There was a long pause before I finally got a response back. It seemed as if those ladies upstairs must have changed shifts, because I got the usual bored voice of the ghetto coming back to me instead of my cool Caribbean goddess. “714” the new dispatcher said, seemingly unimpressed by my call sign. “Go ahead.”
I cleared my throat. “Control, I’m going to be getting out with two parties in Waterfront Park. Can you start another unit my way?” I crossed my fingers. Requesting a backup unit was a prudent move for safety, but there was also a good chance that it’d be some clueless patrol rookie heading my way. If that was the case, I could easily con the unsuspecting kid into transporting my prisoners as well as tackling most of the booking paperwork.
There was a pause while my hefty antagonist took a moment to look over the duty roster. “Control to 208…208, Corporal Burgos? Could you please 63 with 714 at Waterfront Park? He’ll be getting out with two parties there.”
Almost before she could finish speaking, that overeager cheesedick Burgos piped up on the air. “Copy that, I’ll be en route myself. 714, who is that?”
From the length of her silence, I knew she must have had to go back to the duty roster once more. It was kind of humbling for me to realize that even after all the hours I’d logged downtown, I still wasn’t on a first-name basis with the girls on the switches. “714…that’s Officer Larsen, Michael.”
There was one last pause before Burgos finally responded. “I read. I’ll be sending 233 and 234 instead.”
I exhaled, thankful that Burgos chose to have a couple minions take his place. Knowing that jerk, he probably figured that the call wasn’t worth his time since I didn’t outrank him. Still, his absence was probably for the best. It’s been my experience that having a supervisor around will only make things harder than they have to be, and with a guy like Corporal Snorkel that rule was doubly true. A few years ago, Burgos had been enjoying a relaxing clothes-free dip in the hot tub with a half-dozen of his closest male friends. He barely dodged an arrest, although most cops still found it difficult to make eye contact with the dude after the Great Skinny-Dipping Incident of Planters West Apartments. But even with all the potential for entertaining drama, I was surprised to find my mind fully engaged with my work. After clipping the radio back to my belt, I jogged in place for a few seconds to limber up before hustling over towards the park. Just as soon as I’d strolled up to the top of the wheelchair ramp, I spotted my two suspects cuddled together on a bench. The lovebirds were tucked even further back into the shadows this time, in a set-back garden at the exact midpoint of the park.
Just seeing the two of them sitting there so brazenly was all it took to set my blood boiling, and as much as it went against my better judgment I made up my mind to bring them both in. I figured I had a solid trespassing charge for sure, and I was hoping to swoop in there before those two had the opportunity to commit any type of indecent exposure. From behind me, I caught a glimpse of a couple patrol kids coasting along with their headlights cut off, a sure sign they were ready to do business. Before they had a chance to stop, I waved a signal for them to loop around and come up from the south side of the park. That done, I tiptoed forward, staying close to the dimly lit hedges around the perimeter. This wasn’t exactly the case of the century or anything, but I could still feel the adrenaline surging through my veins. My heart was pumping so hard that I swore I could feel could hear each and every single beat outside my body. Inching slowly forward, I managed to get to within ten feet of their bench without being spotted. I could even hear the pair whispering back and forth, although I couldn’t quite make out their sweet nothings. When I glanced up once again I saw the two rookies crouching in place at the far end of the footpath, and I knew it was time for action. I sucked in a lungful of air, then let out a ferocious roar: “POLICE! DON’T MOVE!”
Antoine was the first to react. The kid jumped several feet straight into the air with a burst of pure athleticism, a feat that I attributed to his superior Negro genetics. He took off sprinting towards the exit on the south side of the park, literally flying to get away from me. I would have instantly written him off as gone, if it wasn’t for this beautiful high-low gang tackle that came half a second later. Unfortunately for Antoine, it turns out that the only thing more determined than a fleeing criminal is a couple of rookie cops who’re desperate to prove themselves. In a matter of seconds, those two kids had my suspect face down on the cobblestones with his arms trussed up behind his back. One of the kids whipped out a set of handcuffs so shiny that I couldn’t help wondering if they’d ever seen action before. Once the work was done, the kids began giving each other a series of intricate high-fives, interrupting their celebrations just long enough to dish out a few gratuitous kicks to the ribs. Catching a beatdown was the standard punishment if copes had to chase you, and it was a universally accepted practice out on the streets. Since it looked as if neither one of those kids was of a mind to come arrest Regan for me, I very reluctantly found myself doing the job. There was a convenient opening between the seat of the bench and the wooden slats that ran along the back, so all I had to do was lean over and slip the cuffs onto his wrists. It didn’t hurt one bit that Regan just sat there the entire time, too shocked to stand up.
It’d been ages since my last arrest, so I actually had to stop for a second and think back to my training from the criminal justice academy. I couldn’t recall what was supposed to happen next, but that moment seemed like a good time as any to start searching my prisoner. I went to work with a reluctant sigh, turning out his pockets one at a time and using the opportunity to deliver a stern lecture. “I thought I told you two not to come back to the park! Was I unclear about that, Mr. Regan? Now look what you’ve done! You’ve pretty much forced me to take the both of you in!”
Regan looked away, refusing to meet my eyes. His jaw clenched, and he was working hard to keep that blank stare of his focused off into the distance. “I have nothing more to say to you, Officer Larsen. I’d like to speak with my lawyer.”
It was a pretty unusual reaction for a simple trespassing arrest, so his words caught me by surprise. But then again, rich white people have been known to do some pretty stupid things for no particular reason. Hooking up with their young black boyfriends in a dimly lit public park, just to give one example.
My handcuffs were rusty and tight from years of neglect, so I checked that they fit securely around Regan’s wrists before double-locking them with a key I’d stolen from Shivers’ desk drawer. White prisoners tend to get all bent out of shape when the cuffs fit too tightly, and the last thing I needed was for some pillar of society like Regan to start whining about police brutality. The patrol rookies were taking their sweet time about walking Antoine back over to us, so I reached for my radio once more. “714 to Control” I called in, projecting a forceful air of authority. “Have the transport unit 63 down here at Waterfront Park. We’ve got two detained, going to be 39s for trespassing.”
As the dispatcher rogered up, I tried to remember just how long it’d been since I’d called in an arrest. At least five years, but probably more seeing as how I’d never actually made a collar as a detective. With these two miscreants already in custody, though, it looked as if my work for the month was just about wrapped up. I still wasn’t particularly excited about having to visit our jail or show up for municipal court at the crack of dawn, but I did my best to look on the bright side. Bringing someone in so early in the shift meant that I could disappear completely for the rest of the night, meaning that I wouldn’t get caught up dealing with any serious crimes as the St. Patty’s celebrations descended into chaos. Evan as much as I hate making arrests, I’ll take two simple trespassing collars over a drunken bar brawl any day of the week. I swear, the paperwork that comes with any arrest just gets way too cumbersome when there are actual human victims involved.
The patrol rookies were still laughing among themselves, trying to come down from the e
motional high that their three whole seconds of action had brought on, so I used the time to take a good long look at my suspects. Regan’s face was still set in stone, although he seemed to be more put out at the inconvenience than he was worried about the possibility of doing any jail time. To be perfectly honest, I wasn’t really worried myself. If Regan kept any kind of lawyer on retainer, he’d probably be able to get the charges dismissed outright. Either that or the case would be deferred for a period of six months, enough time for all of us to forget the whole thing ever happened. The young project dweller, though– Antoine– he looked much more nervous than his boyfriend. The kid’s buggy eyes were bulging wide and his torso was literally shaking with fear. His reaction seemed genuine, even though based on his age and skin tone it didn’t seem possible that this was his first time in handcuffs.
Antoine kept looking back towards the bench where they’d been sitting, so I took a quick second to follow his gaze myself. Tucked underneath the seat, almost out of sight back in the shadows was the nylon duffel bag I’d seen Regan carrying. He took notice of my interest and his own eyes flicked over in that direction too, a giveaway that it must have held some kind of incriminating evidence which neither one of them wanted me to see. Honestly, I didn’t even want to consider the possibilities, but figured that it had to be some perverted sex toys or maybe even gay pornography. Finally, against my better judgment, I casually strolled over to the bench and held the duffel bag up to the light. “Now which one of you ladies belongs to this here purse?”
Antoine shook his head viciously from side to side. “That shit ain’t mine, man!” His voice was high-pitched and nervous, but it still sounded honest enough to my ears.
Regan stood firm like a rock. His face was just as expressionless as before, so I took another careful look at the bag. Sure enough, it was the exact same one I’d passed off to him the night before, a name brand model like the type you might find in an airport gift shop. Jet black and well-worn from years of use, with the typical rich-dude monogram embroidered near the straps. The three initials read “DJR”, so it would have been absolutely laughable for Regan to deny that he owned it. I slowly pulled back the zipper as we locked eyes. “So this must belong to you then, Mr. Regan?”
He stared back at me impassively. “Do you have a legal reason to search that bag, Officer Larsen?” His voice was slow and calm and it was obvious he was choosing his words with a great deal of care, despite the thinly suppressed tone of rage dripping off his tongue. “If not, then you probably shouldn’t.”
It was a clever challenge. Regan had massaged his words so carefully that he’d managed to avoid admitting actual ownership of the bag, but he’d still objected to my search just in case we ever went to trial. I tried to recall some of those old legal rules which were supposed to set limits on what cops could or couldn’t do, but it was no use since my memories of basic training were mostly just a booze-fueled blur. I think there might have been some kind of amendment to the Constitution that covered these types of situations, but for the life of me I couldn’t remember which one. After another moment’s pause, I finally just shrugged my shoulders and dumped out the contents. If it turned out that my search was indeed illegal, the worst possible consequence was that the judge would simply toss out the evidence. For me, that would only cut down the amount of time I had to spend in court.
“Officer Larsen!”
I shuddered at the sound of that nasally voice. It was the familiar whine of a know-it-all college boy, and I had a sinking suspicion that my personal patrol tactics were about to be called into question. The radio on my hip crackled to life with a slight squawk of feedback as the supervisor approached, crowding into my bubble of personal space. “Control, 208 will be out with those units at Waterfront Park. We’re 04 at this time, you can cancel any additional units en route to this 20.”
I bit my lip, trying to stifle any outward signs of displeasure at the interruption. As if having to actually make an arrest wasn’t bad enough, having our most annoying supervisor staring over my shoulder was just plain misery. Corporal Snorkel had a reputation for reading over his team’s arrest reports with a red pen at the ready, and I dreaded the thought of having him stick his big nose into any of my cases. Still, I did my best to remain diplomatic about the situation as I smiled, cocking my head back just far enough to allow a moment of eye contact. “Good evening, Corporal. Really appreciate the backup from your guys here.”
The patrol rookies bristled with pride. Playing a lead role in such a hot misdemeanor case was obviously their biggest bust to date, but Burgos just looked down his nose at the kids. Judging by his haughty expression, I’d say the odds were even money that he didn’t even know his officers’ names. “What do you have, Larsen?”
I felt my eyes start to roll back, but forced myself to fight the reflex. “Looks like it’s just two trespassers, sir. Lieutenant Shivers’ orders were for me to haul in any and all miscreants tonight, so it looks like this couple is going for a ride.” It went against everything I stood for to drop a ten-cent word like “miscreant” into an actual conversation with another human being, but I had to do it. When you’re dealing with an uppity college boy like Burgos, it’s important to let him know you can speak on his level.
He nodded. “I concur.” Before I could ask him what the verb meant, he stood up on his toes and craned his pasty white neck to the side in order to take a better look behind me. “Say, now. What have you got there?”
I looked back down at the empty bag in my hands, then turned back around to follow his gaze. The contents were much less sensational than I’d imagined, just three big bundles which were wrapped up in several layers of cellophane plastic. Sitting there in the dim light, they looked like nothing more than a few lumpy white bricks. Sheer garbage, if you ask me.
Burgos pushed me aside in order to grab one of them, then held his arm out to literally dangle the brick in front of Regan’s face. “Now what in the world could this be?” He asked the question in his usual smug, over-educated manner, almost as if he secretly knew the answer but wanted to see if Mr. Regan was stupid enough to lie to him.
Duke didn’t bite, though. I’ll give that rich bastard his due, the man was no dummy. He knew exactly when to keep his lips zipped, a strategy that’s personally gotten me dozens of ass-chewings. These days, I almost automatically revert to mute mode whenever I get called to the carpet over some piddling little violation of policy.
Burgos reached into his hip pocket and flicked out a folding knife. The move was smooth and practiced, no doubt the result of hundreds of lonely hours spent hanging out inside the Team Two substation. He flipped the blade over in his chubby little hand, then jabbed it down through several layers of plastic. It sunk in deep, clean up to the handle, and when he pulled it back out it was covered in a fine white powder. Burgos held the knife up to the light, giving it a careful examination. “Larsen…” he whispered, “I’ll give you one guess what this shit is!”
I’d been watching Regan from the corner of my eye, and I caught the briefest look of desperation flash across his face. He returned my stare, clearly following the conversation with an interest that was much stronger than just simple curiosity. I rolled my eyes once again, but with more feeling this time. Burgos’ condescending tone was quickly sapping what little motivation I’d managed to bring to work that evening. “I’ll bite. What is it?”
Burgos jabbed his knife down into the wrapped package, then pulled open up the duffel to set the dusty brick back inside. That done, he methodically patted his hands clean on the legs of his uniform pants and lowered his head, as if anybody really cared what he could have had to say. “Washing powder” he whispered.
I was floored. I mean, absolutely floored! It took a long moment for me to fully comprehend all the repercussions of my arrests. My mind raced, trying to process the fact that what I’d thought was just a couple of queers making out in a dark, romantic setting wa
s actually a pair of vandals about to strike. I just stood there with my jaw hanging down, unable to speak, and when I’d finally regained some semblance of composure I turned to look at Duke Regan. The guy seemed nearly as surprised as I did, and maybe even more so! Clearly, the thought of getting caught hadn’t even crossed his mind as he’d been planning the immature prank. I turned to look over at his boyfriend next, although Antoine just appeared confused. The patrol rookies released their death grips on his arms just long enough to give each other one more victory high-five.
Burgos clapped me hard on the back. The chubby little guy didn’t have much force to put behind the open-handed blow, but it was just enough of an impact to bring my mind crashing back down to earth. “Great arrest, Larsen!” he shrieked. “Do you realize that you just cracked open a high-profile vandalism ring? I mean, this is probably the biggest case that my squad has had all year!”
It was high praise coming from such a stuffy supervisor, and the only thing I could think to do was grin. “Thanks, Corporal.” I quickly began plotting out all the possible consequences of my heroic actions, scheming on how to get the most mileage out of the situation. In a sudden flash of inspiration, I chose to paint myself as a team player by sharing the credit. “But to tell you the truth, sir, I couldn’t have done it without your guys here. These two fellas really came through in the clutch.”
The rookies blushed with pride, and Burgos was forced to toss them a grudging nod of acknowledgement. “Well done, children.” Turning back to me, he said, “You know, the Chief called me at home this afternoon. He was furious about last night’s soapstorm, and he made me promise that I’d catch the perpetrators. Apparently it costs the city several thousand dollars to clean and re-fit the fountain’s water jets every time some prankster pulls this lame stunt. I can’t wait to call him back tomorrow morning and let him know that you’ve already taken care of the problem.”
On The Beat (Goosey Larsen Book 3) Page 13