WHITE

by Neal Arbic

  Delware took a step back, his eyes still locked on Jack.

  Jack’s eyes followed him suspiciously. “Just show some respect, will ya.”

  “Show me some respect you pasty ass hillbilly.”

  They felt the fight itching to get out, but knew better. In the tense silence, the eerie light, they stared each other down.

  Jack was restless, but with no room to pace. He put his flask to his lips and upended it. Wiping his mouth with his sleeve again, he let out a long breath. “OK, kid. Calm down. When you take this shit?”

  Delware shook his head. He leaned back on the table eyeballing his partner. After a deep breath, he spoke. “I dropped it in ‘65, before it was illegal. Dig? I wasn’t a cop then.”

  “OK, I believe you. Go on.”

  “It was in college, a friend of mine gave me a hit.”

  “What happened?”

  Delware knew his confession would disturb the old man, so he spoke frankly, “It opened my mind, gave me a whole new perspective on my life. I used to hate cops, I mean, really hate them. The cops in the South would lynch you; the cops in LA would shoot you. If it wasn’t for that acid trip, I would have probably joined the Panthers. But on this trip, I had a vision. I saw myself in uniform.” Delware slowly shook his head, the memory still poignant. “It blew my mind. That vision helped me. It was like something I never imagined, but it seemed right. You know, to change the system from the inside. It got me out of this rut of hate I was in.”

  Jack gave a sarcastic, “Well, that’s very heart-warming.”

  “You know who would benefit from an acid trip?” Delware pointed his finger. “You. You’re in some deep ruts, old man. You got to free your mind.”

  “I ain’t freeing nothing. And you.” Jack pointed his finger. “You need to get control of your mind, and realize you’re a cop now, not a hippie.”

  Jack returned to the plate and lit a cigar without ever taking his eyes of the cubes. “Well, let’s say the victims were on this stuff. So what?”

  “LSD makes concentrating and communicating pretty hard. Depending on the dose, even walking to the front door could be impossible. It explains why no one got away. Even a few victims on acid would mean a high body count by a small group of killers.”

  Jack contemplated the answer.

  Delware added, “Its presence in the house does reinforce Dirk’s theory of a drug deal gone wrong.”

  Jack found an old wooden chair in the dim unworldly light and slouched into it. “Dirk’s reports are fragmented, zigzagging from one point to another: this evidence he claims is staged, that evidence…he just ignores. What’s confusing Dirk is he’s never crossed a goddamn sumbitch, playing the psychopath game.”

  “What’s the psychopath game?”

  Jack looked at Delware in the black light. “A man…playing God.”

  Jack stood up, flicked on the lights. The white bulbs vanquished the eerie gloom. Jack approached the plate and picked up a sugar cube. “Murder is straightforward, kid, a primal act; the simplest explanation is usually the right one.”

  “But your conclusion is anything but…” Delware shook his head. “Your theory is so far out, man.”

  Jack held the cube up to the light and grinned. “In this case…the simplest answer is also the most incredible.”

  Wednesday, August 13th, 1969, 2:08 AM

  A hooked moon hung over the dark, silent neighborhood. In the shadows of his living room, restless dreams haunted Jack’s sleep. His body twitched and jerked in his chair. He muttered. Suddenly, his eyes shot wide open like he’d seen a ghost.

  Friday, August 15th, 1969, 10:10 AM

  Jack weaved through downtown LA, running stop signs, ducking down alleys and side streets to avoid traffic. “This goddamn city – too many people in it!”

  Delware wedged his elbow in his window and gripped the roof to keep in his seat. Jack turned sharply, spinning out of an alleyway in Chinatown. An old lady shouted angrily in Cantonese. Jack smiled and flashed his badge out the window.

  He reached into his jacket and pulled out his silver flask and smiled at it. He turned to Delware. “Almost there, kid. The good old morgue.”

  Jack took a swig and then slammed on the brakes, his eyes wide with disbelief. “Goddamn!! How could I be so stupid?”

  “What is it?”

  Jack held up his hand, silencing his partner. The Packard idled in the middle of the street, cars honked behind. Jack closed his eyes and made a quick calculation. Delware’s scalp prickled with excitement and fear. Jack had realized something. A bottomless pit opened up in his stomach, the old man was solving the case right in front of him. It was over before he even had a chance to do any real detective work. Jack’s eyes shot open. “Gotcha!”

  Looking behind, Jack pulled the car into reverse. He dented the bumper on a ‘55 Olds sedan. The family inside looked scared. Jack’s bumper: not a scratch. He spun the Packard around and hit the gas, his eyes fixed. “I know where you are, you sumbitch!”

  Jack threw a police strobe on the roof and opened up the engine. Honking on top of the siren, he swore at the pedestrians he almost hit, taking wild turns down Alameda, Hill and Grand.

  Delware shouted over the siren. “Jack! Maybe we should call for back up!”

  “Shut up, will ya! I’m trying to think!”

  Jack took another sharp turn. “This is it!” He stomped on the brake, skidded across the lane and rode the front tires up onto the curb. The Packard blocked half the street. They jumped out of the car.

  On the sidewalk Jack shouted at Delware. “Where do you think you’re going? Stay here!”

  “But-”

  “I don’t need you, kid. STAY HERE!”

  Jack burst through the front door of the store holding his badge over his head. “LAPD!”

  The three figures in the narrow liquor store froze. A black man held his hands in the air. The bald cashier behind the counter stepped back. The lady at the counter dropped her change and coins rolled across the floor. Jack stepped forward. She stepped back. He leaned over the counter and whispered. “You got a mickey of scotch? Bells? Black and White?”

  The cashier stood stunned for a moment, then nervously handed over a 26oz bottle of Black and White. “This is all we got.”

  Jack smiled. “Well, the more the merrier.” He twisted the cap, took a long drink like it was water, and then wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “Ahhh, that’s the stuff, right there.”

  Delware paced the sidewalk outside. Large posters and window displays blocked his view. “Goddamn it!” He kicked opened the door with his badge in one hand and gun in the other. “Hands where I can see them!”

  Everyone in the store threw their hands into the air, except Jack.

  What Delware saw stopped him dead: Jack filling his large silver flask.

  Jack looked up. “I told you to wait outside, kid! I’ll be a minute.”

  Delware stared, stunned as everyone else.

  Jack glanced up again. “I said, outside! I’ll see you in the car.”

  Delware slowly turned and stepped back onto the sidewalk. Traffic clogged both sides of the street, the Packard’s flashing strobe held motorists at bay. An ever growing crowd of children and gawkers circled the store and blocked the sidewalks, muttering, rubbernecking to see what was going on.

  Holstering his gun, Delware waved his hands high in the air. He had said it many times before, but this time he actually meant it. “Stand back. Nothing to see here!”

  Inside the store, Jack’s flask overflowed. Scotch splashed on the grimy floorboards. His feet jumped back, avoiding the spray.

  Jack smiled. “There we go.” Placing the bottle on the counter, he sealed the flask and hid it in his jacket. He winked at the cashier. “One more for the road.” He upended the bottle and took one last long drink. Looking at the occupants of the store, their hands almost back down, he eyed the black man. “Hey you!” He slammed the bottle down on the counter and sauntered towards him. “You’
re black and proud, aren’t you?”

  The man made no reply.

  Jack grinned. “Hey, I understand.” He did his best Delware impression, “Black is beautiful. Right on?”

  The man nodded and croaked, “Right on.”

  Jack raised his brows, pleased with himself. “You know how I know that?”

  The man shook his head.

  “Because I’m hip.”

  Jack made for the door. As he opened it, the cashier called out. “Officer!” He pointed to the cash register and gestured for payment by rubbing two fingers and a thumb together in the air.

  Jack smiled at the near empty bottle on the counter and gave the cashier an amused glance. “Police business. Thanks for your co-operation.”

  Jack strolled to the car and yelled at the crowd. “Nothing to see here!”

  He jumped in and smiled at Delware. “Now, we’re good to go.”

  He pulled the police strobe from the roof, reversed and sped down an alleyway, clipping garbage cans, leaving them spinning and rolling.

  ***

  Jack swigged from his flask, steered with one hand and hummed Hank Williams’ Honky Tonkin’. Smiling, he offered his flask to Delware. “Morning bracer?”

  Delware just turned his head away.

  Jack liked silence. He hated chatty partners. Even though he planned on giving Delware a hard time for showing up in jeans and a T-shirt again, he decided to lighten up. Jack pointed with his chin. “So you got a backup piece down there, don’t ya…in those hippie pants?”

  Delware smirked. “They’re called bellbottoms. And they’re not hippie pants. Everyone has a pair.”

  Jack eyed the road. “Still can see your back-up piece, even with those wide hippie bottoms. I’m sure no citizen or shitbird criminal would see it. But I can. An experienced crook would too. Make you for police.”

  “Never happened yet.”

  “Ankle holster’s a real cop thing - never seen a criminal with one of those.” Jack glanced at Delware. “So how do you like the Department so far, kid?”

  Delware gave a snide, “I like to lock up white folk.”

  Jack tried to hold back his laugh, but it escaped. “Well, you came to the right city. LA’s got no shortage of bad guys. We got ‘em in every color.”

  Delware smiled.

  Jack spoke through a grin. “So, you’re kidding me, right? That’s the real appeal - slamming jail house doors on white?”

  “And the thrill.”

  “What thrill would you be talking about?”

  “Walking around with a badge and a gun. Throwing anyone you want up against a wall. Taking names.”

  Jack was still grinning. “So that’s it? And cuffing white men?”

  “And the money.”

  Jack shook his head. “Cops don’t make much money.”

  “They do for a black man.”

  “I thought you went to college.”

  “That don’t change the color of my skin.”

  Jack shrugged his shoulders, conceding the point. He turned onto Pasadena. “Well, I’ll tell you. I looked at your detective exams. Not bad, kid. But that doesn’t mean you can be a real dick like me.”

  Delware smiled to himself. Yeah, you’re a real dick.

  Jack cleared his throat. “You see, a killer really worth catching don’t leave his address lying around. When there’s not enough of a trail, you gotta sniff ‘em out.”

  Delware waved off Jack’s advice. “What you trying to lay on me, man? Later with the lectures.” He turned to look out the window. He hated lectures, especially from some old-timer drunk.

  Between swigs, Jack continued on his merry way. “This racket ain’t logical. I used to listen to Sherlock Holmes on the radio. That show was better than all that crap that came out with TV. As a kid I used to think ‘I can be like Holmes – reason it all out.’ But it’s not like that: working cases. You can’t trust your mind.” Jack licked a drop of scotch from his lip. “Sometimes, you know who did it - by pure instinct.”

  Delware rolled his eyes.

  Jack swigged. “It’s an unmistakable feeling - to know how to hunt. That’s what you need. Exams might get you into Homicide, but they won’t keep you there. A lot of bright guys get busted back to Robbery, Vice…patrol.”

  Delware gazed out the window. “Well, it looks like you also need white skin.”

  12:45 PM

  The Packard ran the stop sign at Macy and turned south onto Mission, a long canal road that ran under the freeway. The flask had never left Jack’s hand and after each ran stop sign or red light he took another swig. Delware watched in silent apprehension at the reckless drinking game. With a liquored up grin and a shiny highness in his eyes, Jack did his best train conductor imitation, “Next stop: County Morgue!” He whistled through his teeth like a train leaving the station.

  Delware looked over at Jack. “I don’t like hospitals.”

  “Yeah, then you’ll love the chop shop. It’s twice as creepy and smells ten times worse.”

  Delware grimaced.

  Jack grinned. “It’s all part of the job, kid. And it’s your last chance to see one of our victims. Once they leave the medical examiner they go under ground. You need to see at least one…and you can pitch Sal your LSD hunch.”

  They pulled up in front of a grim brick building. Delware looked over at the Los Angeles County morgue, then at Jack’s gleeful mug. Jack spoke in a hush, “I should warn you…the medical examiner-” He held up his hand and let it fall with a limp wrist.

  Delware asked, “He’s gay?”

  Jack flinched. “Is that what you kids call it? Well, if you mean he’s a homo-fruit, yes. I’m just telling you ‘cause some of the guys get…uncomfortable around him.”

  Inside the building, the two officers descended a flight of stairs leaving the last of the sunlight behind. In the bleak cinderblock corridors, naked fluorescents buzzed overhead. The windowless labyrinth smelled of formaldehyde and bleach. Their steps echoed down the narrow halls. As they moved deeper into the maze, the overheads flickered, some were just dead. They moved through patches of darkness and uneven light.

  Delware’s jaw was tight, his mouth dry.

  Jack swaggered. “Don’t worry, kid. Think of it as a laboratory – a postmortem examination with your friendly forensic pathologist.” He nudged him with his elbow. “If nothing else, it makes great padding for reports.”

  They came to a steel door. Jack pulled it open and held it for Delware with a cruel grin. “All aboard.”

  The narrow room was dim, except for a bright circle of light that illuminated two men in white smocks. They looked up from a slab. To Delware, they looked like a pair of grave-robbers caught in the act. Then he realized the place was crowded with dead people: silent, still, horizontal. Their dim outlines stretched off into the shadows.

  The coroner stared at Delware. His voice was hyper-feminized and slightly ghoulish. “Weellll...”

  He stepped out from behind the slab and the bright light. Walking slowly towards them, he was just a shadow. His face reappeared under the door’s weak EXIT light: a pale, balding man with hollow cheeks, bushy brows and dark, deep set eyes beneath thick horn-rimmed glasses. Smiling sweetly at Delware, his pencil thin mustache curled on his upper lip. “This is a pleasant surprise.” He held up a bloodied gloved hand with a scalpel still in it, his voice full of enthusiasm, “A Negro!” Stepping a little closer, he looked Delware over and peeked behind at his buttocks. “I’ve never had a Negro in here before…standing, that is. You know, I prefer my men vertical.”

  Jack tried his best not to smile. “This is Officer Hicks.”

  Trapped in the close confines, Delware gave an awkward, yet defiant, “I prefer to be called ‘black.’”

  Sal cocked his hip to rest a hand on. He pulled his head back, reframing the young man. “Well, Officer Hicks. I’ve seen a lot of bodies come through those doors. Black and white. They are all tagged, bagged, and weighed. I dissect, then remove their sk
in. And do you know what I find underneath, Officer Hicks?”

  Delware shook his head.

  “Red. So you see, Officer, underneath our skin, we’re all the same color.”

  Jack interrupted, “Is she still here?”

  Sal turned to Jack. “Yes, I kept her locked up just for you.”

  The coroner turned his attention back to Delware. “You missed the official autopsy, Officer Hicks, but Jack insisted I hold her on ice just for you.”