The New Centurions

by Joseph Wambaugh

  “How far you say you chased that whore?” asked Bonelli with a look of disbelief.

  “Several blocks I guess. Why?”

  “I happen to know you run like a cougar. How come you couldn’t catch her?”

  “Well, the truth is, she kicked me in the balls, Sal. I was ashamed to tell you. I was lying in the alley for twenty minutes.”

  “Well, why in the hell didn’t you say you caught a nut shot for chrissake? No wonder you been looking sick all night. I’m taking you home.”

  “No. No, I don’t want to go home,” said Gus and thought he would analyze later why he preferred being at work even now when he was despairing of everything.

  “Suit yourself, but I want you to really go through that whore mug book tomorrow night and keep looking till you find that bitch. We’re going to get a warrant for battery on a police officer.”

  “I told you, Sal, she was a new one. I never saw her before.”

  “We’ll find the cunt,” said Bonelli and seemed content with Gus’s explanation. Gus felt better now and his stomach hardly hurt at all. He sat back and wondered where he would get the money for his mother this payday because the furniture payment was due, but he decided not to worry about it because thinking about his mother and John always made his stomach tighten up and he had enough of that tonight.

  At eleven o’clock, Sal said, “Guess we better go see the boy leader, huh?”

  “Okay,” Gus mumbled, unaware that he had been dozing.

  “You sure you don’t want to go home?”

  “I feel fine.”

  They met Anderson at the restaurant looking sour and impatient as he sipped a cup of creamy coffee and tapped on a table with a teaspoon.

  “You’re late,” he muttered as they sat down.

  “Yeah,” said Bonelli.

  “I took a booth so we wouldn’t be overheard,” said Anderson, worrying the tip of the sparse moustache with the handle of the teaspoon.

  “Yeah, can’t be too careful when you’re in this business,” said Bonelli, and Anderson glanced sharply at the stony brown eyes looking for irony.

  “The others aren’t coming. Hunter and his partner got a couple whores and the others took a game.”

  “Dice?”

  “Cards,” said Anderson and Gus became irritated as he always did when Anderson referred to Hunter and his partner or the others when there were only eight of them altogether and he should know their names well enough by now.

  “The three of us working the bar?” asked Bonelli.

  “Not you. They know you so you stay outside. I’ve got a good place picked out for surveillance across the street in an apartment house parking lot. You be there when we bring out an arrestee, or if we get invited to the apartment for after-hour drinking like I hope, we may just have a drink and leave and call for reinforcements.”

  “Don’t forget to pour the drink in the rubber,” said Sal.

  “Of course,” said Anderson.

  “Don’t pour too much. Those rubbers break if you pour too much booze in.”

  “I can manage,” said Anderson.

  “Especially that rubber. Don’t pour too much in.”

  “Why?”

  “I used that one on my girlfriend Bertha last night. It ain’t brand-new anymore.”

  Anderson looked at Bonelli for a second and then chortled self-consciously.

  “He thinks I’m joking,” said Bonelli to Gus.

  “Great kidders,” said Anderson. “Let’s get going. I’m anxious to do police work.”

  Bonelli shrugged to Gus as they followed Anderson to his car and drove behind him to within a block of The Cellar where they decided Anderson and Gus would go in separately at five-minute intervals. They might find an excuse to get together once inside, but they were going to act like strangers.

  Once inside, Gus wasn’t interested in arrests or police work or anything but the drink in front of him when he sat at the leather-padded bar. He drank two whiskeys with soda and ordered a third, but the peace-giving warmth started before he had finished the second and he wondered if his was the type of personality that was conducive to alcoholism. He guessed it was, and that was one reason he seldom drank, but it was mainly that he hated the taste except for whiskey and soda which he could tolerate. Tonight they were good, and his hand began to beat time to the blaring jukebox and for the first time he looked around the bar. It was a good noisy crowd for a week night. The bar was crowded as were the booths and the tables were almost all occupied. After his third drink he noticed Sergeant Anderson sitting alone at a tiny round table, sipping a cocktail and staring hard at Gus before getting up and going to the jukebox.

  Gus followed and fumbled in his pocket for a quarter as he approached the glowing machine which flickered green and blue light across the intense face of Anderson.

  “Good crowd,” said Gus, pretending to pick out a recording. Gus noticed that his mouth was getting numb and he was lightheaded and the music made his heart beat fast. He finished the drink in his hand.

  “Better take it easy on the drinking,” whispered Anderson. “You’ll have to be sober if we’re going to operate this place.” Anderson punched a selection and pretended to search for another.

  “You operate better if you look like one of the boozers,” said Gus, and surprised himself because he never contradicted sergeants, least of all Anderson whom he feared.

  “Make your drink last,” said Anderson. “But don’t overdo it that way either or they’ll suspect you’re vice.”

  “Okay,” said Gus. “Shall we sit together?”

  “Not yet,” said Anderson. “There’re two women at the table directly in front of me. I think they’re hustlers, but I’m not sure. It wouldn’t hurt to try for a prostitution offer. If we get it, we could always try to use them to duke us into the upstairs drinking. Then we could bust them when we bust the after-hours place.”

  “Good plan,” said Gus, belching wetly.

  “Don’t talk so loud for crying out loud.”

  “Sorry,” said Gus, belching again.

  “You go back to the bar and watch me. If I’m not doing well with the women you stroll over to their table and hit on them. If you score, I’ll invite myself over again.”

  “Okay,” said Gus and Anderson punched the last record on the jukebox and the buzz of voices in the bar threatened to drown out the jukebox until Gus’s ears popped and he knew most of the buzz was in his head and he thought of the speeding Cadillac, became frightened, and forced it from his mind.

  “Go back to your table now,” whispered Anderson. “We’ve been standing here too long.”

  “Shouldn’t I play a record? That’s what I came here for,” said Gus, pointing to the glowing machine.

  “Oh yes,” said Anderson. “Play something first.”

  “Okay,” said Gus, belching again.

  “You better take it easy with the booze,” said Anderson, as he strode back to his table.

  Gus found the blurred record labels too hard to read and just punched the first three buttons on the machine. He liked the hard rock that was now being played and he found his fingers snapping and his shoulders swaying as he returned to the bar and had another whiskey and soda which he drank furtively hoping Anderson would not see. Then he ordered another and picked his way through the crowd to the two women at the table who did indeed look like prostitutes, he thought.

  The younger of the two, a slightly bulging silver-tipped brunette in a gold sheath, smiled at Gus immediately as he stood, tapping a foot to the music, in front of their table. He sipped his drink and gave them both a leer which he knew they would respond to, and he glanced at Anderson who glared morosely over his drink and he almost laughed because he hadn’t felt so happy in months and he knew he was getting drunk. But his sensibility had become actually more acute, he thought, and he saw things in perspective and God, life was good. He leered from the younger one to the bleached fat one who was fifty-five if she was a day, and the fat on
e blinked at Gus through alcoholic blue eyes and Gus guessed she was not a true professional hooker, but just a companion for the younger. She would probably join in if the opportunity arose, but who in hell would pay money for the hag?

  “All alone?” slurred the older one, as Gus stood before them, growing hilarious now, as he bounced and swayed to the music which was building to a crescendo of drums and electric guitar.

  “Nobody’s alone as long as there’s music and drink and love,” said Gus, toasting each of them with the whiskey and soda and then pouring it down as he thought how damned eloquent that was, and if he could only remember it later.

  “Well, sit down and tell me more, you cute little thing,” said the old blonde pointing to the empty chair.

  “May I buy you girls a drink?” asked Gus, leaning both elbows on the table and thinking how the younger one really wasn’t too bad except for her bad nose which was bent to the right and her fuzzy eyebrows which began and ended nowhere, but she had enormous breasts and he stared at them frankly and then hurled a lewd smile in her face as he snapped his fingers for the waitress who was giving Anderson another drink.

  Both women ordered manhattans and he had whiskey and soda and noticed Anderson looked angrier than usual. Anderson finished two drinks while the fat blonde told a long obscene joke about a little Jew and a blue-eyed camel and Gus roared even though he failed to get the punch line, and when he calmed himself the old blonde said, “We didn’t even get introduced. I’m Fluffy Largo. This is Poppy La Farge.”

  “My name is Lance Jeffrey Savage,” said Gus, standing shakily and bowing to both giggling women.

  “Ain’t he the cutest little shit?” said Fluffy to Poppy.

  “Where do you work, Lance?” asked Poppy letting her hand rest against her forearm as she dipped her torso forward revealing a half inch more cleavage.

  “I work at a cantaloupe factory,” said Gus staring at Poppy’s breasts. “I mean a dress factory,” he added looking up to see if they caught it.

  “Cantaloupes,” said Fluffy and burst into a high whooping laugh that ended in a snort.

  Damn good, thought Gus. That was damn good. And he wondered how he could so easily think of such spectacularly funny things tonight, and then he looked over at Anderson who was paying for another drink and Gus said to the women, “Hey, see that guy over there?”

  “Yeah, the bastard tried to pick us up a minute ago,” said Fluffy, scratching her vast belly and pulling up a slipping bra strap which had dropped below the shoulder onto the flabby pink bicep.

  “I know him,” said Gus. “Let’s invite him over.”

  “You know him?” asked Poppy. “He looks like a cop to me.”

  “Hah, hah, hah,” said Gus. “A cop. I knew that sucker for five years. He used to own a string of gas stations. His old lady divorced him though and now he’s down to three. Always has plenty of bread on him, though.”

  “Don’t you have any bread, Lance?” asked Fluffy suddenly.

  “Just seventy-five bucks,” said Gus. “That enough?”

  “Well,” Fluffy smiled. “We expect to show you a good time after this joint closes and naturally, all good things are expensive.”

  “What kind of dresses you like, Fluffy?” asked Gus expansively. “I carry samples in my car and I want to see you dolls in some fine goods.”

  “Really?” said Poppy with a huge grin. “Do you have any size fourteens?”

  “I got ’em baby,” said Gus.

  “You got a twenty-two and a half?” asked Fluffy. “This old green rag is falling apart.”

  “I got ’em Fluffy,” said Gus and now he was annoyed because he had absolutely no feeling in his lower jaw, mouth and tongue.

  “Listen, Lance,” said Poppy, pulling her chair next to his. “We usually don’t sleep with nobody for less than a hundred a night each. But maybe for those dresses, I could let you have it for oh, fifty bucks, and maybe we could talk Fluffy into a twenty-five dollar ride. What do you say, Fluff? He’s a damned nice guy.”

  “He’s a cute little shit,” said Fluffy. “I’ll do it.”

  “Okay, dolls,” said Gus, holding up three fingers to the waitress, even though he sensed Anderson was glaring at him through the smoky darkness.

  “Why don’t we get started now?” asked Poppy. “It’s almost one o’clock.”

  “Not yet,” said Gus. “I hear they swing after hours in this joint. What say we try to get in upstairs after two? After a few drinks and a little fun, we can head for the motel.”

  “George charges a lot for drinks upstairs,” said Poppy. “You only got seventy-five bucks and we need it worse than George.”

  “Listen,” Gus muttered, pitying for a moment a drowning fly who thrashed in a ringed puddle on the cluttered table. “I got a plan. Let’s invite that guy I know over here and we’ll take him with us upstairs to George’s place after the bar closes. And we’ll all drink off his money. He’s loaded. And then after we drink for a while the three of us’ll ditch him and head for the pad. I hate to go to bed yet, I’m having too much fun.”

  “You don’t know what fun is, you cute little shit,” said Fluffy, squeezing Gus’s thigh with a pudgy pink hand and lurching forward heavily into Gus as she tried to kiss him on the cheek with a mouth that looked like a deflated tire tube.

  “Cut that out, Fluff,” said Poppy. “Crissake, you get thrown in jail for drunk and what’re we going to do?”

  “She isn’t drunk,” said Gus drunkenly, as his elbow slipped off the table from the weight of Fluffy’s heavy body.

  “We better get out of here and head for the motel right now,” said Poppy. “You two are going to fuck up the whole deal if you get busted like a couple common winos.”

  “Just a minute,” said Gus, waving a hand toward where he thought Anderson would be.

  “We don’t want that guy,” said Poppy.

  “Shut up, Poppy,” said Gus.

  “Shut up, Poppy,” said Fluffy. “The more, the fuckin’ merrier.”

  “This is the last time I take you with me, Fluffy,” said Poppy, taking a big swallow of the cocktail.

  “You wanted me?” asked Anderson, and Gus looked up at the red-eyed sergeant standing over him.

  “Sure, sure,” mumbled Gus. “Sit down . . . Chauncey. Girls, this is Chauncey Dunghill, my old friend. Chauncey, meet Fluffy and Poppy, my new friends.” Gus held his whiskey up in a toast to the three of them and swallowed a gulp he could hardly taste.

  “Pleased to meet you,” said Anderson stiffly and Gus squinted at the sergeant and remembered that Bonelli had told him that Anderson could not operate bars because he got high on two drinks being a teetotaler except when duty called. Gus smiled and leaned over the table seeing the peculiar angle of Anderson’s eyes.

  “Ol’ Chaunce has to catch up with us,” said Gus, “if he wants to come with us to George’s private bar for a few belts after two.”

  “Shit,” said Poppy.

  “Private bar?” said Anderson with a crafty look at Gus, toying with his sparse moustache.

  “Sure, these girls are taking us upstairs. They know this guy George and he’s got a swinging after-hours joint and you can come as long as you buy all the drinks, right, girls?”

  “Tha’s right,” said Fluffy and kissed Gus on the cheek with a jarring collision and Gus winced in spite of the drink in him and wondered about the diseases prostitutes’ mouths must carry. He furtively spilled a little whiskey on his hand and dabbed it on the spot to kill the germs.

  “You buying drinks, Chauncey?” asked Fluffy with a challenge in her voice as she looked at Anderson like a boxer eyeing an opponent.

  “Four drinks,” said Anderson to the waitress.

  “Two for you,” said Gus.

  “What?”

  “You got to catch up.”

  “Well?” said the bored waitress, hesitating.

  “You catch up or we don’t take you upstairs,” said Gus.

  “Bring me two daiqui
ris,” said Anderson and glared at Gus who giggled all through the joke about the Jew and the blue-eyed camel which Fluffy repeated for Anderson.

  “Chug-a-lug the drink,” Gus commanded to Anderson when the daiquiris arrived.

  “I’ll drink as I please,” said Anderson.

  “Chug-a-lug, mudder-fug,” commanded Fluffy, and the purple pouches under her eyes bulged ominously. Gus cheered as Anderson put the first drink away and smiled weakly at Poppy who was now smoking and nursing her drink.

  Gus leered in earnest at her bulging breasts and told Fluffy a joke about a one-titted stripper who couldn’t twirl a tassle, but he forgot how it ended and he stopped in the middle. Fluffy whooped and snorted and said it was the funniest joke she ever heard.

  When Anderson finished his second drink, he signaled for five more and now grinned gaily at Poppy, asking her if she had ever been a dancer because she had wonderful legs.

  “Chug-a-lug,” said Anderson when the drinks arrived.

  “Mudder-fug,” said Fluffy, and exploded in cackles, bumping heads painfully with Gus.

  “This is all right,” said Anderson, after his glass was drained, and he picked up his next. “I’m catching up, Poppy.”

  “Something’s goin’ to happen,” Poppy whined. “You can’t get drunk in this business, Fluffy.”

  “I’m not drunk. Lance’s drunk,” said Fluffy. “Chauncey’s drunk too.”

  “You’re a beautiful girl and I really mean it, Poppy,” said Anderson, and Gus roared, “Oooooh, stop it, Chauncey, you’re killing me,” and then Gus giggled in a prolonged burst of hilarity which threatened to suffocate him. When he recovered he saw that everyone on that side of the bar was laughing at him and that made him laugh harder and he only stopped when Fluffy grabbed him in a bulging embrace, called him a cute little shit, and kissed him on the open mouth. She probably went around the world tonight, he thought, cringing in horror. He took a hurried drink, swishing it around in his mouth and held up his hand for another.

  “You had enough to drink,” said Anderson with a surly slurred voice.

  “Speak for yourself, Chauncey “ said Gus trying not to think of how prostitutes used their mouths, as he became nauseous.