Joseph Wambaugh - The Blue Knight

That made me put the beer down, and I straightened up and looked at his big eyes. Cruz was struggling with the fog of the mescal and beer because he wanted to tell me something. I wondered how in hell he had ever made the Department physical. He was barely five-eight in his bare feet, and he was so damn skinny. He’d never gained a pound, but outside of Esteban, he had the finest-looking face you would ever see.

“I didn’t know you thought that much about Cassie and me.”

“Of course I did. After all, I prayed her here for you. Don’t you see what you were heading for? You’re fifty years old, Bumper. You and some of the other old beat cops’ve been the machos of the streets all these years, but Lord, I could just see you duking it out with some young stud or chasing somebody out there and all of a sudden just lying down on that street to die. You realize how many of our classmates had heart attacks already?”

“Part of being a policeman,” I shrugged.

“Not to mention some asshole blowing you up,” said Cruz. “You remember Driscoll? He had a heart attack just last month and he’s not nearly as fat as you, and a few years younger, and I’ll bet he never does anything harder than lift a pencil. Like you today, all alone, facing a mob, like a rookie! What the hell, Bumper, you think I want to be a pallbearer for a guy two hundred and eighty pounds?”

“Two seventy-five.”

“When Cassie came, I said, ‘Thank God, now Bumper’s got a chance.’ I worried though. I knew you were smart enough to see how much woman you had, but I was afraid that puta had too strong a grip on you.”

“Was it you that kept getting me assigned to the north end districts all the time? Lieutenant Hilliard kept telling me it was a mistake every time I bitched about it.”

“Yeah, I did it. I tried to get you away from your beat, but I gave up. You just kept coming back down anyway and that meant nobody was patrolling the north end, so I didn’t accomplish anything. I can guess what it was to you, being el campeón out there, having people look at you the way they do on your beat.”

“Yeah, well it isn’t so much,” I said, nervously fidgeting with the empty bottle.

“You know what happens to old cops who stay around the streets too long.”

“What?” I said, and the enchilada caught me and bit into the inside of my gut.

“They get too old to do police work and they become characters . That’s what I’d hate to see. You just becoming an old character, and maybe getting yourself hurt bad out there before you realize you’re too old. Just too old.”

“I’m not that old yet. Damn it, Cruz!”

“No, not for civilian life. You have lots of good years ahead of you. But for a warrior, it’s time to quit, ’mano . I was worried about her going up there and you coming along in a few weeks. I was afraid the puta would get you alone when Cassie wasn’t there. I’m so damn glad you’re leaving with Cassie.”

“So am I, Cruz,” I said, lowering my voice like I was afraid to let myself hear it. “You’re right. I’ve half thought of these things. You’re right. I think I’d blow my brains out if I ever got as lonely as some I’ve seen, like some of those people on my beat, homeless wandering people, that don’t belong anywhere…”

“That’s it, Bumper. There’s no place for a man alone, not really. You can get along without love when you’re young and strong. Some guys can, guys like you. Me, I never could. And nobody can get along without it when he gets old. You shouldn’t be afraid to love, ’ mano. ”

“Am I, Cruz?” I asked, chewing two tablets because a mailed fist was beating on my guts from the inside. “Is that why I feel so unsure of myself now that I’m leaving? Is that it?”

I could hear Socorro humming as she made lunches for the entire tribe. She would write each one’s name on his lunch sack and put it in the refrigerator.

“Remember when we were together in the old days? You and me and Socorro and the two kids? And how you hardly ever spoke about your previous life even when you were drunk? You only said a little about your brother Clem who was dead, and your wife who’d left you. But you really told us more, much more about your brother. Sometimes you called him in your sleep. But mostly you called someone else.”

I was rocking back now, holding my guts which were throbbing, and all the tablets in my pocket wouldn’t help.

“You never told us about your boy. I always felt bad that you never told me about him, because of how close we are. You only told me about him in your sleep.”

“What did I say?”

“You’d call ‘Billy,’ and you’d say things to him. Sometimes you’d cry, and I’d have to go in and pick up your covers and pillow from the floor and cover you up because you’d throw them clear off the bed.”

“I never dreamed about him, never!”

“How else would I know, ’mano ?” he said softly. “We used to talk a lot about it, Socorro and me, and we used to worry about a man who’d loved a brother and a son like you had. We wondered if you’d be afraid to love again. It happens. But when you get old, you’ve got to. You’ve got to.”

“But you’re safe if you don’t , Cruz!” I said, flinching from the pain. Cruz was looking at the floor, not used to talking to me like this, and he didn’t notice my agony.

“You’re safe, Bumper, in one way. But in the way that counts, you’re in danger. Your soul is in danger if you don’t love.”

“Did you believe that when Esteban was killed? Did you?”

Cruz looked up at me, and his eyes got even softer than normal and turned way down at the corners because he was being most serious. His heavy lashes blinked twice and he sighed, “Yes. Even after Esteban, and even though he was the oldest and you always feel a little something extra for the firstborn. Even after Esteban was killed I felt this to be the truth. After the grief, I knew it was God’s truth. I believed it, even then.”

“I think I’ll get a cup of coffee. I have a stomachache. Maybe something warm…”

Cruz smiled, and leaned back in his chair. Socorro was finishing the last of the lunches and I chatted with her while we warmed up the coffee. The stomachache started to fade a little.

I drank the coffee and thought about what Cruz said which made sense, and yet, every time you get tied up to people something happens and that cord is cut, and I mean really cut with a bloody sword.

“Shall we go in and see how the old boy’s doing?”

“Oh sure, Sukie,” I said, putting my arm around her shoulder. Cruz was stretched out on the couch snoring.

“That’s his drinking sleep. We’ll never wake him up,” she said. “Maybe I just better get his pillow and a blanket.”

“He shouldn’t be sleeping on the couch,” I said. “It’s drafty in this big living room.” I went over to him and knelt down.

“What’re you going to do?”

“Put him to bed,” I said, picking him up in my arms.

“Bumper, you’ll rupture yourself.”

“He’s light as a baby,” I said, and he was surprisingly light. “Why the hell don’t you make him eat more?” I said, following Socorro up the stairs.

“You know he doesn’t like to eat. Let me help you, Bumper.”

“Just lead the way, Mama. I can handle him just fine.”

When we got in their bedroom I wasn’t even breathing hard and I laid him on the bed, on the sheets. She had already pulled back the covers. Cruz was rattling and wheezing now and we both laughed.

“He snores awful,” she said as I looked at the little squirt.

“He’s the only real friend I ever made in twenty years. I know millions of people and I see them and eat with them and I’ll miss things about all of them, but it won’t be like something inside is gone, like with Cruz.”