Joseph Wambaugh - The Blue Knight

“Don’t worry, Melba’s tapes’re going to disappear.”

“The undercover man?”

Stan nodded.

“Bless him,” I breathed. “Which one was he? Not the kid whose arm I almost broke?”

“No,” Stan laughed, “the tall black kid. I’m only telling you because we’re going to have to use him as a material witness in a few days anyway, and we’ll have to disclose his identity. We got secret indictments on four guys who make pretty good explosives in the basement of a North Hollywood apartment building. He’s been working for me since he joined the Department thirteen months ago. We have him enrolled in college. Nice kid. Hell of a basketball player. He can’t wait to wear a bluesuit and work a radio car. He’s sick of mingling with all these revolutionaries.”

“How do you know he can get the tape?”

“He’s been practically living in Melba’s skivvies for at least six months now. He’ll sleep with her tonight and that’ll be it.”

“Some job,” I said.

“He doesn’t mind that part of it,” Stan chuckled. “He’s anxious to see how all his friends react when they find out he’s the heat. Says he’s been using them as whipping boys and playing the outraged black man role for so long, they probably won’t believe it till they actually see him in the blue uniform with that big hateful shield on his chest. And wait’ll Melba finds out she’s been balling a cop. You can bet she’ll keep that a secret.”

“Nobody’s gonna hear about me then, huh, Stan?”

“I’ll erase the tape, Bumper,” said Stan, getting out of the car. “You know, in a way it worked out okay. Scott Hairston was expecting a hundred marchers in the next few hours. He didn’t want trouble yet. You wrecked his game today.”

“See you later, Stan,” I said, trying to sound casual, like I wasn’t totally humiliated. “Have a cigar, old shoe.”

I was wrung out after that caper and even though it was getting late in the afternoon, I jumped on the Harbor Freeway and started driving south, as fast as traffic would permit, with some kind of half-baked idea about looking at the ocean. I was trying to do something which I usually do quite well, controlling my thoughts. It wouldn’t do any good at all to stew over what happened, so I was trying to think about something else, maybe food, or Cassie, or how Glenda’s jugs looked today-something good. But I was in a dark mood, and nothing good would come, so I decided to think of absolutely nothing which I can also do quite well.

I wheeled back to my beat and called the lieutenant, telling him about the ruckus at the induction center, leaving out all the details of course, and he told me the marchers dispersed very fast and there were only a few cars still at the scene. I knew there’d hardly be any mention of this one, a few TV shots on the six o’clock news and that’d be it. I hung up and got back in my car, hoping the cameraman hadn’t caught me smoking the cigar. That’s another silly rule, no smoking in public, as if a cop is a Buckingham Palace guard.

I DROVE AROUND SOME MORE, cooling off, looking at my watch every few seconds, wanting this day to end. The noisy chatter on the radio was driving me nuts so I turned it off. Screw the radio, I thought, I never made a good pinch from a radio call. The good busts come from doing what I do best, walking and looking and talking to people.

I had a hell of an attack of indigestion going. I took four antacid tablets from the glove compartment and popped them all but I was still restless, squirming around on the seat. Cassie’s three o’clock class would be finished now so I drove up Vermont to Los Angeles City College and parked out front in the red zone even though when I do that I always get a few digs from the kids or from teachers like, “You can do it but we get tickets for it.” Today there was nobody in front and I didn’t get any bullshit which I don’t particularly mind anyway, since nobody including myself really likes authority symbols. I’m always one of the first to get my ass up when the brass tries to restrict my freedom with some idiotic rules.

I climbed the stairs leisurely, admiring the tits on some sun-tanned, athletic-looking, ponytailed gym teacher. She was in a hurry and took the stairs two at a time, still in her white shorts and sneakers and white jersey that showed all she had, and it was plenty. Some of the kids passing me in the halls made all the usual remarks, calling me Dick Tracy and Sheriff John, and there were a few giggles about Marlene somebody holding some pot and then Marlene squealed and giggled. We didn’t used to get snickers about pot, and that reminded me of the only argument concerning pot that made any sense to me. Grass, like booze, breaks the chain and frees the beast, but does it so much easier and quicker. I’ve seen it thousands of times.

Cassie was in her office with the door opened talking to a stringy-haired bubblegummer in a micro-mini that showed her red-flowered pantygirdle when she sat down.

“Hi,” said Cassie, when she saw me in the doorway. The girl looked at me and then back at Cassie, wondering what the fuzz was here for.

“We’ll just be a minute,” said Cassie, still smiling her clean white smile, and I nodded and walked down the hall to the water fountain thinking how damn good she looked in that orange dress. It was one of the twenty or so that I’d bought her since we met, and she finally agreed with me that she looked better in hot colors, even though she thought it was part of any man’s M.O. to like his women in flaming oranges and reds.

Her hair was drawn back today and either way, back or down, her hair was beautiful. It was thick brown, streaked with silver, not gray, but real untouched silver, and her figure was damn good for a girl her age. She was tanned and looked more like a gym teacher than a French teacher. She always wore a size twelve and sometimes could wear a ten in certain full styles. I wondered if she still looked so good because she played tennis and golf or because she didn’t have any kids when she was married, but then, Cruz’s wife Socorro had a whole squad of kids and though she was a little overweight she still looked almost as good as Cassie. Some people just keep it all, I guess, which almost made me self-conscious being with this classy-looking woman when we went places together. I always felt like everyone was thinking, “He must have bread or she’d never be with him.” But it was useless to question your luck, you just had to grab on when you had the chance, and I did. And then again, maybe I was one of those guys that’s ugly in an attractive sort of way.

“Well?” said Cassie, and I turned my head and saw her standing in the doorway of her office, still smiling at me as I went over her with my eyes. The kid had left.

“That’s the prettiest dress you have,” I said, and I really meant it. At that moment she’d never looked better, even though some heavy wisps of hair were hanging on her cheeks and her lipstick was almost all gone.

“Why don’t you admire my mind instead of my body once in a while like I do yours?” she grinned.

I followed her into the office and stepped close, intending to give her a kiss on the cheek. She surprised me by throwing her arms around my neck and kissing me long and hot, causing me to drop my hat on the floor and get pretty aroused even though we were standing in an open doorway and any minute a hundred people would walk past. When she finally stopped, she had the lazy dazzling look of a passionate woman.

“Shall we sweep everything off that damned desk?” she said in a husky voice, and for a minute or two I thought she would’ve. Then a bell rang and doors started opening and she laughed and sat down on her desk showing me some very shapely legs and you would never guess those wheels had been spinning for forty odd years. I plopped down in a leather chair, my mouth woolly dry from having that hot body up against me.