“This morning then.”
“Then there were white liberals who would’ve taken me to a governor’s ball, but I think with people like that almost any Negro would do. I don’t trust those people either.”
“Then there was me.”
“Then there was you.”
“Old Roy the wino.”
“Not anymore.”
“Because I borrowed some of your guts.”
“You’re such a humble man that I get annoyed with you.”
“I used to be arrogant and conceited.”
“I can’t believe that.”
“Neither can I anymore. But it’s true.”
“You were different than any white man I ever met. You needed something from me, but it was something one human being could give another and it had nothing to do with my being Negro. You always looked at me as a woman and a person, do you know that?”
“Guess I’m just not the lusty type.”
“You’re very lusty,” she laughed. “You’re a marvelous lusty lover and right now you’re too silly to talk to.”
“Where’ll we go for a honeymoon?”
“Do we have to have one of those too?”
“Of course,” said Roy. “I’m conventional, remember?”
“San Francisco is a fine city. Have you ever been there?”
“No, let’s go to San Francisco.”
“It’s also a very tolerant city. You’ve got to consider things like that now.”
“It’s so quiet,” said Roy. “For a while last night when I was most afraid I thought the sound of the fire would never stop. I thought I’d always hear the fire roaring in my ears.”
22
REUNION
“I HEAR WE’RE GOING BACK to almost normal deployment starting tomorrow,” said Roy. It pleased him to say it because he and Laura had decided that as soon as the riot was completely finished and he could do it, he would ask for some special days off and they would go to San Francisco for a week after being married in Las Vegas where they might stay for a few days, but then again they might go from Vegas to Tahoe for a night . . . “Sure will be nice to get off the twelve-hour shifts,” said Roy in a burst of exuberance at the thought of doing it, and now that he and Laura were going to do it all his doubts dissolved.
“I’ve had enough of it,” said Serge Duran as he made a lazy U-turn on Crenshaw where they were on perimeter patrol and Roy liked the solid way Duran drove, in fact he liked Duran whom he had only seen a dozen times during these five years and whom he never bothered to get to know. But they had been together only two hours tonight and he liked him and was glad that when the perimeter patrols were set that Duran had told the sergeant, “Let me work with my two classmates Fehler and Plebesly.” And Gus Plebesly seemed like a very decent sort and Roy hoped he might become good friends with both these men. He became acutely aware that he had no real friends among policemen, had never made any, but he was going to change that, he was changing lots of things.
“Now that the riot’s just about done, it’s hard to believe it happened,” said Gus, and Roy thought that Plebesly had aged more than five years. He remembered Plebesly as a timid man, perhaps the smallest in their class but he seemed taller now and solider. Of course he remembered Plebesly’s inhuman stamina and smiled as he thought of how his endurance had been a threat to their P.T. instructor, Officer Randolph.
“It’s not hard to believe it happened when you drive down Central Avenue or a Hundred and Third Street,” said Serge. “Were you down there on Friday night, Roy?”
“I was there,” said Roy.
“I think we were there too,” said Gus, “but I was too scared to know for sure.”
“Likewise, brother,” said Roy.
“But I was so scared I can hardly remember most of the things that happened,” said Gus, and Roy saw that the shy grin was the same, and so was the deprecatory manner that used to annoy Roy because he was too stupid in those days to see that it was thoroughly genuine.
“I was thinking the same thing just today,” said Serge. “Friday night is already becoming a kind of mist in my mind. I can’t remember big chunks of it. Except the fear, of course.”
“You feel that way too, Serge?” said Gus. “How about you, Roy?”
“Sure, Gus,” said Roy. “I was scared to death.”
“Be damned,” said Gus and was silent and Roy guessed that Gus felt reassured. It was comforting to talk with a policeman who, like himself, was obviously filled with doubts, and he pitied Gus now and felt the tug of friendship.
“Did you ever finish college, Roy?” asked Serge. “I remember talking to you in the academy about your degree in criminology. You were pretty close to it then.”
“I never got any closer, Serge,” laughed Roy and was surprised to discover no irony in the laugh and he guessed he was finally making peace with Roy Fehler.
“I never built up too many units myself,” said Serge, nodding his understanding. “Sorry now that I didn’t, with our first sergeant exam coming up. How about you, Gus? You go to school?”
“Off and on,” said Gus. “I hope to have my bachelor’s in business administration in about a year.”
“Good for you, Gus,” said Roy. “Well be working for you one of these days.”
“Oh, no,” said Gus, apologetically. “I haven’t really studied for the sergeant’s exam, and besides, I freeze in test situations. I know I’ll fail miserably.”
“You’ll be a great sergeant, Gus,” said Serge, and he seemed to mean it. Roy felt drawn to both of them and he wanted them to know about his coming marriage—wanted them to know about Laura, about a white policeman with a black wife and whether they thought he was mad, because he was sure they were compassionate men. But even if they thought him a fool and proved it by polite embarrassment it wouldn’t change a thing.
“It’s getting dark, thank goodness,” said Gus. “It was so smoggy and hot today. I’d sure like to go for a swim. I’ve got a neighbor with a pool. Maybe I’ll ask him tomorrow.”
“How about tonight?” said Serge. “After we get off. I’ve got a pool in my apartment building. We might as well take advantage of it because I’m moving in a few weeks.”
“Where you moving?” asked Gus.
“My girl and I have a pad picked out to buy. It’ll be lawn mowing and weed pulling instead of moonlight swims, I guess.”
“You’re getting married?” asked Roy. “I’m getting married as soon as I can get a week off.”
“You’re tumbling too?” smiled Serge. “That’s reassuring.”
“I thought you were already married, Roy,” said Gus.
“I was when we were in the academy. I was divorced not long after that.”
“Have kids, Roy?” asked Gus.
“A little girl,” said Roy, and then he thought of her last Sunday when he had brought her to Laura’s apartment. He thought of how Laura had played with her and made Becky love her.
“You didn’t go sour on marriage?” asked Serge.
“Nothing wrong with marriage,” said Roy. “It gives you children and Gus can tell you what children give you.”
“Couldn’t make it without them,” said Gus.
“How long you been married, Gus?” asked Serge.
“Nine years. All my life.”
“How old are you?”
“Twenty-seven.”
“What’s your girl’s name, Serge?” asked Roy as he had an idea.
“Mariana.”
“How about having that swim tomorrow?” said Roy. “Maybe Gus and his wife and Laura and I could come over to your place and meet your fiancée and we could have a swim and a few beers before we go to work tomorrow afternoon.” It was done, he thought. It would be the first test.
“Okay,” said Serge, with enthusiasm. “Can you make it, Gus?”
“Well, my wife hasn’t been feeling well lately, but maybe she’d like to come over even if she won’t swim. I’d sure like to come.”
&
nbsp; “That’s fine. I’ll be expecting you,” said Serge. “How about ten o’clock in the morning?”
“Fine,” said Gus, and Roy thought this would be the best way for him to see. To just bring her and see. The hell with apologies and warnings. Let them see her, lots of her, long-legged and shapely and incomparable in a bathing suit. Then he’d know how it would be, what he could expect.
“Would it be too much . . .” Gus hesitated. “I mean, I hate to ask you . . . If your landlady wouldn’t like it, or if maybe you don’t want a bunch of noisy kids around . . . I could understand . . .”
“You want to bring your kids?” Serge smiled.
“I would.”
“Bring them,” said Serge. “Mariana loves kids. She wants six or eight.”
“Thanks,” said Gus. “My kids will be thrilled. That’s a beautiful name your fiancée has—Mariana.”
“Mariana Paloma,” said Serge.
“That’s Spanish, isn’t it?” asked Gus.
“She’s Mexican,” said Serge. “From Guadalajara.”
“Come to think of it, isn’t Duran a Spanish name?”
“I’m Mexican too,” said Serge.
“I’ll be damned. That never occurred to me,” said Roy, looking at Serge for some Mexican features and finding none, except perhaps something about the shape of his eyes.
“Are you of Mexican descent on both sides?” asked Gus. “You don’t look it.”
“One hundred percent,” Serge laughed. “I guess I’m probably more Mexican than anyone I know.”
“You speak Spanish then?” asked Gus.
“Hardly at all,” Serge answered. “When I was a boy I did, but I’ve forgotten. I guess I’ll learn again though. I went to Mariana’s home Sunday afternoon, and after I got the blessing of Mr. Rosales, her padrino, I went to her and tried to ask her in Spanish. I think it ended up more in English than Spanish. I must’ve been a hell of a sight, a big stammering clown with an armload of white roses.”
“I’ll bet you were just smashing,” Roy grinned, wondering if he looked as contented as Serge.
“Mariana’s informed me we’ll talk only Spanish in our house until my Spanish is at least as good as her English.”
“That’s very nice,” said Gus, and Roy wondered if she had required courting in the old Mexican manner. He wondered if Serge had known her a long time before he kissed her. I’m getting corny, Roy smiled to himself.
“Usually Mexican men dominate their women,” said Serge, “until they get old and then Mama is the boss and the old boys pay for their tyranny. But I’m afraid Mariana and I are starting out the other way around.”
“Nothing wrong with a strong woman,” said Roy. “A policeman needs one.”
“Yes,” said Gus, gazing at the blazing sunset. “Not many guys can do this job alone.”
“Well, we’re veteranos, now,” said Serge. “Five years. We can sew a hash mark on our sleeves, I thought we were going to have a class reunion after five years.”
“That would’ve been nice,” said Gus. “We can have a small reunion party tomorrow afternoon. If they bring us all back to the command post maybe we can work together again tomorrow night.”
“I really think we’ll be going back to our divisions tomorrow,” said Serge. “This riot is over.”
“I wonder how long the experts will screw around with their cause theories?” said Roy.
“This is just the beginning,” said Serge. “They’ll appoint commissions, and intellectuals who know two or three Negroes will demonstrate their expertise in race relations and this will be only the beginning. Negroes are no better and no worse than whites. I think they’ll do whatever they can get away with and whatever is expected of them, and from now on there’ll be lots of Negroes living up to their angry black man press notices.”
“Do you think blacks are the same as whites?” asked Roy to Gus, who was still watching the sunset.
“Yes,” said Gus absently. “I learned it five years ago from my first partner who was the best policeman I ever knew. Kilvinsky used to say that most people are like plankton that can’t fight the currents but only drift with the waves and tides, and some are like benthos which can do it but have to crawl along the slimy ocean floor to do it. And then others are like nekton which can actually fight the currents but don’t have to crawl on the bottom to do it but it’s so hard on the nekton that they must be very strong. I guess he figured the best of us were like the nekton. Anyway, he always said that in the big dark sea, the shape or shade of the poor suffering little things didn’t matter at all.”
“Sounds like he was a philosopher,” Roy smiled.
“Sometimes I think I made a mistake becoming a cop,” said Serge. “I look back over these five years and the frustrations have been bad but I guess there’s nothing I’d rather do.”
“I saw an editorial today that said it was just deplorable that so many people had been shot and killed in the riot,” said Gus. “The guy said, ‘We must assume that police can shoot to wound. Therefore it follows that the police must be intentionally killing all these people.’”
“That’s a screwed-up syllogism,” said Serge. “But you can’t blame the ignorant bastards. They’ve seen a thousand movies that prove you can wing a guy or shoot a gun out of his hands. What the hell, you can’t blame them.”
“Just a pile of plankton dumped in a sea of concrete, eh, Gus?” said Roy.
“I guess I don’t really regret the job,” said Gus. “I guess I think I know something that most people don’t.”
“All we can do is try to protect ourselves,” said Roy. “We sure as hell can’t change them.”
“And we can’t save them,” said Gus. “Nor ourselves. Poor bastards.”
“Hey, this conversation is getting too damned depressing,” said Roy suddenly. “The riot’s over. Better days are coming. We’re having a swimming party tomorrow. Let’s cheer up.”
“Okay, let’s try to catch a crook,” said Serge. “A good felony pinch always lifts my spirits. You used to work this area, didn’t you Gus?”
“Sure,” said Gus, straightening up and smiling. “Drive west toward Crenshaw. I know where there’s some drop-off spots for hot rollers. Maybe we can pick up a car thief.”
Roy was the first to see the woman waving to them from the car parked near the phone booth on Rodeo Road.
“I think we got a citizen’s call,” said Roy.
“That’s okay, I was getting tired driving around anyway,” said Serge. “Maybe she has an insurmountable problem we can surmount.”
“It got dark fast tonight,” Gus observed. “A couple of minutes ago I was enjoying the sunset and now, bang, it’s dark.”
Serge parked beside the woman who squirmed out of the Volkswagen awkwardly and shuffled over to their car in her bedroom slippers and bathrobe which fought to conceal her expansive largeness.
“I was just going to the phone booth to call the cops,” she puffed, and before he was out of the car Roy smelled the alcoholic breath and examined the red face and weedy dyed red hair.
“What’s the problem, ma’am?” said Gus.
“My old man is nuts. He’s been drinking and not going to work lately and not supporting me and my kids and beating hell out of me whenever he feels like it and tonight he’s completely nuts and he kicked me right in the side. The bastard. I think he broke a rib.” The woman writhed inside the bathrobe and touched her ribs.
“You live far from here?” asked Serge.
“Just down the street on Coliseum,” said the woman. “How about coming home and throwing him out for me?”
“He your legal husband?” asked Serge.
“Yeah, but he’s nuts.”
“Okay, we’ll follow you home and have a talk with him.”
“You can’t talk to him,” the woman insisted, getting back inside the Volkswagen. “The bastard’s crazy tonight.”
“Okay, we’ll follow you home,” said Roy.
“Breaks the
monotony, anyway,” said Gus, as they drove behind the little car and Roy put the shotgun down on the floor in the back and wondered if they should lock it in the front when they went in the woman’s residence or would it be alright here on the floor if the car doors were locked. He decided to leave it on the floor.
“Is this neighborhood mostly white?” asked Serge to Gus.
“It’s mixed,” said Gus. “It’s mixed clear out to La Cienega and up into Hollywood.”
“If this town has a ghetto it’s the biggest goddamn ghetto in the world,” said Serge. “Some ghetto. Look up there in Baldwin Hills.”
“Fancy pads,” said Gus. “That’s a mixed neighborhood too.”
“I think the broad in the VW is the best pinch we’ll see tonight,” said Roy. “She almost creamed that Ford when she turned.”
“She’s loaded,” said Serge. “Tell you what, if she smashes into somebody we’ll just take off like we don’t know her. I figured she was too drunk to drive when she waddled out of that car and lit my cigarette with her breath.”
“Must be that apartment house,” said Gus, flashing the spotlight on the number over the door as Serge pulled in behind the Volkswagen which she parked four feet from the curb.
“Three-Z-Ninety-one, citizen’s call, forty-one twenty-three, Coliseum Drive,” said Gus into the mike.
“Don’t forget to lock your door,” said Roy. “I left the shotgun on the floor.”
“I’m not going in,” said the woman. “I’m afraid of him. He said he’d kill me if I called the cops on him.”
“Your kids in there?” asked Serge.
“No,” she breathed. “They ran next door when we started fighting. I guess I should tell you there’s a gun in there and he’s nuts as hell tonight.”
“Where’s the gun?” asked Gus.
“Bedroom closet,” said the woman. “When you take him you can take that too.”
“We don’t know if we’re taking anybody yet,” said Roy. “We’re going to talk to him first.”
Serge started up the steps first as she said, “Number twelve. We live in number twelve.”
They passed through a landscaped archway and into a court surrounded by apartments. There was a calm lighted swimming pool to their left and a sun deck with Ping-Pong tables to the right. Roy was surprised at the size of the apartment building after passing through the deceiving archway.
The New Centurions Page 39
