"Listen, Bumper, I meant it about doing your yard work. I'm a hell of a good worker. The old man ain't no good, but I just stick him away in a corner somewheres and you should see me go. You won't be sorry if you hire us."
"Well, I don't really have a yard myself. I live in this apartment building, but I kind of assist the manager and he's always letting the damn place go to hell. It's mostly planted in ivy and ice plant and junipers that he lets get pretty seedy-looking. Not too much lawn except little squares of grass in front of the downstairs apartments."
"You should see me pull weeds, Bumper. I'd have that ice plant looking alive and green in no time. And I know how to take care of junipers. You gotta trim them a little, kind of shape them. I can make a juniper look soft and trim as a virgin's puss. How about getting us the account? I could maybe give you a couple bucks kickback."
"Maybe I'll do that."
"Sure. When we get to the police station, I'll write out the old man's name and phone number for you. You just call him when you want us to come. One of these days I'm getting some business cards printed up. It impresses hell out of people when you drop a business card on them. I figure we'll double our business with a little advertising and some business cards."
"I wouldn't be surprised."
"This the place?" The kid looked up at the old brown brick station. I parked in the back.
"This is the place," I said. "Pretty damned dreary, huh?"
"It gives me the creepies."
"The office is upstairs," I said, leading him up and inside, where I found one of the Juvenile Narcotics officers eating lunch.
"Hi, Bumper," he said.
"What's happening, man," I answered, not able to think of his name. "Got a kid with some bennies. No big thing. I'll book him and pencil out a quick arrest report."
"Worthwhile for me talking to him?"
"Naw, just a little score. First time, he claims. I'll take care of it. When should I cite him back in?"
"Make it Tuesday. We're pretty well up to the ass in cite-ins."
"Okay," I said, and nodded to another plainclothes officer who came in and started talking to the first one.
"Stay put, kid," I said to the boy and went to the head. After I came out, I went to the soft drink machine and got myself a Coke and one for the boy. When I came back in he was looking at me kind of funny.
"Here's a Coke," I said, and we went in another office which was empty. I got a booking form and an arrest report and got ready to start writing.
He was still looking at me with a little smile on his face.
"What's wrong?" I said.
"Nothing."
"What're you grinning at?"
"Oh, was I grinning? I was just thinking about what those two cops out there said when you went to the john."
"What'd they say?"
"Oh, how you was some kind of cop."
"Yeah," I mumbled as I put my initial on a couple of the bennies so I could recognize them if the case went to court. I knew it wouldn't though. I was going to request that the investigator just counsel and release him.
"You and your sister're gonna have to come in Tuesday morning and talk to an investigator."
"What for?"
"So he can decide if he ought to C-and-R you, or send you to court."
"What's C and R? Crush and rupture?"
"Hey, that's pretty good," I chuckled. He was a spunky little bastard. I was starting to feel kind of proud of him. "C and R means counsel and release. They almost always counsel and release a kid the first time he's busted instead of sending him to juvenile court."
"I told you I been busted twice for running away. This ain't my first fall."
"Don't worry about it. They're not gonna send you to court."
"How do you know?"
"They'll do what I ask."
"Those juvies said you was really some kind of cop. No wonder I got nailed so fast."
"You were no challenge," I said, putting the bennies in an evidence envelope and sealing it.
"I guess not. Don't forget to lemme give you the old guy's name and phone number for the yard work. Who you live with? Wife and kids?"
"I live alone."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
"I might be able to give you a special price on the yard-work. You know, you being a cop and all."
"Thanks, but you should charge your full price, son."
"You said baseball was your game, Bumper?"
"Yeah, that's right." I stopped writing for a minute because the boy seemed excited and was talking so much.
"You like the Dodgers?"
"Yeah, sure."
"I always wanted to learn about baseball. Maury Wills is a Dodger, ain't he?"
"Yeah."
"I'd like to go to a Dodger game sometime and see Maury Wills."
"You never been to a big league game?"
"Never been. Know what? There's this guy down the street. Old fat fart, maybe even older than you, and fatter even. He takes his kid to the school yard across the street all day Saturday and Sunday and hits fly balls to him. They go to a game practically every week during baseball season."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah, and know what the best part of it is?"
"What?"
"All that exercise is really good for the old man. That kid's doing him a favor by playing ball with him."
"I better call your sister," I said, suddenly getting a gas bubble and a burning pain at the same time. I was also getting a little light-headed from the heat and because there were ideas trying to break through the front of my skull, but I thought it was better to leave them lay right now. The boy gave me the number and I dialed it.
"No answer, kid," I said, hanging up the phone.
"Christ, you gotta put me in Juvenile Hall if you don't find her?"
"Yeah, I do."
"You can't just drop me at the pad?"
"I can't."
"Damn. Call Ruby's Playhouse on Normandie. That joint opens early and Slim likes to hang out there sometimes. Damn, not the Hall!"
I got Ruby's Playhouse on the phone and asked for Sarah Tilden, which he said was her name.
"Big Blue," said the boy. "Ask for Big Blue."
"I wanna talk to Big Blue," I said, and then the bartender knew who I was talking about.
A slurred young voice said, "Yeah, who's this?"
"This is Officer Morgan, Los Angeles Police, Miss Tilden. I've arrested your brother downtown for possession of dangerous drugs. He had some pills on him. I'd like you to drive down to thirteen-thirty Georgia Street and pick him up. That's just south of Pico Boulevard and west of Figueroa." After I finished there was a silence on the line for a minute and then she said, "Well, that does it. Tell the little son of a bitch to get himself a lawyer. I'm through."
I let her go on with the griping a little longer and then I said, "Look, Miss Tilden, you'll have to come pick him up and then you'll have to come back here Tuesday morning and talk to an investigator. Maybe they can give you some advice."
"What happens if I don't come pick him up?" she said.
"I'd have to put him in Juvenile Hall and I don't think you'd want that. I don't think it would be good for him."
"Look, Officer," she said. "I wanna do what's right. But maybe you people could help me somehow. I'm a young woman, too goddamn young to be saddled with a kid his age. I can't raise a kid. It's too hard for me. I got a lousy job. Nobody should expect me to raise a kid brother. I been turned down for welfare even, how do you like that? If I was some nigger they'd gimme all the goddamn welfare I wanted. Look, maybe it would be best if you did put him in Juvenile Hall. Maybe it would be best for him. It's him I'm thinking of, you see. Or maybe you could put him in one of those foster homes. Not like a criminal, but someplace where somebody with lots of time can watch over him and see that he goes to school."
"Lady, I'm just the arresting officer and my job is to get him home right now. You can talk about all this crap to the juvenile in
vestigator Tuesday morning, but I want you down here in fifteen minutes to take him home. You understand me?"
"Okay, okay, I understand you," she said. "Is it all right if I send a family friend?"
"Who is it?"
"It's Tommy's uncle. His name's Jake Pauley. He'll bring Tommy home."
"I guess it'll be okay."
After I hung up, the kid was looking at me with a lopsided smile. "How'd you like Big Blue?"
"Fine," I said, filling in the boxes on the arrest report. I was sorry I had called her in front of the kid, but I wasn't expecting all that bitching about coming to get him.
"She don't want me, does she?"
"She's sending your uncle to pick you up."
"I ain't got no uncle."
"Somebody named Jake Pauley."
"Hah! Old Jake baby? Hah! He's some uncle."
"Who's he? One of her friends?"
"They're friendly all right. She was shacked up with him before we moved in with Slim. I guess she's going back to Jake. Jesus, Slim'll cut Jake wide, deep, and often."
"You move around a lot, do you?"
"
Do we? I been in seven different schools. Seven! But, I guess it's the same old story. You probably hear it all the time."
"Yeah, I hear it all the time."
I tried to get going on the report again and he let me write for a while but before I could finish he said, "Yeah, I been meaning to go to a Dodger game. I'd be willing to pay the way if I could get somebody with a little baseball savvy to go with me."
Now in addition to the gas and the indigestion, I had a headache, and I sat back with the booking slip finished and looked at him and let the thoughts come to the front of my skull, and of course it was clear as water that the gods conspire against me, because here was this boy. On my last day. Two days after Cassie first brought up the thing that's caused me a dozen indigestion attacks. And for a minute I was excited as hell and had to stand up and pace across the room and look out the window.
Here it is, I thought. Here's the thing that puts it all away for good. I fought an impulse to call Cassie and tell her about him, and another impulse to call his sister back and tell her not to bother sending Jake baby, and then I felt dizzy on top of the headache. I looked down at my shield and without willing it I reached down and touched it and my sweaty finger left a mark on the brass part which this morning had been polished to the luster of gold. The finger mark turned a tarnished orange before my eyes, and I thought about trading my gold and silver shield for a little tinny retirement badge that you can show to old men in bars to prove what you used to be, and which could never be polished to a luster that would reflect sunlight like a mirror.
Then the excitement I'd felt for a moment began to fade and was replaced with a kind of fear that grew and almost smothered me until I got hold of myself. This was too much. This was all much too much. Cassie was one terrible responsibility, but I needed her. Cruz told me. Socorro told me. The elevator boy in the death room of the hotel told me. The old blubbering drunks in Harry's bar told me. I needed her. Yes, maybe, but I didn't need this other kind of responsibility. I didn't need this kind of cross. Not me. I walked into the other room where the juvenile officer was sitting.
"Listen, pal," I said. "This kid in here is waiting for his uncle. I explained the arrest to his sister and cited her back. I gotta meet a guy downtown and I'm late. How about taking care of him for me and I'll finish my reports later."
"Sure, Bumper. I'll take care of it," he said, and I wondered how calm I looked.
"Okay, kid, be seeing you," I said, passing through the room where the boy sat. "Hang in there, now."
"Where you going, Bumper?"
"Gotta hit the streets, kid," I said, trying to grin. "There's crime to crush."
"Yeah? Here's the phone number. I wrote it down on a piece of paper for you. Don't forget to call us."
"Yeah, well, I was thinking, my landlord is a cheap bastard. I don't think he'd ever go for eight bucks. I think you'd be better off not doing his place anyway. He probably wouldn't pay you on time or anything."
"That's okay. Give me your address, we'll come by and give you a special price. Remember, I can kick back a couple bucks."
"No, it wouldn't work out. See you around, huh?"
"How 'bout us getting together for a ball game, Bumper? I'll buy us a couple of box seats."
"I don't think so. I'm kind of giving up the Dodgers."
"Wait a minute," he said, jumping to his feet. "We'll do your gardening for four dollars, Bumper. Imagine that! Four dollars! We'll work maybe three hours. You can't beat that."
"Sorry, kid," I said, scuttling for the door like a fat crab.
"Why did you ever mention it then? Why did you ever say `maybe'?"
I can't help you, boy, I thought. I don't have what you need.
"Goddamn you!" he yelled after me, and his voice broke. "You're just a cop! Nothing but a goddamn cop!"
I got back in the car feeling like someone kicked me in the belly and I headed back downtown. I looked at my watch and groaned, wondering when this day would end.
At the corner of Pico and Figueroa I saw a blind man with a red-tipped cane getting ready to board a bus. Some do-gooder in a mod suit was grabbing the blind man's elbow and aiming him, and finally the blind man said something to the meddler and made his own way.
"That's telling him, Blinky," I said under my breath. "You got to do for yourself in this world or they'll beat you down. The gods are strong, lonesome bastards and you got to be too."
Chapter SEVENTEEN
AT ELEVEN-FIFTEEN I was parking in front of Seymour's to meet Cruz. His car was there but I looked in the window and he wasn't at the counter. I wondered where he could be. Then I looked down the block and saw three black-and-whites, two detective cars, and an ambulance.
Being off the air with the kid I hadn't heard a call come out, and I walked down there and made my way through a crowd of people that was forming on the sidewalk around the drugstore. Just like everybody else, I was curious.
"What's happening, Clarence?" I said to Evans, who was standing in front of the door.
"Didn't you hear, Bumper?" said Evans, and he was sweating and looked sick, his coffee-brown face working nervously every-which way, and he kept looking around everywhere but at me.
"Hear what?"
"There was a holdup. A cop walked in and got shot," said a humpbacked shine man in a sailor's hat, looking up at me with an idiotic smile.
My heart dropped and I felt the sick feeling all policemen get when you hear that another policeman was shot.
"Who?" I asked, worrying that it might've been that young bookworm, Wilson.
"It was a sergeant," said the hunchback.
I looked toward Seymour's then and I felt the blood rush to my head.
"Let me in there, Clarence," I said.
"Now, Bumper, No one's allowed in there and you can't do anything. . . ."
I shoved Evans aside and pushed on the swinging aluminum doors, which were bolted.
"Bumper, please," said Evans, but I pulled away from him and slammed my foot against the center of the two doors, driving the bolt out of the aluminum casing.
The doors flew open with a crash and I was inside and running through a checkstand toward the rear of the big drugstore. It seemed like the store was a mile long and I ran blind and light-headed, knocking a dozen hair spray cans off a shelf when I barreled around a row of display counters toward the popping flashbulbs and the dozen plainclothesmen who were huddled in groups at the back of the store.
The only uniformed officer was Lieutenant Hilliard and it seemed like I ran for fifteen minutes to cover the eighty feet to the pharmacy counter where Cruz Segovia lay dead.
"What the hell . . ." said a red-faced detective I could barely see through a watery mist as I knelt beside Cruz, who looked like a very young boy sprawled there on his back, his hat and gun on the floor beside him and a frothy blood puddle like a scarl
et halo fanning out around him from a through-and-through head shot. There was one red glistening bullet hole to the left of his nose and one in his chest which was surrounded by wine-purple bloodstains on the blue uniform. His eyes were open and he was looking right at me. The corneas were not yet dull or cloudy and the eyes were turned down at the corners, those large eyes more serious and sad than ever I'd seen them, and I knelt beside him in his blood and whispered,
"'Mano! 'Mano! 'Mano! Oh, Cruz!"
"Bumper, get the hell out of there," said the bald detective, grabbing my arm, and I looked up at him, seeing a very familiar face, but still I couldn't recognize him.
"Let him go, Leecher. We got enough pictures," said another plainclothesman, older, who was talking to Lieutenant Hilliard. He was one I should know too, I thought. It was so strange. I couldn't remember any of their names, except my lieutenant, who was in uniform.
Cruz looked at me so serious I couldn't bear it. And I reached in his pocket for the little leather pouch with the beads.
"You mustn't take anything from him," Lieutenant Hilliard said in my ear with his hand on my shoulder. "Only the coroner can do that, Bumper."
"His beads," I muttered. "He won them because he was the only one who could spell English words. I don't want them to know he carries beads like a nun."
"Okay, Bumper, okay," said Lieutenant Hilliard, patting my shoulder, and I took the pouch. Then I saw the box of cheap cigars spilled on the floor by his hand. And there was a ten-dollar bill there on the floor.
"Give me that blanket," I said to a young ambulance attendant who was standing there beside his stretcher, white in the face, smoking a cigarette.
He looked at me and then at the detectives.
"Give me that goddamn blanket," I said, and he handed the folded-up blanket to me, which I covered Cruz with after I closed his eyes so he couldn't look at me like that. "Ah te huacho," I whispered. "I'll be watching for you,
'mano." Then I was on my feet and heading toward the door, gulping for breath.
"Bumper," Lieutenant Hilliard called, running painfully on his bad right leg and holding his hip.
I stopped before I got to the door.
"Will you go tell his wife?"
"He came in here to buy me a going-away present," I said, feeling a suffocating pressure in my chest.
the Blue Knight (1972) Page 28
