On The Grind ss-8

by Stephen Cannell

  Our watch commander was a skinny bald guy with narrow shoulders and a little bit of a potbelly who was standing sway-backed on the shiny varnished-wood basketball floor before us, wearing lieutenants bars on his blue collar and holding a clipboard. His name was Harry Eastwood. Without even asking, I knew his handle had to be Dirty Harry.

  "Okay, shut the fuck up," he started by saying. "We expect to get some blowback from that Crip shooting two nights ago, so look for Crip mother ships cruising in your areas." The room quieted down. "Bust any black guy in a Chrysler four-door wearing a red head-wrap. Pull 'em all in and we'll sort the fashion victims from the assholes later."

  He looked clown at his clipboard. "We've got some homeless guy lighting cooking fires on the L. A. River bank," he went on. "Keep an eye out for this dink. Whoever he is, we need to get that to stop. We're in high fire season and don't want some brain-dead shopping cart driver burning clown our cafeteria." Cops were taking notes.

  "The midweek update on the hot car sheet is posted on the bulletin board. Write down the tag numbers for all those G-rides. The night shift reports there's a white Corolla that just started holding up liquor stores over in Fleetwood — couple a border brothers in stocking masks. You know that's gotta be tweakers, 'cause only meth addicts would use a getaway car with a fucking leaf-blower for an engine." Scattered laughter from the cops gathered on the bleachers.

  Tm hearing from Blue Light we're still not up to quotas on our tow tickets. Let's get with the program, guys. I'm looking for every one of you to write at least three, maybe four boot jobs a clay. Keep the flow going here."

  Then he stopped and looked at us. "Anybody have anything?"

  "Me and Scully are gonna be working fire and health codes this morning, so somebody needs to cover Sector Four till around ten o'clock," Alonzo said.

  "I got it," a guy with red hair and a rosy complexion said. I thought I recognized him from L. A. or maybe from a joint op I did once in Santa Monica. Something Larson — a drinker.

  "Okay, that's it," the WC said. "Get out there and try and make Haven Park the safest place on earth for assholes to multiply." He turned and walked back to his office.

  We left the elementary school gym. I stood in the hallway with the other patrol officers and copied car tags off the hot sheet posted up on the cork bulletin board. Then everyone moved as a group through the front doors onto Pine Street, heading to city hall to collect our patrol cars.

  We walked single file, right through two residential blocks, carrying gear, flashlights, and duffels. I couldn't help but think, if you wanted to eliminate the Haven Park day shift, one quick drive-by with a street ventilator 011 full-auto would pretty much do it.

  When we got to the parking lot Alonzo led me to Car Nine and opened our patrol unit. The midnight-to-eight guys who had been using it were just walking away.

  "Those fuckers on graveyard always leave this shop looking like a dirty ashtray. Look at this shit," Alonzo growled angrily as he pulled out the floor mat and shook sunflower seeds, gravel, and gum wrappers off the plastic onto the asphalt. Then he brushed off the seats. We stashed our stuff in the trunk while all around us blaek-and-whites were driving into the lot. Graveyard shift cars were one by one being turned over to day watch officers. Finally, Bell slid behind the wheel and I got in the passenger side.

  "I decommissioned the air bags in this shop so we won't eat a ton of plastic if we ram anyone who tries to take off."

  "Sounds good."

  Then he smiled at me. "Ready to help change the political landscape in Haven Park?"

  "That's why I signed on."

  "Good, 'cause this morning Rocky Chacon makes a mistake he can't walk away from."

  Chapter 16

  "This is Car Nine. We're ten-ten in the four hundred block of Flower Avenue," I said, and hung up the mike as we pulled to the curb across the street from Mama's Casita.

  "Car Nine is out of service subject to a call 011 Flower Avenue," the RTO came back.

  While I was doing this, Alonzo Bell was busy shuffling through his briefcase. Finally, he pulled out a manila envelope and opened it.

  "What's that?" I asked.

  "Fxpired fire extinguisher tags. Mama doesn't work the breakfast shift, so if we're lucky it'll just be El Alboratador himself. The way this is gonna work is I'll keep Rocky busy while you swap the current fire extinguisher tags with these expired ones. It's okay if the kitchen wetbacks see you do it. We aren't looking for style points. Their word isn't worth shit in court anyway. What we're gonna do is pull out all the extinguishers and see what transpires."

  "Close them down for being outside of fire regsI said.

  "You got it. And Scully, I don't need a referee. I want this guy to knuckle up and come after me. I'm looking to hang an assault-on-a-police-officer beef on that little beaner. I got him by a hundred pounds or more, so he shouldn't be too hard to control. But you never know. I saw him fight once and he's got very quick hands, so stay ready." "Got it."

  "The extinguishers are located in the kitchen and by the exits. Last I checked there should be six or eight of'em."

  We got out of our shop and headed across the street to Mama's Casita. The backhoe was still roaring back and forth, not digging up anything this morning, just pushing dirt around, making a racket and throwing a lot of dust up into the air. Alonzo smiled at the mostly Mexican city workers as he passed.

  "Buenos dias, caballeros," he said, tipping his hat with exaggerated politeness. Then he turned to me. "You know you got it made when you got this bunch a tea bags doin' your dirty work for ya."

  We went inside the restaurant. Mama's Casita was done in a south-of-the-border theme, using the primary colors of the Mexican flag. Fresh green tablecloths, red curtains, white walls and napkins. There were booths around two sides of the room, wooden tables and chairs in the center. Blackboard menus were hanging behind a soda-fountain-like counter with the specials written in yellow chalk.

  Business was being clobbered by the city work going on out front. This was a popular spot and it should have been full. It wasn't even nine A. M., and there were absolutely no customers inside.

  "Where's Mama?" Alonzo said to the lone Hispanic waitress.

  "Che no come mornings. Maybe noon," the girl said.

  "Rocky around?"

  She nodded and went to find him. After a minute, Rocky came out of the back.

  "When you gonna let us up?" he said as he approached. "That backhoe is killing us, man." He was full of seething anger. "You got to get that out of here. Nobodys coming in. Look at this place. All this confusion and noise, people don't want to eat in a damn construction zone."

  "It's a problem, I can see that, sir, but you're talking to the wrong city employee," Alonzo said patiently. "You need to speak with Street Maintenance. On the other hand, I'm always willing to listen. Why don't we get a cup of coffee? Maybe I can find a way to help."

  "I don't want to pay you money to stop something that should have never started to begin with," Rocky said hotly. "There was nothing wrong with that street. Those crews out there aren't even doing anything. Just driving back and forth, moving dirt, making noise. You think I don't know what's going on? I bis is complete bullshit."

  I was worried for him because, like Alonzo, I didn't think he was very far from losing it. This police harassment had been going on for weeks and he'd pretty much had it.

  "I know who you are," he continued. "I already filed a complaint against you. You're the same cop who keeps towing my campaign workers' cars. What's your problem, man?"

  "I deeply resent the suggestion that I might be harassing you on purpose or be willing to take a bribe to get needed city roadwork to stop." Alonzo winked at me and gave me a nod, telling me to get started. "Why don't we sit and you can tell me how I can help?" Alonzo said disingenuously.

  As they sat at a table, I went off in search of the fire extinguishers. I went through a kitchen door into the pantry area. Three Mexicans swung wary eyes at me as I ente
red. "Donde esta los extintores?" I asked.

  A fry cook pointed toward a wall in the back, where I saw a big red C02 bottle hanging in a bracket near the refrigerator. I walked over and checked the tag. The extinguisher was only a month old. I pulled the current date certification tag off the bottle and replaced it with one of the expired ones Alonzo had just given me. The counterman saw what I was doing.

  "You just changed that," he said in perfect English.

  I ignored him and moved on. Then I did the same thing to another C02 canister. I hated this, but if I backed off now or tried to alter Alonzo s plan, then I was instantly through down here. I had to go along and hope I would soon have enough to put an end to the criminal corruption in Haven Park while at the same time keeping Rocky Chacon alive.

  I found four more extinguishers and redtagged all of them. Then I grabbed all six units by the handles and lugged them out to the front of the restaurant. When I got there I saw from Rocky s body language that he was close to snapping, gesturing wildly as he talked.

  "Now you say you also gonna close the street all the way to Forty-eighth? How do people even get to my business at all, then?" he shouted.

  "Its certainly going to be a problem," Alonzo said. "However, you have my word that we will get all that roadwork done as quickly as possible." A slight smile tugged at the corner of his ruler-straight mouth. This was the kind of stuff Alonzo lived for.

  "And how long will that be?" Rocky snapped. "A fucking year?"

  Tm only a police officer. You need to call the Street Maintenance Department, and you better watch your tone, Mr. Chacon. I don't appreciate being cursed at."

  "And I don't appreciate being lied to!"

  I set the extinguishers on the table next to them.

  "We got a problem with those?" Alonzo asked, looking over at the six delinquent extinguishers and frowning theatrically.

  "Yep. All these maintenance tags are out of date," I said.

  "Boy oh boy, that's a tough one, Mr. Chacon. Probably gonna have to close you down. If you have a grease fire with no extinguishers, people could die in this firetrap."

  "These are all brand new," Rocky shouted, and with that he reared up, standing in anger. Alonzo immediately stood with him.

  "You're just trying to close us down. You're a fucking liar!" Rocky shouted.

  "Tm gonna call that verbal assault," Alonzo said. "Now sit down before I arrest you." Rock}' didn't move.

  I could see a flash of unreasoning anger in Alonzo s eyes. He hated guys who didn't do exactly what he said, when he said it.

  Then my partner did a totally inappropriate thing. He threw a hard right across the table at the little Mexican fighter, hitting him high on the forehead, snapping his head back. Rocky sat back down hard, but the little middleweight was tough and could definitely take a punch. He didn't stay seated long. He scrambled back up and in a flash was out of the booth.

  Alonzo pulled his nightstick from his belt ring as he came lumbering out after Rocky, a murderous look in his pinched eyes. My partner was about to give Rocky a police-baton beat-down, which consisted of a combination of swift strikes known as three from the ring.

  I had to move fast. I grabbed Rocky from behind and lifted him off the ground, then threw him to the floor. Since he was down, that should have ended it, but Alonzo was immediately straddling him, roaring in rage and swinging the baton at Rocky s kidneys. I knew the body shots could rupture his spleen.

  I grabbed the sap from my back pocket and swung, aiming to clip Alonzo behind his left ear. I tagged him perfectly, but Sergeant Bell had a thick skull and he shook off the shot, rolled slightly to the side, stunned for a moment, then glowered up at me.

  "The fuck you doing, asshole?"

  "Sorry. Missed. Trying to hit him."

  While this had been happening, the counterman and two fry cooks had charged into the restaurant from the kitchen. Both were wielding dangerous-looking boning knives. We were on the verge of a full-scale race riot.

  "Alonzo!" I warned, pointing at the kitchen posse. He stood, yanked his gun out and aimed it at the fry cooks and counterman, who all came skidding to a halt. While that was happening I quickly cuffed Rocky and yanked him to his feet. He was groaning in pain, but still conscious.

  Even though Alonzo had the three restaurant employees at gunpoint and under control, he still wanted to finish what he'd started. With a gun in one hand and the street baton in the other, he turned back toward the handcuffed fighter. I got ready. I couldn't let him attack a restrained, unarmed man. But before I had to intervene, Alonzo hesitated. Some survival instinct, born from years of committing felonies in uniform, told him not to do it. Especially in front of three independent employees who could testify. Illegal or not, Alonzo knew they could cause trouble if they passed a polygraph. He had fucked this up by losing his temper. His sour expression of resignation signaled it was over. I knew he was probably going to find a way to make this my fault.

  I led our handcuffed prisoner out to the car and put him in the backseat. Then I dropped the six confiscated fire extinguishers into the trunk.

  I'm gonna post this fucking grease pit," Alonzo snarled at me as he came out and opened his briefcase. He took out a big red sticker. Then he walked inside the restaurant and ordered the employees to shut down the kitchen. They turned off the lights and locked the front door. The last thing Alonzo did was post a huge red fire sticker across the door that said:

  CLOSED BY ORDER OF THE HAVEN PARK FIRE DEPARTMENT

  While all this was going on, I stayed with Rocky, who was seated in the backseat of the cruiser, handcuffed but smoking mad.

  "You okay?" I asked him, concerned about the half a dozen kidney shots he'd already taken.

  "Fuck you, chcimorro," he growled.

  "Listen, Rocky. You're in a lot of trouble here. Do yourself a favor. Calm down and do what you're told."

  He sat there, staring straight ahead. He didn't answer, contempt for us fueling the already deadly mixture of rage and injustice burning inside him.

  Chapter 17

  "We don't have shit, just a lousy misdemeanor verbal assault. I needed felony battery, Alonzo growled at me. "We also got three kitchen slaves saving Rocky didn't do nothin'. You were supposed to keep the wetbacks out of there."

  We were in the small jail facility on the second floor of the Haven Park PD. Rocky w as in the larger of our two interrogation rooms with a video surveillance camera running. On the IV screen I could see the ex-middleweight sitting in the 1-room looking at his shoes. His left hand was chained to a ring in the wall.

  "We need to get him on a Class A felony," Alonzo continued. "So you're gonna get a chance to fix your fuckup and do that."

  "Calm down. Let's not make this worse than it is," I said.

  "Shut up," he snapped. "Here's what you're gonna do. You walk in there, unhook him, then insult his manhood. Beaners can't deal with that. Call him a maricon. Stay away from the table mike and keep your voice down. We don't want the surveillance video to show we provoked him. I know this asshole. He'll throw down. After he's attacked you and we got our felony, I'll be in there and put a big hurt on him."

  "It's a bad idea, Al."

  "Hey, I'm not coming to you for fucking approval. I'm telling you the way you're gonna do it. This guy is gonna eat a Class A felony and go away for five years. He sure ain't gonna be the mayor of Haven Park from a cellblock in Soledad."

  For a minute, I didn't answer. I just stood there trying to come up with a valid reason for not going through with this.

  "You gonna become a problem here? I thought you wanted to make it on this department. I'm the guy who has to sign you off probation!"

  "Jeez, man. Calm down."

  "Get in there and do it." He pulled out his sap and held it up, showing it to me. "You take one punch for the camera and I'll close his show."

  It was an impossible situation. I had no choice but to go ahead, because if it wasn't me, I knew Alonzo would just get somebody else to do
it. At least if I was in the I-room I might be able to stop him from killing the guy.

  "Okay," I said, reluctantly.

  Alonzo opened the I-room door. Rocky looked up at me with a malevolent stare as I stepped inside, leaving the door unlatched behind me. Then I reached over and quickly uncuffed him. That got his attention.

  "Stay where you are," I said. Alonzo was outside watching this on the monitor. I had to find a way to make it look right, but still keep my partner from killing Rocky with that damn sap.

  "I thought I told you to hold it together. What's wrong with you? You stupid or something?" I kept my voice low so it wouldn't record on the surveillance tape.

  "Do not talk to me this way," Rocky said.

  "Why not, joto?" I whispered. "You gonna do something about it? You're nothing but a jugaclor a los bandos. El maricon."

  Chacon exploded up out of the chair and started swinging. I ducked his first shot but caught the second one square in the teeth. It was a clean right, efficiently delivered, and it snapped my head back. Then two or three more combination punches hit me. The guy was lightning-fast. I was trying to cover up, but he was scoring at will. I was getting creamed.

  Where the hell is Alonzo? I thought as more blows rained off my shoulders and elbows. He was supposed to be in here after the first punch. just then Rocky caught me on the side of the head with a great left hook, which stunned me. I pawed back at him with a weak right cross that did nothing. Rocky circled right and peppered me with three quick jabs, splitting my lip and bloodying my nose.

  "Quien es el joto ahora, flaquito!" Rocky shouted as he circled left, bouncing jabs off my forehead, then delivering a devastating uppercut.

  I was getting cut to pieces, so in order to minimize the damage I rushed him and slammed him against the wall, trying to pin his hands to his sides.

  At last the door opened and Alonzo came in swinging the sap. He bounced two pounds of leather-wrapped lead off Rocky's head. In an instant the smaller man was down on his knees. Then, before I could intervene, Alonzo kicked him in the stomach and sapped him again. Murder flashed in my huge partner's eyes. He was winding up for a last mighty kill shot when I threw myself at him and knocked him off balance. He swung anyway. The sap whistled through the air but missed both Rocky and me.