anyone with the slightest amount of common sense could be so brazen. That section of the park was actually a pretty quiet spot, though, so I added it to my mental file of locations for extended lunch breaks. But only a second later, it suddenly occurred to me that something was seriously wrong. The two of them had made it almost halfway to the staircase when I called out, “Hey, Regan! FREEZE!”
Antoine was visibly startled by my shout. It looked as if he could’ve jumped sky-high if Mr. Regan hadn’t been there to hold him in place. After what seemed like five whole seconds, Regan finally turned back around to face me. “Yes, Officer Larsen? Is there something wrong?”
I held myself back from rolling my eyes. See, that’s the problem with all these upright, law-abiding white folks. Those kinds of people are so unaccustomed to dealing with cops that you can’t even have a conversation without creating the impression that they’re seconds away from going to jail. “You bet there is” I said. I flashed him my best Officer Friendly smile in a shameless attempt at sneaking past his defenses. “Sir, you almost walked off without your bag!”
Regan just stared at me for another long moment before his eyes shot down to his duffel bag, still lying beneath the park bench. It almost seemed as if he was frozen in place, and to tell the truth I wasn’t sure if he intended to answer me at all. After a long pause, one that seemed equally awkward for all parties, I caught my mind wandering back to the plate of chicken wings I’d left at the South End Brewery. Seizing the initiative, I snatched up the bag myself and walked it over to him. He still didn’t reach out to take it, though, and it began to get heavy. With another quick step forward, I closed the gap and thrust the bag at his chest. “Here you go, sir! You wouldn’t want to forget this, now would you?”
I watched Regan’s face soften by the slightest margin, no doubt thanks to my overly helpful manners. He wrapped his arms around the bag to hold it snug against his body. “Yes, thank you, Officer…” His eyes squinted in the dim light as he peered down at my nametag once again, almost as if the stress of the encounter had caused him to forget my name already. “Larsen. I truly appreciate your concern, young man.”
I gave him one of my most professional law enforcement nods. It was a quick move, one where I dipped my chin down for only a split second before bringing it right back up again. “It’s no problem at all, Mr. Regan, but you two lovebirds run along now. Y’all be safe
getting back home…or wherever it is you decide to go. Personally, I really don’t care, just so long as it’s somewhere other than here.”
Duke Regan quickly turned around, but now it was Antoine’s turn to gape at me with a blank stare of confusion on his dark face. It looked like the poor kid had a mind to say something, but his sugar daddy wisely pulled him along before his gums could start flapping. The two of them hustled off towards Vendue Range, walking with linked arms just like any other loving couple would, at least until they reached the park exit. I had to smile as I watched the cute pair break off, hurrying along on their separate ways. Once the two of them were safely out of sight, I shook my head in disgust and scrubbed my hands clean in the Pineapple Fountain. I’m not really sure if you can actually catch a sexually transmitted disease just from touching a homosexual’s property, but I’ve always thought you can never be too careful about stuff like that. A double dose of caution was definitely in order, especially since I didn’t have any more sick days left in the bank.
That done, I wiped my hands dry on my pants and cleared the call over the radio before charting my own course out of the area. The crowds of drunks on the sidewalk tried their best to look reasonably sober as I shouldered past, pushing and elbowing my way back to the South End Brewery. The trip was slow going, and when I finally arrived at the restaurant I was just in time to spot Big Jim barreling out the front door. Even from a distance, I could plainly see the ring of fiery red hot sauce that coated his lips. My heart sank in despair.
Jim spotted me and waved. It was a cheerful greeting, one that could only come from a man who was well-fed. “Hey there, Supercop!” he shouted. “I wasn’t sure if you were coming back or not, so I went ahead and polished off your wings. But don’t worry, I already settled up the tab! You can pay me back later.”
I crossed the street in order for my old boss to get a better view of my evil stare, although he didn’t seem to notice. “Jim” I said, biting back all the curse words which were running through my mind, “You’re really something else, you know that?”
Big Jim just smiled. Either he’d completely missed the true meaning of my words, or his eyesight had deteriorated to the point where he just couldn’t recognize an expression of absolute fury. “That’s what they tell me, Loosey Goosey! But hey, listen, I’m about to head out of here for the night.” He waddled around to his cruiser and popped open the driver’s side door. Jim had left it unlocked like usual, with the windows rolled down and the keys still in the ignition. “You try not to work too hard, okay kid?”
“What? Leaving already?” I gestured an arm toward the masses of drunks who were swarming all around us. The younger generation was really starting to come out in force, at least now that the ten o’clock hour had passed. “You’re going to miss all the fun, man!”
He smiled again, and I caught a glimpse of the thick layers of yellow plaque which coated his teeth. They were a dark shade of amber, and they made it seem almost as if Jim had some kind of unique habit of brushing his teeth with a jar of Dijon mustard. “Oh, don’t you worry about me” he said. “I imagine I’ll be back out here tomorrow night, but with a green beer in my hand instead of a ticket book. Some of us haven’t completely trashed our careers, you know, and we still get every weekend off.”
I couldn’t help laughing in spite of my misery, since the very thought of Jim wielding a ticket book was absolutely ridiculous. In fact, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen him take any kind of law enforcement action, unless of course you count his frequent patrols around the hallways for the purpose of keeping up on the latest gossip. “Yeah, yeah, don’t rub it in, boss. And hey, I meant what I said about that job. Keep me in mind if anything comes open upstairs. I’d even consider working crimes against persons.” I gave a little shudder at the thought of having to spend my days taking written statements from sobbing assault victims, but did my best to conceal any outward signs of revulsion.
Jim laughed. “I told you, Goosey, there’s only two ways you’re getting off this beat, and just between us girls I wouldn’t count on any other cop screwing up worse than you did. The economy’s in the pits right now, so real jobs are scarce. Everyone’s minding their Ps and Qs while they coast along on the CPD gravy train.” He reached up to his forehead and flipped another greasy strand of artificial hair back into place. “Besides, that young kid who took your spot working missing persons? Old what’s-his-name…”
I clenched my fists and growled. “Samuels.”
Jim snapped his chubby fingers. “Samuels, that’s the one. Shit, the kid’s been working under me for like four months now, you’d think I’d of learned his damned name already. Anyway, that boy’s one of Captain Russell’s golden children, so you know he’s not going anywhere. The little nerd is way too enthusiastic for my tastes, but at least he knows better than to bother me with any stupid paperwork. Only took him two weeks to figure out that he needs to forge my signature on his timesheets if he wants to get paid. Yup, smart kid.”
Way back when I’d first started as a detective, it had taken me nearly three months before I caught on to the fact that Jim simply refused to sign off on anything. Vacation requests, incident reports, whatever it was, Jim simply didn’t want his name attached to it. I’m not sure whether it was because he was just plain lazy, or because he demanded complete and total deniability at all times. Whatever the reason, it was always just so much more convenient to sign his name myself.
I shrugged. “If you say so, boss. Well, I guess if I can’t count on somebody else to hand me a golden ticket out of this place, I’m going to have to take the lead and arrest my way out of here.” I reached around to the back of my duty belt, pulled my handcuffs loose and worked the ratchet a few times to shake off the rust. “How many drunk college kids do you think I’ll have to haul in before Shakey McShivers starts singing my praises to the Chief?”
Jim lifted his triple chin as he thought for another long moment. He licked his lips slowly, savoring the residual burn of the hot sauce. “My best guess is around fifty, maybe? I don’t know, maybe you should play it safe and set a personal goal of at least a hundred collars.”
My heart fell. I stuffed my handcuffs back into their case just as quickly as I’d drew them. “Screw that, Jim. Screw….that. Damn. Well, it looks like I’m just doomed to a lifetime of hoofing it.”
He laughed as he gingerly eased his huge body down into the driver’s seat, sliding behind the wheel in a series of slow, controlled movements. “Look at it this way, Goosey. You’ve only got about twelve more years until retirement and then you can pull the plug, right? Hell, I bet you could sleep for twelve years straight if you really had to.”
I nodded. “Right now, Jim, that’s sounding like a pretty good career path. But anyways, I’ll see you later on. Take care, boss.”
Jim fired up his engine and pulled away. His car careened off the curb and left behind a trail of noxious smoke as he headed south on East Bay Street. A pair of slightly drunk, slightly cute sorority chicks just managed to dart out of the crosswalk before he could clip them. I couldn’t be sure if Jim simply hadn’t seen the girls, or if he’d purposefully meant to brush them back up onto the sidewalk. Either way, the close call was all it took to send them scurrying off into the night.
Even though my spirits were pretty well crushed by that point, I somehow found the strength to complete one last circuit of the Market. The sidewalks were nearly full up, and all the lines of people waiting to get into the bars were spilling over into the streets. It pained me to be the only sober person in the area, but at least all the background noise gave me a perfect excuse for ignoring any radio calls. With all the commotion, I could easily make a legitimate claim that I just hadn’t been able to hear the dispatcher calling my number. I was generally pretty selective about when I chose to answer up anyway, but it was nice to have all my bases covered for a change.
After a while, though, bored
om set it and I headed back up to the top of the parking garage. My eagle’s nest provided an extra layer of insulation from situations where I might have to take law enforcement action, and the view from above was much more relaxing than at ground level. My shift wasn’t technically over until two o’ clock, but even using all of my willpower I could only make myself stay at work through midnight. To be honest, the only reason I even made it that far was by stopping to take a power nap in my Toyota. Finally, once it was obvious that I’d given up all hope of accomplishing any of my public safety goals for the evening, I pulled out of the garage and headed for home.
The first small groups of early birds were just starting to call it a night, drifting away from the bars in groups of two or three to search for those ever-elusive taxicabs. I seriously considered packing my car full of drunk kids right then and there in order to make a couple extra bucks, but the possibility that one of them might vomit all over my backseat was enough to shut down my entrepreneurial spirit. I’d puked up in my car a time or two myself, and I still had the stained upholstery to prove it. With a sigh of disappointment, I crossed the James Island Connector and headed for the house, still plotting on a way to get paroled into a job where I could reclaim a proper police car. Nearly all of the department’s regular cruisers have these backseats which are lined with plastic, and the cushions pop right out for easy cleaning. An unmarked Ford Crown Victoria would be the perfect platform for me to launch a weekend taxi service, and that would certainly be a more lucrative hustle than picking up off-duty shifts at the Harris Teeter.
On The Beat (Goosey Larsen Book 3) Page 10