Our watch commander was a skinny bald guy with narrow shoulders and a little bit of a potbelly who was standing sway-backed on the shiny varnished-wood basketball floor before us, wearing lieutenants bars on his blue collar and holding a clipboard. His name was Harry Eastwood. Without even asking, I knew his handle had to be Dirty Harry.
'Okay, shut the fuck up,' he started by saying. 'We expect to get some blowback from that Crip shooting two nights ago, so look for Crip mother ships cruising in your areas.' The room quieted down. 'Bust any black guy in a Chrysler four-door wearing a red head-wrap. Pull 'em all in and we'll sort the fashion victims from the assholes later.'
He looked clown at his clipboard. 'We've got some homeless guy lighting cooking fires on the L. A. River bank,' he went on. 'Keep an eye out for this dink. Whoever he is, we need to get that to stop. We're in high fire season and don't want some brain-dead shopping cart driver burning clown our cafeteria.' Cops were taking notes.
'The midweek update on the hot car sheet is posted on the bulletin board. Write down the tag numbers for all those G-rides. The night shift reports there's a white Corolla that just started holding up liquor stores over in Fleetwood — couple a border brothers in stocking masks. You know that's gotta be tweakers, 'cause only meth addicts would use a getaway car with a fucking leaf-blower for an engine.' Scattered laughter from the cops gathered on the bleachers.
Tm hearing from Blue Light we're still not up to quotas on our tow tickets. Let's get with the program, guys. I'm looking for every one of you to write at least three, maybe four boot jobs a clay. Keep the flow going here.'
Then he stopped and looked at us. 'Anybody have anything?'
'Me and Scully are gonna be working fire and health codes this morning, so somebody needs to cover Sector Four till around ten o'clock,' Alonzo said.
'I got it,' a guy with red hair and a rosy complexion said. I thought I recognized him from L. A. or maybe from a joint op I did once in Santa Monica. Something Larson — a drinker.
'Okay, that's it,' the WC said. 'Get out there and try and make Haven Park the safest place on earth for assholes to multiply.' He turned and walked back to his office.
We left the elementary school gym. I stood in the hallway with the other patrol officers and copied car tags off the hot sheet posted up on the cork bulletin board. Then everyone moved as a group through the front doors onto Pine Street, heading to city hall to collect our patrol cars.
We walked single file, right through two residential blocks, carrying gear, flashlights, and duffels. I couldn't help but think, if you wanted to eliminate the Haven Park day shift, one quick drive-by with a street ventilator 011 full-auto would pretty much do it.
When we got to the parking lot Alonzo led me to Car Nine and opened our patrol unit. The midnight-to-eight guys who had been using it were just walking away.
'Those fuckers on graveyard always leave this shop looking like a dirty ashtray. Look at this shit,' Alonzo growled angrily as he pulled out the floor mat and shook sunflower seeds, gravel, and gum wrappers off the plastic onto the asphalt. Then he brushed off the seats. We stashed our stuff in the trunk while all around us blaek-and- whites were driving into the lot. Graveyard shift cars were one by one being turned over to day watch officers. Finally, Bell slid behind the wheel and I got in the passenger side.
'I decommissioned the air bags in this shop so we won't eat a ton of plastic if we ram anyone who tries to take off.'
'Sounds good.'
Then he smiled at me. 'Ready to help change the political landscape in Haven Park?'
'That's why I signed on.'
'Good, 'cause this morning Rocky Chacon makes a mistake he can't walk away from.'
Chapter 16
'This is Car Nine. We're ten-ten in the four hundred block of Flower Avenue,' I said, and hung up the mike as we pulled to the curb across the street from Mama's Casita.
'Car Nine is out of service subject to a call 011 Flower Avenue,' the RTO came back.
While I was doing this, Alonzo Bell was busy shuffling through his briefcase. Finally, he pulled out a manila envelope and opened it.
'What's that?' I asked.
'Fxpired fire extinguisher tags. Mama doesn't work the breakfast shift, so if we're lucky it'll just be El Alboratador himself. The way this is gonna work is I'll keep Rocky busy while you swap the current fire extinguisher tags with these expired ones. It's okay if the kitchen wetbacks see you do it. We aren't looking for style points. Their word isn't worth shit in court anyway. What we're gonna do is pull out all the extinguishers and see what transpires.'
'Close them down for being outside of fire regsI said.
'You got it. And Scully, I don't need a referee. I want this guy to knuckle up and come after me. I'm looking to hang an assault-on-a-police-officer beef on that little beaner. I got him by a hundred pounds or more, so he shouldn't be too hard to control. But you never know. I saw him fight once and he's got very quick hands, so stay ready.' 'Got it.'
'The extinguishers are located in the kitchen and by the exits. Last I checked there should be six or eight of'em.'
We got out of our shop and headed across the street to Mama's Casita. The backhoe was still roaring back and forth, not digging up anything this morning, just pushing dirt around, making a racket and throwing a lot of dust up into the air. Alonzo smiled at the mostly Mexican city workers as he passed.
'Buenos dias, caballeros,' he said, tipping his hat with exaggerated politeness. Then he turned to me. 'You know you got it made when you got this bunch a tea bags doin' your dirty work for ya.'
We went inside the restaurant. Mama's Casita was done in a south-of-the-border theme, using the primary colors of the Mexican flag. Fresh green tablecloths, red curtains, white walls and napkins. There were booths around two sides of the room, wooden tables and chairs in the center. Blackboard menus were hanging behind a soda-fountain-like counter with the specials written in yellow chalk.
Business was being clobbered by the city work going on out front. This was a popular spot and it should have been full. It wasn't even nine A. M., and there were absolutely no customers inside.
'Where's Mama?' Alonzo said to the lone Hispanic waitress.
'Che no come mornings. Maybe noon,' the girl said.
'Rocky around?'
She nodded and went to find him. After a minute, Rocky came out of the back.
'When you gonna let us up?' he said as he approached. 'That backhoe is killing us, man.' He was full of seething anger. 'You got to get that out of here. Nobodys coming in. Look at this place. All this confusion and noise, people don't want to eat in a damn construction zone.'
'It's a problem, I can see that, sir, but you're talking to the wrong city employee,' Alonzo said patiently. 'You need to speak with Street Maintenance. On the other hand, I'm always willing to listen. Why don't we get a cup of coffee? Maybe I can find a way to help.'
'I don't want to pay you money to stop something that should have never started to begin with,' Rocky said hotly. 'There was nothing wrong with that street. Those crews out there aren't even doing anything. Just driving back and forth, moving dirt, making noise. You think I don't know what's going on? I bis is complete bullshit.'
I was worried for him because, like Alonzo, I didn't think he was very far from losing it. This police harassment had been going on for weeks and he'd pretty much had it.
'I know who you are,' he continued. 'I already filed a complaint against you. You're the same cop who keeps towing my campaign workers' cars. What's your problem, man?'
'I deeply resent the suggestion that I might be harassing you on purpose or be willing to take a bribe to get needed city roadwork to stop.' Alonzo winked at me and gave me a nod, telling me to get started. 'Why don't we sit and you can tell me how I can help?' Alonzo said disingenuously.
