WHITE

by Neal Arbic

  Pat tossed the report aside and rubbed his eyes, wishing he could wake up from this nightmare. He heard Dirk Benedict talking with his team just outside his office. A hush fell over them. He knew Jack had arrived. Pat kneaded his gray stubble scalp like a headache was coming on. Dirk was still silent. Pat could just see a sneering Jack at his door, drilling Dirk with his eyes. Pat yelled from his desk as if calling off a bulldog, “Jack, get in here!”

  Jack lumbered inside, humiliation and rage stirring him. Before he even saw Pat he knew what he was going to say.

  Pat did his best to not look at Jack. “I read your initial report.” He shook his head. “What is this garbage?!”

  Jack closed the door. “What?”

  “This summary report! Your conclusion! Jack. Hippies?” Pat held up the report. The form was neatly typed except the twelve empty lines under Possible Suspects, scrawled across the blank lines in huge letters: FUCKING HIPPIES.

  Pat’s eyes bulged with anger. “A bunch of crazed hippies killed these people! If I didn’t know this was from you, I’d laugh.”

  “That’s what the evidence says.”

  Pat dropped the report on his desk. “I can smell you from here.”

  “What?”

  “From behind my desk, Jack. You smell like a boozehound.”

  Jack looked down at his jacket and sniffed.

  Pat rose. “You’ve been the town drunk for eight years, showing up for duty looking like you’ve been sleeping in your car and now you’re getting ambitious? Your summary reports are always late and usually unreadable.” Pat couldn’t help it; he let out a small laugh. “Look at this! Except for your suspect report, I can actually read it and I find it on my desk first thing in the morning!” Pat sat again trying to calm down. He lit a cigar, then look at it like he wondered how it got in his hand, then stabbed it out absentmindedly. “I’ve been slip-routing you skid row cases for years now and you haven’t said squat.”

  Jack yanked a chair over and sat. “I’m sick of this low priority shit.”

  Pat’s fat hairy fingers curled into a fist. “Well, you’d never know it! You’ve been coasting like a slow boat to China.”

  Jack sat with an impassive, arrogant smirk. “You know, Patty…I liked your dumb Irish ass so much better before you became one of the brass.”

  Pat hated that look. They had been partners in ‘47, drinking buddies since before that, but for the last decade Jack had just been nothing but a poor example of a police officer.

  Pat’s fingers pushed Jack’s report off his desk blotter like it stank. “Hippies? Anti-war, peace-loving hop heads! What do we book ‘em for? Drugs, Jack, maybe a fist fight. Now you’re saying - just overnight - they’ve become multiple-murderers…a group of them. Thrill killers? For Christ’s sake! Why are you still here, Jack? You’ve done your twenty – twenty years ago, and earned that pension twice. Do you actually believe this crap you wrote?!”

  Jack slouched deeper into his chair. “C’mon Patty, look at those kids, will ya! They’re filthy! Immoral flag-burning draft-dodging communists! Hell, the Reds could invade for all they care. They’d pass Khrushchev a marijuana cigarette as long as they can walk around with long hair - looking like women, dressed like homos and talking like eastside coloreds!”

  “Jack! Multiple-murders are done by two people - at the most. Serial killers are secretive loners. Your report outlines a group of serial killers! I’ve never seen - or heard - of a case of serial killers…joining forces.”

  “Patty, all those runaways coming in to the city, all the drugs they’re taking. It’s possible. In ‘48, there was-”

  “Jack, this ain’t twenty years ago. You’re not bombing Berlin and I ain’t storming Normandy. I got a second opinion from Dirk. He looked at the photos and we agree. This is a revenge murder – possibly a drug deal gone bad. Ray Claborn, the grounds keeper who lived out back in the guesthouse, has dropped off the face of the earth.” Pat flipped open a file on his desk, “Ray Edward Claborn is a three-time loser. This young Okie has an outstanding warrant on drug charges and is a known associate of motorcycle gang members trafficking drugs. It’s simple. A definite drug, gang-related murder anyway you look at it. Since Dirk’s been on the motorcycle gangs for a while, I’ve designated him to be chief investigator and detached detectives to him.”

  Jack jumped to his feet, his face flushing red. “You’re kicking me off! I caught the squeal!”

  Pat launched from his chair, came around his desk like a bull. “You just happened to be on Day Watch when this was just another one-eighty-seven. This has made headlines around the world. Maybe if you’d been sober over the weekend you’d realized what a panic the city is in. There’s a run on the gun shops, locksmiths and alarm companies. Everyone’s out buying watchdogs, f’christsakes. Upstairs is going ape-shit and they’re looking at me for answers!” Pat started laughing, almost hysterically. “And you come in here hung-over telling me dope smoking peaceniks are suddenly transforming like a bunch of werewolves into multiple murderers!” He snatched Jack’s report from his desk. “You think I should show this to the District Attorney! What do you think Vince is going to say to me?”

  Pat spoke more angrily than he had intended. He regretted it. It broke his heart to say it to his friend: “I think you need to work another case.”

  Jack felt the floor slipping away beneath him. He looked to the closed blinds that hid Pat’s office on the other side. “Patty, every detective on roster will be assigned to this for weeks. What are you saying, I’m the only one on regular rotation?” Jack shook his head. “Patty, don’t let me go out this way…like a disgrace.”

  Pat made his way back to his desk to avoid Jack’s eyes. “Jack, there’s a lot of unsolved on that board and most of it belongs to you. I know you think this case will be your big redemption, but-”

  “Patty, you know that’s luck, I been picking up losers.” Jack tried to find his friend’s eyes, forcing himself into his gaze. “You know, you’ve been routing me cases that usually go unsolved no matter who works them. You’ve had as many over the years; I’m just getting all mine in a row!”

  Pat sat. “Jack, times have changed. People are different. These victims, and probably their murderers, are young enough to be your grandkids.”

  Jack leaned over his desk. “I have a lead into the hippie community. I’ve got a secret weapon on this one.”

  Pat had learned to tolerate slovenly Jack for the last decade, but the return of ambitious Jack scared him.

  Jack ploughed on. “He’s out there in the office, right now.” He pointed towards the window. “He’s by the door.”

  Pat gave the Venetian blinds a distrustful look. Reluctantly, he leaned towards the glass and used two fingers to scissor open the slats.

  Out in the office, he saw one of the older detectives confronting a young black man. Pat could not comprehend what was transpiring, but then, the frowning black man pinned a badge on his jacket.

  Pat suddenly recognized the young officer and let the slats flap back.

  “Oh, Jack, you’ve got to be kidding.”

  Jack smiled. “That kid’s gold.”

  “No, Jack, he’s black.”

  Jack’s smile grew wider.

  Pat frowned and shook his head. “You sonvabitch, Jack! Do you know that kid at all? It’s Delware Hicks!”

  Jack’s eyes popped. “You know him?”

  “Yes, Jack, I do! When you’re Chief of Detectives you have to know who’s applying for the Bureau. Not like you who gets to lay back playing private dick.”

  Jack smiled, enjoying Pat’s rant; he was familiar with its opening line.

  Pat’s anger got him out of his seat and pacing. “That kid’s applied five times. He aced the detective’s exam three times. He doesn’t get the message: No Negros in Homicide.”

  Jack shook his head. He knew the unspoken rule, but didn’t care.

  Pat dropped his hands on the desk and leaned over it. “And that kid almost got kic
ked off the force.”

  “Why?”

  “He got assigned to Waylon.”

  Jack laughed and kicked his feet up on Pat’s desk. “Mr. Ku Klux Klan?”

  Pat resented anyone on the force being referred to like that. Jack could be smug and loose-lipped; public relations was not a factor in Jack’s job. Pat stood straight and sneered. “Waylon’s no Klansman.”

  Jack’s eyes gleefully watched a vein on Pat’s forehead begin to pulsate. “Yeah? Waylon Hampton? Christ, the guy’s actually got a Confederate General on his family tree! He ever tell you any stories about his Grand Dragon daddy? Or tell you any Martin Luther Coon jokes?”

  The remarks made the vein bulge purple. Pat dropped his elbows on his desk and his head into his hands.

  Jack knew that gesture was a bad sign. Jack’s smile disappeared. He took his feet off the desk and pretended to care. “So what happened between Delware and Waylon?”

  Pat spoke through his hands. “Waylon insisted on calling him Officer Nappy in front of his whole squad. On the day Martin Luther King was shot, the kid just cracked, pulled his service revolver on Waylon.”

  “Ahhh, I remember hearing that, so that was Delware. Would have loved to seen Waylon’s face.”

  Pat came up with a slightly amused grin. “The problem is that we have to recruit from the human race. Waylon’s far from an exemplary officer, but he’s a good tactical officer. I wouldn’t go on a raid without him.”

  “How did Delware get out of it?”

  “Said he’d go to the newspapers with a detailed account of Waylon’s MO.”

  Jack laughed, “Smart cookie!”

  “Yeah, Delware wouldn’t accept a transfer to an all black unit. He actually had the brass so nervous they promoted him, giving him rotations into Narcotics – as undercover when needed.”

  Jack sat back, impressed. “He leveraged an expulsion into a promotion. The kid can turn shit into clover.”

  “Yeah, and now you bring him in through the front door.”

  “He’s not in, Patty, he’s assisting. There’s a big difference.”

  “You don’t think that kid’s been all ears for an opportunity like this? You’re the sucker now, Jack. No one would assign a Negro to you. Bet he approached you, right? Bet his sergeant doesn’t even know where he is.”

  Jack’s eyes widened. He let out a laugh. “That’s why he came to my house! Sneaky sumbitch.” Admiration sparkled in Jack’s eyes. “Well, I got to say…the kid’s good.”

  Pat frowned. His jowls formed new chins.

  Jack leaned forward in his chair. “Patty, he pegged me for a southerner by just looking at my cereal bowl. And get this. The kid’s at my house and asks to go to the bathroom.”

  Pat laughed against his will. “In your house?”

  “Yeah, and I let him.”

  “Hold on, I still can’t believe you had a colored in your house: you’re saying you let him use your bathroom?”

  “Yeah. And you know what I hear? Nothing. No pissing, no shitting. Not even a fart. The kid’s testing me! Seeing if I’m a Klansman or something…what do the kids call that?”

  Pat eyebrows rose. “A racist?”

  “Yeah, see how much of a racist I am.”

  “Good God, Jack. Racist? Never thought I’d live to hear a commie word like that come from your mouth. You sound like a hippie.”

  Jack grinned. “Yeah, I’m hip.”

  Pat’s eyes rolled.

  Jack bent forward waving an earnest finger. “That bathroom stunt – that’s good police work. I didn’t even see it coming. That’s why I want him. He’s colored. They’ll never see him coming.”

  Pat leaned over to the window and flipped the blind again, taking a long look. “Jack, that’s the first time I seen a Negro up here that wasn’t in cuffs. There are Bureau boys who won’t stand for this.” He let the blind go with an agitated flick. “This is what I hate about you, when the heat is on - you raise the ante!”

  Jack did his best impression of an innocent, deserving man. “Let me stay on it. Look, I’ll keep the kid on a tight leash. I don’t need to be primary. The Department owes me that much. You owe me that much.”

  Pat sighed. He disliked seeing Jack come as close to begging as a man like Jack could. Pat felt strangely ashamed.

  Jack saw him wavering and jumped in. “It’s a big case and you know City Hall will be pouring huge resources into it. Then you can stand up and honestly say you’re following every possible lead…doing everything we can.”

  Pat leaned back and pondered the offer, his thick fingers absentmindedly pinching his chin. “I’ll have to talk to Dirk.”

  Jack snapped. “Fuck Dirk! I just need access to the evidence. Let Dirk run around in fuckin’ circles like a chicken with its-”

  Pat’s face soured. Jack softened his tone. “I mean. I’ll stay out of his way. I know I’m right. A month, that’s all I need. I’ll pin this maniac. He’s right under our noses; all I ask is a chance.”

  Pat frowned.

  Jack found Pat’s eyes. “One last chance?”

  Pat sighed. On Jack’s rise to the top, he had always taken care of Pat as his younger partner. In Jack’s decline, he had never asked for favors. Now that he had, it reminded him of Jack’s glory days. Pat realized his frustration with Jack over the last ten years was watching so much talent go to waste. He took a deep breath and pointed a judge’s finger. “You buy some mouthwash so you don’t come in here stinking like booze! And the colored kid…fine…on the street, but not up here. Keep him out of the office. And for God’s sake, don’t go on a bender and beat the kid up like your last partner! We don’t want any incidents. If you hurt the kid, they’ll have to goddamn make him Chief of Police! And I’m the only one left covering your ass, Jack, and I’m sick of it. Any shit and you’re off the case! I’ll throw you out of the Department myself.”

  Jack was trying his best not to smile as he made a quick escape out the door. “Sure, sure, Patty, don’t worry.”

  ***

  Jack emerged from Pat’s office, flipped off Dirk and his team, and strode through the maze of desks. Delware stood at the door, no longer harassed, but looking defensive. Jack brushed by him. “You’re with me, kid.”

  The pair entered the hallway. Jack donned his hat and headed downstairs.

  Delware tried to keep up. “So we’re cool?”

  Jack grunted. “If you mean, are you assigned to me? Yes, tomorrow, Day Watch.”

  Delware grinned, a bounce in his step.

  They hit the second floor and Delware’s swagger and smile died. “Where we going?”

  “Narcotics.”

  “Why?”

  “Why? Cause I said that’s where we’re going.”

  Delware’s face crinkled with worry. “Listen I-”

  “Shut your yap. Don’t question my authority! You’re giving me a headache. I want to talk to your sergeant.”

  “But-”

  “Quit your squawking, will ya! You’re bothering me. I’m trying to think over here.”

  In a split second they were in Narcotics.

  Jack shouted, “Who’s in charge!”

  A red-haired, mid-size man turned and spoke with a southern drawl, “Lieutenant Smith is out, I’m Sergeant-”

  “Detective Middleton, Homicide, I sent a request for an assistant.”

  “Yeah, Officer Jacobs was sent upstairs, he couldn’t find you. Do you want-”

  “Don’t bother. I’m here to tell you Officer Hicks here showed up at my house this morning and I’m assuming he missed roll call.”

  The sergeant’s eyes damned Delware with a glance. “Yes, he missed roll call.”

  “Well, he pretended he was sent by your Department to assist me.”

  The sergeant’s jaw dropped. His face turned red. He was about to yell when Jack cut him off. “Well, I’ve accepted him as my assistant on the case, so you can tell this Jacobs to go to hell. Is that clear, sergeant? I want Officer Hicks detached to
me as of tomorrow morning.”

  Jack eyed Delware, but spoke to the sergeant. “But I won’t be needing him till then so…I’ll leave him in your command. You can do whatever you want with Officer Hicks for the rest of day.”

  Jack smiled and tipped his hat at Delware. “Now stay at your post, report to me tomorrow morning: 0800.”

  Jack slipped out the door.

  All the way down the hall Jack could hear the sergeant yelling at Delware. He grinned.