Frank Zafiro: Under a Raging Moon

Winter chuckled. “Nine months, Tommy.”

“Nine months and you drop that baby elephant you’re carrying?” Chisolm grinned.

Winter ran his hand over his uniform shirt, which was stretched tightly over his large stomach. “Ah, screw you. Nine months and I retire.”

“Oh, hell, Karl. You’ve been retired on the job for years now.”

“I say again, screw you. You’re just jealous.” Karl gloated. “What do you have left? Six, seven years? Ten?”

“ You’re jealous.”

“Me? Why? Because I don’t get to work graveyard and live like a vampire?”

“No,” Chisolm said evenly, “You’re jealous because I get to eat your wife but not her cooking.”

Karl exhaled heavily into the silence. No way he could top that one without sounding lame. Chisolm’s eyes danced mischievously as he waited.

Finally Winter said, “Oh, go back to shafting the citizens out of their tax dollars, you O-T whore.”

Chisolm chuckled and returned to his report.

Winter plopped down into his customary seat at the Charlie sector table. All around the room, insults and jokes flew across the room, while others discussed everything but police work. Cars, boats, sports and hunting were popular topics. The two rookies assigned to the shift sat rigidly in their chairs, speaking only when spoken to, obviously uncomfortable in the midst of so much seniority.

Will Reiser tossed a travel brochure to Winter. The words Bienvenido a Cancun were plastered above the picture of a smiling blonde in a bathing suit. The model walked along a sandy white beach next to a light blue ocean.

“Whattya think, Karl?” he asked. “A trip to Mexico good enough for a twenty-year anniversary?”

Winter thumbed through it briefly, nodding. It was a good idea. Police wives go through a lot in a twenty-year career. Will’s wife Patty deserved a trip like this. So did his Mary, for that matter.

“You bet. Good choice.” He slid the brochure back to him. Rookies coming on now had a new retirement system and had to do thirty years or until age fifty-five. He felt sorry for their wives.

Sergeant David Poole entered the room and sat wordlessly at the head of Winter’s table. He looked grouchier than usual. Winter didn’t find that surprising. Poole had made sergeant before Alan Hart, who was now a lieutenant. Poole had helped Hart study and brought him along. Once Hart made sergeant, the two were bosom buddies. But after Hart made lieutenant, he suddenly became too good for a lowly three-striper and began dumping on Poole. Worse yet, Poole had become an effective, if reluctant, suck-up.

Lieutenant Alan Hart entered the room and talk quickly subsided. Winter knew Hart thought it was out of respect for him, but in reality, no one wanted him to over-hear anything. In a profession of strong-willed men and women, Winter saw an awful lot of disagreement but there was one thing universally agreed upon: everyone loathed Lt. Hart. Even the boot-lickers who sucked up to him didn’t like him.

Hart was either unaware of this fact or didn’t care. He stepped up to the lectern and looked around the room slowly before calling everyone to order. “Listen up. Several stolen vehicles last night.”

Only the two rookies wrote in their notebooks as the lieutenant read off four license plates belonging to stolen vehicles.

Hart continued, “Has anybody seen Gregory Macdonald lately? Black male, hangs out down on the Block? Detective Browning wants to talk to him. Call him anytime day or night.”

He shuffled papers, skipping an irrelevant memo, then said, “Captain Reott is looking for volunteers for the Cops-2-Kids program. Two from each shift. Paid as overtime. Any volunteers?”

Anthony “Gio” Giovanni spoke up, “Lieutenant, no one wants to do that because Channel Two puts you on TV.”

Hart’s eyes narrowed. “I have one volunteer. Thank you, Tony. Any others?”

No one even breathed.

“Okay, well, there will be a volunteer by roll call tomorrow or I will designate one. And Tony,” he turned to face the officer, “since Channel Two is paying for everything but your time on this project, don’t you think they deserve a little help with the publicity?”

Giovanni didn’t respond. Winter knew what the officer thought and figured he and everyone else in the room knew how difficult it was for Gio not to say it.

Hart held his stare for a moment then moved the memo to the back of the stack.

“Okay. Graveyard had another armed robbery tonight in Adam Sector. The 7-11 at Birch and Maxwell was hit. Suspect fled westbound. Officer MacLeod gave chase through the lumber yard at Maxwell and Elm. .” Hart looked up and directed his gaze toward the back of the room. “Officer MacLeod?”

Winter turned to look at Katie, who looked up from her report. “Sir?”

“The suspect was armed?” Hart asked.

“Yes, sir. He displayed a black revolver.”

“Same description as the other Scarface robberies?”

MacLeod nodded.

“And you chased this man through a construction yard in the dark?”

MacLeod nodded again.

Hart looked around the room of assembled officers. “Let’s learn from this, people. Is it safe to pursue an armed robber alone into a dark construction yard? Or would it be better to set up a perimeter and wait for backup?”

“She had backup.” Chisolm stared coldly at Lt. Hart. The thin white scar that ran from Chisolm’s temple to his chin pulsed with hatred.

“Sir,” MacLeod said calmly, “perhaps this is something you would like to discuss with my lieutenant?”

Hart blanched as if just struck with a one-two punch. The tension in the room had jumped noticeably and a couple of day-shifters chuckled surreptitiously at Hart’s dilemma.

Typical, Winter thought. Hart wasn’t diddly on the street and now he is the ultimate Monday-morning quarterback. It was no wonder Scarface hadn’t been caught yet, with people like Hart directing the response. Winter admired MacLeod for standing up to him. The girl had grit.

Hart recovered quickly, brushing aside the exchange. “I understand the suspect fired several shots at officers. A trainee was wounded. Yours, I think, Tom?”

A rumble erupted from the tables. Winter shook his head in disbelief. Officers were involved in a shooting last night and Hart leads off the briefing with stolen vehicles and some community program?

Chisolm appeared to ignore the grumbling and locked his glare onto Hart. “It will be in my report, Lieutenant.” He then lowered his eyes to the paper in front of him and resumed writing.

Winter smiled, glad his back was to Hart. Another bureaucrat trying to screw with Tom Chisolm. Good luck, Al. You haven’t been successful yet.

Hart moved on. “This is the eleventh robbery in two weeks. The department is starting to look like the Keystone Kop Brigade. Double…no, triple your checks of all convenience stores and fast food restaurants. Everyone understand? And you might want to think about canceling breakfast until this guy is caught. It looks bad to see four police cars at a restaurant with Scarface out robbing places.”

Screw you, Hart, Winter thought, knowing everyone in the room shared his sentiment.

“Anyone have anything for the shift?”

No reply.

“Okay, then, hit the streets.” There was a scraping of chairs as everyone stood and gathered their gear. Hart shifted his gaze to Chisolm. “Officer Chisolm, I’ll need to see you in my office.”

Chisolm nodded. “As soon as my report is complete.”

“No, now.”

“Lieutenant, the Captain wants a copy of this report on his desk right away, since there was an injury and shots fired.” Chisolm spoke in an even voice.