On The Inside

by Ted Wood

  “What happened?” he asked. He didn't seem any more pleased to be serving pop than he would have been pouring me a shot of rye.

  “Injured in the line of duty,” I said.

  Berger cocked his head. “You been a cop before?”

  “Yeah.” I didn't want to give him more, not with Ferris listening to my every word, every tone of voice.

  “Got shot,” Ferris said loudly. “Shot the guy who did it. He don't screw around, this guy.”

  “Oh.” Berger looked at me nervously. “Yeah, well, I guess it happens.” He poured himself a cup of coffee from the machine behind the bar and sipped it, black. “I heard you had a dog with you last night, jeezly big shepherd.”

  “Yes, that's Sam. He was all the help I had on my last job. He's pretty good.”

  “He won't be usin’ the dog in here,” Ferris said. “This is the police department, not the humane society.” He snorted to himself and finished his rye. “Well, gotta get on. See you, Bill.”

  I nodded to Berger. “Nice meeting you, and thanks for the drink.”

  “Any time,” he said automatically. Then to Ferris. “Smitty in the hospital, is he?”

  “Naah, he's at home, takin’ a couple days off until his eye gets back to normal,” Ferris said.

  We left and I thought about what I'd seen. Ferris didn't mind breaking the rules—two of them, accepting gifts and drinking on duty. But it was all small stuff. There was nothing to report to Toronto.

  THREE

  Ferris was a little more talkative after his drink. He drove me around the rest of the town pointing out the details of properties that had to be checked at night. It was the usual list. Only three of them had safes for the cash and in each of them the box sat in the front window where it was easy to see. Nothing complicated. I could see that night duty in town would be a drag.

  When we got back to the station he turned me over to Marcie who had me complete a bunch of forms for health insurance and pension. I found that if I stayed in Elliot until I was sixty-five I could retire on a pension that might just keep Fred and me in popcorn, if we still had teeth.

  When I'd finished, Ferris told me to report to the station at midnight for my first shift. “You'll be nights for the first month,” he said with the same grin. “That wife o’ yours better get used to sleepin’ on her own.” Listening to him talk about Fred made my flesh creep, but I said nothing. I just went back to the motel, leaving the uniform in the locker.

  Fred was out with Sam, so I didn't stay. I left the motel and strolled back along the main drag to the community center and went in. As in most Ontario towns, its main feature was an ice surface with bleachers around it. Hockey is a big number in the north. For a lot of kids the NHL offers the only chance they'll get to make big money. They play hard, the way ghetto kids in the States play basketball. I glanced through the window and saw a crowd of ten-year-olds skating. One of them was pretty good, and I watched pleasurably while he deked the puck past the defenseman and slapped in a goal.

  The rest of the amenities were all off the front hall, the other side from the arena. The library, small by city standards but looking fresh and appealing, and two other rooms. One of them was a gym with basketball hoops and a badminton net. The other was an auditorium, and that's where I found Fred, talking to a guy in a good shirt and a pair of cord pants. He was around thirty and handsome. They were deep in conversation, but she glanced around and saw me and waved me over, smiling.

  “Reid, this is Jacques Lafleur. He's the director of the center. Jacques, this is my husband, Reid Bennett.”

  We shook hands and sized one another up. I got the impression he would rather have found that Fred was single, but I was going to have a lot of that to contend with. I didn't hold it against him.

  “Delighted to meet you, Reid,” he said.

  “And you, Jacques. You have a really nice place here.”

  He shrugged modestly. “We got some money from the government lottery foundation, and some from the mine company. We've got all the standard things. I've lined up some good courses for the winter months, yoga, dancercise, and crafts. I was delighted to find your wife is an actress. She could really give us a boost.”

  “Jacques has asked me if I'll coach a drama class,” Fred said happily. “We'll do a play and I get to direct.”

  “Hey, that's perfect.” I was delighted. It would keep Fred involved if the investigation dragged on. “What will you do?”

  “I should warn you, you'd best pick something with a lot of female roles,” Lafleur said. “Most guys around here would die rather than appear on stage.”

  “My dad was a hardrock miner and he'd turn in his grave if his son said ‘Tennis, anyone?'” I grinned to show I was a good sport. “And anyway, I'm going to be working shifts, so I wouldn't be able to get to the rehearsals.”

  Fred gave me a quick kiss on the cheek. “You can be the prompter,” she said. “I'll be out in a couple of minutes.”

  I gave her arm a squeeze and smiled at Lafleur, then went back out to watch the kids.

  The game ended a couple of minutes later. Fred and Lafleur came out of the auditorium and she and I left.

  “I'm excited, Reid,” she said. “I can make a real contribution in this town, give some people a real boost.”

  “You give everybody a real boost, just walking down the street,” I said and she laughed.

  “Thank God you're blind.” She unlocked the car door. Sam was in the back seat and he whined and nosed at my hand as I reached back to fuss him.

  “Good boy,” I told him. “You're going to be Fred's dog for a while. The station is off-limits to you.”

  Fred paused with the key in the ignition. “Won't you be taking him with you on duty?”

  “No, that sergeant says not.”

  She looked concerned. “But how will you manage? Your arm's still weak. What will you do when something like last night happens?”

  “I will demonstrate my powers of persuasion,” I said, and she hugged me.

  “You're a tough sonofagun, Bennett.”

  “And I'm also a working man. I start at midnight. I'm going to have to put in an hour or two in bed.”

  She laughed. “You wicked man.”

  I did manage to get some sleep and reported to the station around eleven-fifteen. Ferris was there, in plain clothes.

  I nodded to him. “Hi, sarge. You put in a long day.”

  He said, “Yeah,” in a surly tone. I changed quickly for my shift.

  He was watching me. “You sure got a lot of scars. How'd you get that one on the arm there?”

  “In ‘Nam,” I said.

  He grinned. “Wounded were you? How'd it happen?”

  “A boobytrap. It killed the guy in front of me.” I don't like reliving old battles.

  He shook his head. “What made you go to Vietnam?”

  “It seemed like a good idea at the time.” I smiled and sat down at the table. “I didn't get a notebook this afternoon. Do you have one for me?”

  “Sure.” He reached into his drawer and tossed me a leather binder and a new notebook, standard police issue with the cutoff covers. “There's a couple notes,” he said. “I'll give ‘em to you when Scott gets here. He's gonna ride with you tonight. Tomorrow you're on your own.”

  “Fine.” I opened the book and wrote the date and time and “paraded for patrol. Sgt. Ferris on duty,” closed the book and waited.

  Ferris sat looking at the teletype messages he had compiled into a sheaf on his clipboard. At eleven-thirty another constable came in. It was the man who had come to Smith's assistance the night before. He nodded to Ferris. “Evenin’ sarn't,” then stuck his hand out to me. “Hi. Frank Scott. You're the guy helped Smitty last night.”

  “Yeah. Reid Bennett. That one was on the house. Starting tonight they're paying me.”

  He laughed. I liked the look of him. He was tall, well built but pale. He looked as if he didn't get much sunshine, and I guessed the men worked more night
s and evenings than they did day shifts. Ah well. This wouldn't be forever.

  He was already wearing his uniform and he sat down at the table and leaned back. We chatted about nothing, the night's hockey game, the weather.

  At eleven forty-five exactly Ferris said, “Okay, let's have you.”

  We stood up and went round in front of the sergeant's desk, unflipping our holster flaps to show our guns and holding up our sticks, handcuffs and notebooks. He nodded at us and we put our equipment away as he read out the messages he'd gathered. There were a couple of stolen cars, taken from towns close by. “Watch out for the one taken in Olympia. Marvin Luik on Sparrow Road had his license suspended last week for drunk driving. He likes to drink in Olympia. He could've taken it to get home in,” Ferris said.

  He glanced down the list. “Escaped convict, from Collins Bay. That's a long way from here, but he's been out three days now and he worked here once.” He gave us the name and description and then looked up. “Nothing else that affects us on here. Only things are local complaints. Mrs. Lenchak reports noisy motorcyles behind her place at the end of Mallard Street. And the school principal's concerned some of the kids might celebrate Hallowe'en early. Little buggers oughta be in bed by now, but this is Saturday night so take a drive around the school. And the last thing—Delaney. What's his first name, Scott?”

  “George,” Scott said.

  “Yeah, George Delaney. Saturday night's his night to howl. Check the Headframe when you go out. Have a word with him, if he's there. Otherwise you'll be called up to their place later.”

  I wrote the complaints in my book. Scott didn't bother. This was the ritual of working here. He knew the people like I knew my crowd at Murphy's Harbour. Ferris said, “Scott, show Bennett the ropes. He's on his own tomorrow.”

  Scott nodded and Ferris said, “Okay, Scott. I'm going home. You're in charge. Set the radio and get on your way.”

  “Right.” Scott replaced his equipment and went over to the radio. “You couple the phone lines in like this,” he explained and flipped the necessary switches. It was the same system I'd used in Murphy's Harbour, but I nodded and said nothing. Ferris watched us as he put on a heavy checked coat and left, not speaking.

  “Okay, the evening guy should be back by now,” Scott said. He led me out to the back of the station and we found the evening man in the car, writing up his notebook.

  Scott whisked the door open. “Hey come on, Jeff, you can do that inside. It's cold here.”

  “In a rush, are you?” The other man got out and handed over the car log on a clipboard.

  “This is Reid Bennett, the new guy,” Scott said. “Reid, this is Jeff Walker, makes the shakiest pinches you ever saw.”

  “Shaky, hell,” Walker said. “My pinches stand up.”

  “On crutches.” Scott laughed.

  I shook hands with Walker. He went into the station as Scott walked around the patrol car checking for damage, the usual signing-over routine.

  We got in and drove into town slowly. “No sense rushin',” Scott said. “You can cover the whole place in half an hour, gives you seven an’ a half more to fill.”

  “Sounds like the place I used to work,” I said. We spent a couple of minutes getting our backgrounds out of the way. Then I asked him, “What're the guys like?”

  “Shaky, you met him. He's been here the longest, ten years. He's pretty quick to take people in. Any arguments an’ he books them for obstruct police. If they don't like it he'll give ‘em a shot in the head and charge them with assault.”

  “Nobody stops him?”

  Scott shook his head. “Naah. The magistrate's a local guy, kind of a law-and-order freak. If a guy's charged, he's guilty.”

  “And there's been no complaints? Hell, if a magistrate tried that around Toronto some civil liberties outfit would have him removed from the bench.”

  Scott laughed. “This is a mining town. We got a lot of guys here hardly speak English. Those're the ones Shaky locks up. Anybody else knows enough not to argue, anybody who might get his civil liberties in an uproar.”

  We reached the school and drove around it. A cluster of teenagers were standing in the yard smoking, and they stepped on their butts when we drove up. “Grass probably,” Scott said. “Comes in from the Soo. I figure it's smuggled across by guys on the lake ships. We won't see as much of it during the winter.”

  He stopped next to the boys and spoke to them. They listened in silence and then walked out of the schoolyard, shoulders slumped rebelliously. We sat and watched them go. Scott shook his head. “Not hard to understand why they're smokin’ up,” he said. “If you don't play hockey there's not a hell of a lot for a young guy to do in town.”

  He let in the clutch and we drove out past the boys, who glanced sideways at the car and laughed as we went by. “So, where was I? There's Smitty, you met him. He's been here three years. This is his first job, he was born here. His dad's a miner. Walker you met, me, then there's Levesque, he's our show Frog. He's mean. And the last one is George Thomas. He's the station stick-man.

  “Sounds like a typical station,” I said, staying neutral. “Couple of good guys, couple of bad apples.”

  “Typical?” Scott snorted. “You mean to tell me it's like this in the OPP or Toronto?” He shook his head. “No. The guys aren't the best cops you ever met. Couple of ‘em would never have made it onto a good department.”

  “If you hate it, why'd you stay?”

  “I joined in eighty-one,” he said. “That was bad times up here. All the mines were laying off. You couldn't buy a job. I took this one and glad to get it. Now I've got a wife an’ three kids. I'm too old to join another department, too old to go back underground. They've got me for life, but I don't pretend to like it.”

  “My problem exactly.” I wasn't lying. “I've been a cop so long I couldn't do anything else. This was the only chance going when I left the Harbour.”

  “Think they'd consider me?” he asked, only half joking. “Got to be a lot better for my kids than staying in this place.”

  “The money's lousy. Worse than here,” I said. “But go ahead if you want to try.”

  We were back in the town center now, and he stopped outside the hotel. “May's well check the bar,” he said. I got the feeling he was uncomfortable about talking. It was not the right time to pump him about the chief.

  I got out of the car with him. “You get much trouble?”

  “Some,” he said. “You saw what happened last night.”

  This time we went in through the front door. The place was full but it seemed orderly enough for a town of this kind. A couple of guys were playing shuffleboard and all of the tables were filled with men, the tops covered with beer bottles and glasses. At a quick glance it looked as if half the guys were too drunk to drive.

  Scott walked through the crowd to the bar where the barmen were filling orders, moving as if they were on piecework.

  Scott nodded to Berger. “Evening, Bill. How's it goin'?”

  “Busy.” Berger nodded at me, his hands busy filling another tray. “No trouble though.”

  “Good. Willis in, is he?”

  Berger glanced around. “No. Haven't seen him or Cassidy all night. Guess they're dryin’ out for a while.”

  “Likely drinking in the legion,” Scott said. He stood with his back to the bar, looking around the room. I'd already noticed one bad drunk at a table in the corner. Scott walked over to him and I followed.

  The man looked up at us owlishly. His buddies drank their beer and pretended we weren't there. “Hi, George,” Scott said. “Looks to me like you're about full. One of these guys drivin’ you home?”

  “Yeah. Don't worry,” the man said.

  “I'm not worried. It won't be me havin’ aspirin for breakfast,” Scott laughed. “One thing though, I don't see your missus in here. Don't be giving her a hard time when you get home or this time you're going away. Understand?”

  “That bitch,” the man said. He reached for
the cigarette pack in front of him and drew one out with clumsy fingers, spilling the pack on the floor.

  The other men laughed and Scott said, “Just so's we understand one another. Got that, George?”

  “Yeah, sure,” the man growled.

  Behind us there was the crash of a table going over. We turned and saw two men facing one another angrily. I waited for Scott to take the initiative. He did, shoving through the crowd and confronting the men. “Okay, that's it. Outside, the pair of you.”

  The crowd was on its feet now, shouting encouragement. I sized the situation up. The men were young and fit and angry and just drunk enough to want to make a case out of it. I went and stood beside Scott. “Hey,” I said to the bigger of the two. “Did you know you left your lights on? You're gonna have a dead battery.”

  He dropped his fists and turned to look at me. “My car? Naah. I turned ‘em off.”

  “Come and see,” I said. He frowned and turned away, leaving the other man looking foolish with his hands still up. A waiter bustled over and set the table back on its legs. Then another one brought a brush and a dustpan for the broken bottles. The second battler looked down at them in disgust and followed us out the door.

  Outside the big guy started across the parking lot then stopped. “My lights aren't on,” he roared.

  “My mistake,” I said cheerfully. “Come on now, head for home. You've had enough for one night.”

  The man turned and saw Scott with the second guy. “I'm gonna kill him,” he said.

  “Yeah. No contest,” I said. “Why mark your hands up on a guy like that. Go on home.”

  He stood and looked at me for a minute. “I'm gonna kill him,” he said again but the anger was evaporating.

  “Why bother? I know you could do it. The hell with him,” I said, grinning like a fool.

  “Yeah.” The tension went out of him. “No sweat. No goddamn sweat.”

  He got into a pickup truck and backed out. He was roaring the engine and I knew he was as near drunk as he could be without my having to lock him up. But he drove carefully and I went back to Scott.

  “Randy here is going home,” Scott said. “He's kinda drunk, so we'll drop him off.”