by Josh Thomas
filed the missing person on him.”
Jamie dug out his notebook. “I’ll find out.”
“You told me he had a roommate. You told me his life story. Guess where he lived, a high-rise downtown called Riley Towers. Exactly where you predicted; it’s got a pool. You asked what sport he played. I guessed hoops. Know who he worked for, as a marketing manager? The Pacers.”
Jamie was quiet. Kessler said, “Man, I’m impressed. You got me the match. I was talking to your guy Lt. Blaney in Indy, told him your reasoning, and he said, Wait, a guy just disappeared from Riley Towers. He faxed me Mr. Ferguson’s photo and that was it. It wasn’t a computer search, Jamie, it was you knowing what to look for and Lt. Blaney staying up to date on missing persons. I want both you guys on my team.”
“If I can help you I will.”
“You’re fantastic at what you do. I can’t put it into words, but… thanks.”
“Your words are kind, but most of it’s simply knowing the Gay community.”
“It’s also knowing how to investigate a homicide. Man, can’t many civilians do that.”
“I wish I couldn’t.”
“I suppose I could ask the roommate if Mr. Ferguson was Gay, but even then it’s hearsay. I’m not going up to his parents and say, ‘By the way, was your murdered son homosexual?’ They’re already in mourning, they don’t need that.”
“If he had parents. If they even knew he was Gay. You don’t need a witness’s statement, his sexual orientation can be established by his possessions, a single Gay-related object. A magazine. A tanline.”
“See? I could use your Gay expertise.”
“IPD could use some openly-Gay cops. So could the state police.”
Kessler frowned, a guy like that’d be hounded out in one minute flat. Jamie had to be kidding. “How would that work?”
Jamie tried to tailor message to audience. “Gay people come to the attention of police a fair amount; any group as large as we are does. Mostly we’re the victims of crime, but sometimes we’re the criminals. I once uncovered a drag queen credit card ring, stealing people’s cards to buy their dresses and pay the rent. How do you understand them? Were they primarily drag queens—or primarily thieves?”
Kessler thought. “Thieves, huh? I get it.”
“Gay and Lesbian cops would have an easier time solving that crime; familiar with drag queens, looking only for criminal activity regardless of what the perps wear. Who cares what they wear, they’re criminals.”
“Huh. Yeah, you’re right.”
“Other times we’re murdered by a hustler, Gay-bashed by a football team, shot by the Ku Klux Klan. And sometimes we get a first-hand look at police brutality. Although it’s always other cops who do that.”
“Well, now, I thought we’d gotten through that one, kinda.”
“We did, sergeant.” Jamie went further. “I believe in you. You told me Gay people are citizens.”
“They are.” Kessler drove. “Other cops don’t treat you like you are?”
“Some do, some don’t. Some are lifesavers, some are thugs.”
“We don’t recruit in heaven, Jamie. We’re stuck with human beings.”
“So the issue is education and training.”
“And paychecks. What’s the worst you’ve ever seen out of cops?”
“A few years ago a Lesbian serial killer was captured down in Florida. She was born in Ohio, so I called the arresting officer, told him our interest because I was following someone killing Gay men. He said, What’s wrong with that?”
Kessler’s stomach turned over. “That had to hurt.”
“I didn’t use the quote; maybe he was slap-happy after all he’d been through. It was talk, it wasn’t behavior; maybe he treats us fairly in person. Damn right it hurt.”
Kessler sighed, empathized as best he could; unable to transcend his categories, wondering why they were still so darn important, when people are people.
Jamie said, “Police have a long way to go to reflect the society around them. Police abuse has happened to me personally; I’ve written a ton of scoops about it. The worst ended up on ‘Larry King Live,’ with the pictures to prove it. The guy made a vaguely disrespectful remark to a cop hassling him about jaywalking at midnight, with zero traffic. After they beat him he asked for a doctor; he was HIV-positive, so the cops cooked up a story that he tried to bite them. He ended up in the hospital with a charge of attempted murder. But you can’t get AIDS from saliva and they didn’t have any teeth marks. The charge fell apart in court.”
“Things sure can escalate quick. All that from jaywalking? What idiots.”
“Crossing the street twenty yards from the Gay bar they saw him walk out of.”
“You got him off?”
“It takes public opinion to sway a judge when it’s a cop’s word versus the defendant’s.”
“Jamie, I’m absolutely opposed to police brutality. The blue wall of silence crumbles the minute I hear about it. No coverups, no excuses. It’s criminal behavior, same as any other; except worse, it’s police. I don’t tolerate it. Don’t accuse me of tolerating it.”
“I don’t! I admire your position tremendously. I wish more officers felt that way.”
“They do, more and more of us every day. I know you didn’t accuse me, sorry. Why should I put my butt on the line to protect some criminal with a badge? Get him out, convict him, fire him, before he becomes a complete menace to society. You know how most officers feel about Rodney King? Besides that King was a known lawbreaker? We’d like to do to the L.A. SO’s—sheriff ’s officers—what they did to Mr. King. Not to hurt ’em, with foam rubber bats maybe. Then just pound the crap out of ’em. It’s not just the image, it’s what it means. That police officers are out of control, beating people’s heads in. That ain’t the way it is.” Kessler looked at a dozen head of cattle trying to escape the heat. “Except sometimes it is. Then the media screams about it a million times. No wonder there’s no respect for authority.”
“If authority were more respectable, more people would look up to it.”
“I know. I’m doing my best, man.”
“I know you are. I respect you.”
“Do you hate cops?”
“No! I admire good cops, like Bulldog, who tells me you’ve been checking up on me.” They glanced at each other. “It’s okay, I understand. I’ve done the same thing to you at the Union-Gazette.”
“Nothing wrong with that, I guess.”
“They speak very highly of you. They also say there isn’t a police agency in the state that’s undergone training in Gay and Lesbian issues.”
“Well, gee, do they do that elsewhere?”
“I helped train the Cincinnati Police Division, 980 officers including the chief. They now advertise their job openings in my paper.”
“I’ve never heard of doing that. What was your basic message?”
“It was about change; that they can’t do an adequate job of law enforcement if they don’t adjust to changes in society. Things have changed with Gay people. We used to be the out-group, but now we’ve joined the in-group. So police must redefine their constituents to gain the community’s trust and support. We’re citizens, just like you said. We can be cops too. Openly-Gay cops and citizens’ groups help departments adjust to change. Without them, policing’s what it used to be, the most homophobic occupation this side of Fundamentalist TV mouth-foamers.”
“Gee. I’ve just been trained.” They smiled. “There’s no excuse for prejudice. Put me to the test, you’ll see. What do you think my job is, but the enforcement of everybody’s civil rights?”
“How beautifully said. Thank you, sergeant.” Jamie made his own doe-eyes out the window. “Let’s make this less personal. I know you’ve got the world’s toughest job. Most officers I’ve met are excellent human beings.”
“Thank you. You’re right.”
“They’ve impressed me with their professionalism, logic and commitment. But I’ve also
come across incompetence, corruption and bigotry.”
“So have I.” God, Jamie, I try so hard.
“Teach me about policing, sergeant. I don’t know what officers face, only what my community’s experience is.”
“Teach me your community, man. I don’t know what it’s like to be a minority.”
“You’re in a macho business. It has to be, but that scares us. We’re very aware that some male cops can’t even accept women officers. Women victims relate better to them, and women officers can be incredibly courageous; yet most departments tolerate sexism, even encourage it. There’s no excuse for institutional bias in an armed force. As for racism…”Jamie shrugged in frustration.“My editor is Black, and he gets stopped all the time for driving 35 in a 35 mile an hour zone. Why should he be stigmatized? He’s a brilliant man, but he’s scared to buy a new car for fear he’ll be labeled a drug dealer.”
“DWB, Driving While Black. It happened to a friend of mine, a 15year trooper driving home in his own suburb. He sued the local cops and got a nice little payday.”
“I’ve heard of that story. I didn’t know he was your friend.”
“Profiling comes from inadequate leadership, Jamie, inadequate training. You can’t escape the demographics of who commits crimes, it’s basically the poor. What’s rotten about America is we stick it to Blacks and Latinos so we’ve always got poor.”
A cop who critiqued what’s rotten about America made Jamie say, “Sergeant, I trust you with my civil rights.”
“Thank you. I’ll treat ’em right.”
“Policing is so difficult. I admire people who do it well.”
“It’s twice as hard when you get blue-collar guys with backward attitudes taking blue-collar jobs. Who else’d trade their butt for mere health insurance?”
“How succinct. Thank you for educating me, this really helps.”
“Want to cut the crime rate? Hire smarter cops—and pay ’em.”
“Man, you should run for Congress.”
“What a cool thing to say. But also crazed, ’cause I hate politics. Hate it, hate it.”
“Proves how smart you are,” Jamie grinned.
“Tell me what police work looks like from a reporter’s point of view.”
“It’s tough to get a story right, it requires so much shading. Most reporters take what a cop says as the gospel truth—partly so cops will keep talking to them. But no source should be treated unquestioningly. With these cases I’ve seen great police work, and I’ve seen pathetic. So the right approach is one of mutual respect leavened by an ability to doubt. We’re both supposed to be professional doubters, that’s why we checked up on each other. We’re both supposed to rely on fact.”
“Man, you media guys can hurt us. One little allegation and it’s off to the races.”
“But a lot goes on that we never hear about. We only find 1% of police brutality, ineptitude, discrimination and corruption.”
“Then the whole force gets labeled.”
“That’s where we’re wrong; reporters have to shade things, it’s not the whole force, it’s just these alleged bad apples. But why should society have to wait on police to get their act together? They scream long and hard that they’re the good guys. They have one of the most sophisticated public relations teams in all of society. L.A.P.D. has its own TV show, complete with sportswear and memorabilia for sale.”
“L.A.’s next door to Hollywood. Of course, they never show you their screwups.”
“I know it varies by individual and department. I’m glad you believe as you do. The system is the problem and the individual officer can’t do much. But when will the system ever change? Only when it’s forced to, by civilian outrage. That’s where the media come in.”
“Well, I can see that. Go on. Gay cops too? Someday?”
“Dozens of cities have them right now. If there were openly-Gay and -Lesbian cops here, you wouldn’t be stuck when you have a Gay-related crime, wondering how you get such basic information as ‘Was Glenn Ferguson Gay?’ Everyone on the force would know who the Gay cops were, you could simply go to them for help. Instead you have to reinvent the wheel, victims of your own institutionalized homophobia.”
“I don’t want that, Jamie. That’s why I’ve got you along.”
“In the Quincy County cases, I actually had Bulldog come to me after I broke that story and ask me to help them find the Gay bars in Indianapolis. Which was slightly hilarious. Quincy’s a rural county, what do their cops know from Gay? I don’t blame them, they did the best they could. And it worked, so give them credit. I handed him a map of the bars in two seconds. We publish it in my newspaper every week.
“It was ridiculous that they had to rely on me. But there was nobody at Indy PD they could go to and say, ‘We need a list of all the Gay bars in town.’ An openly-Gay or -Lesbian cop could have given them a list in those same two seconds, complete with directions, descriptions, the manager’s name. But the Quincy cops were afraid even to ask the question of IPD—that’s the point. Crack dealers, murderers, rapists, child molesters, they could all discuss without a thought. But law-abiding Gay people, cops couldn’t even bring up the subject with each other! That’s wrong. It’s continually impeded the investigation.”
“It sure would slow things down, huh?”
“They’re scared for their own heterosexual reputations. Afraid that if they are seen as comfortable talking about Gay people, everyone labels them as Gay themselves. Which is precisely the time your commanding officers need to impose discipline and non-discrimination. But they don’t. They’re just as afraid of the Big Lie as everyone else. It’s mass hys
teria. It’s bigoted and entrenched, needless and unfair.”
“What happened with Quincy?”
“There are only two investigators in the whole county, Bulldog and his partner Barry Hickman. Before they knew I existed, they wracked their brains trying to figure out how to locate the Gay bars in Indy. They asked themselves, whom do we know in Cavendish, their county seat, who might be Gay? Then how do we approach that person?
“They finally went to the town barber and said, ‘We need your help, we don’t know if you’re Gay and believe us we don’t care, we absolutely don’t care; but if you are or know someone who is, we’re trying to get a list of those bars over there.’” Jamie chuckled, he had the quote down perfectly. “Their approach was fine, but they had to rely on the town barber, for God’s sake. What if they guessed wrong and he threw them out on their butts? To whom would they have gone next? Or would they have gone to anyone?”
“Most likely gone back with their tails between their legs.”
“Trying to track a serial killer by going to the town barber! Is this efficiency or what?” Jamie chuckled bitterly. “But they lucked out, guessed right, he’s Gay. He gave them a five-year old bar guide—a book that lists all the Gay businesses in the country. So they traveled to all the addresses listed for Indianapolis, but most of them were parking lots by then, bars go in and out of business all the time. They ended up finding only two open, and there are a dozen Gay bars in town. They went on a Sunday night, when Indiana has blue laws!”
They both laughed at that one. “Those poor guys. It’s tough when an officer has to cross a state line. The laws change, you lose jurisdiction.”
“The admirable thing was they took time away from their families and went on their day off. Nobody paid them. Yes, I poke fun at them, but I respect them too.”
“That comes through, Jamie. You’re very fair, the way you talk. I hear it.”
“Please don’t accuse me of hating cops. You guys are heroes, you’re lifesavers.”
“Sorry.” We’re both so paranoid.
“The two bars they found weren’t the ones they wanted; one of them was Lesbian, which didn’t exactly help. And they didn’t know enough just to ask a bartender, ‘Where else do Gay people go in this town?’ Instead they drove all the way back home, having wasted their time. If it weren’t for
homophobia and ignorance they’d have saved themselves months. Not to mention what happened once they got to the one men’s bar they did find.”
“Tell me.” They were approaching Kentland now, and there was another stoplight ahead. It would be the last one. Kessler eyed the turnoff to his grandmother’s house.
“Hickman and Bulldog were playing good cop/bad cop; Hickman’s the bad guy. He goes swaggering into this bar, ‘cop’ written all over him, ‘Straight’ written all over him, ready to smash a few heads together. Naturally everyone runs for cover. But what’s really going on is he’s afraid—afraid some guy is going to come on to him. So he’s macho’d to the max, but it’s so absurd. You should see Barry Hickman. He’s a good investigator, a friend—but he’s an ugly bumpkin who won’t get propositioned in at least one thousand years. He wore Roebucks jeans to a Gay bar!”
Kessler chuckled. “Still, going to a Gay bar would make me nervous too. I wouldn’t know what to expect.”
“Expect the same thing you’d find in a Straight bar, sergeant—people quietly boozing it up with their friends.”
That option had never occurred to him.
Jamie said, “Hickman was projecting Straight men’s fantasies toward women onto Gay men. The stereotypical Straight man’s attitude of ‘If it moves, fuck it.’ As if Gay men are that out of control.” He fumed out the window. “I’ve never in my life put the moves on a Straight man. I never wanted to. I never will.”
“Okay. That’s good, I guess. No imposing yourself. I respect that.”
“Journalism’s just as bound up in stereotypes; look at Gays in the military. Sam Nunn tramped through bunks on a submarine talking darkly about ‘close quarters,’ and reporters didn’t even think about challenging him, they broadcast stereotypes as if it’s dangerous for Straight men to be around us. The danger is to us, not to you!”
“Gee.” Kessler tried to think of whether he’d ever heard of a Gay-on-Straight assault.
“We know the harassment women go through; 95% of Gay men decided long ago never to do that to anyone else.”
