Street Rules

Frank laughed, 'Damn, Claudia, you think the police are so stupid they don't know you're serving out of here? What I want to know is if you're chippin' again.'

Claudia looked disgusted. 'I give that up a long time ago.'

'What about the kids?'

'They don't mess with that stuff. That's the devil's candy. I kill 'em myself before I let them shoot up.'

'But you let them sell it.'

Claudia held Frank's gaze. 'Sometimes,' she admitted.

Frank considered a curious paradox of ghetto morality. You could do shit to strangers, other gangs, even your friends, but never to your gang or your family. They were blood. But it was perfectly okay to fuck up everybody else. Frank had seen the rationale time and time again, that if someone was stupid enough to use it, why shouldn't someone else be smart enough to hustle it? Claudia admitted none of them used smack and she didn't want it near her, yet she felt no compunction about dealing it and addicting other people. This blind eye to suffering was a common survival technique in communities with few resources and intense competition.

'Who do you sell to?'

'Gente. Whoever's looking,' she said, flipping her tangled hair behind her shoulders.

'You sell to Fifty-first Street Playboy's?'

Claudia shook her head, 'I don't know who that is.'

'You have a steady clientele?'

Frank realized she didn't understand, and amended, 'You have regular customers.'

'Sometimes,' she shrugged.

'I want their names. I want to know where they live.'

'Mierda,' Claudia snorted. 'No se eso.'

Frank went along with a cool smile.

'You're telling me you deal to strangers?'

'No son stranjeros, pues, pero no sabemos sus nombres propios o dirreciones.'

'In English.'

Claudia started chewing on the flesh around her nail. Claudia denied much involvement in dealing, saying it was infrequent. When Frank asked how she supported three children and two grandkids, Claudia cited child aid and welfare.

Alicia sidled back to the kitchen table and Frank pushed the donuts toward her. She grabbed one and ran off with it. The child looked healthy and well fed. The shelves behind Frank were well-stocked and she'd noticed when she took the milk out, that the refrigerator was full. You didn't see that too often in government aid homes.

Claudia's nails were ragged from chewing, but her hands were smooth. She thought about the junk food wrappers and pizza boxes scattered perpetually in the living room around toys and piles of CDs and Nintendo cartridges. Frank knew there was more then welfare coming into this house. She stared at Claudia, deliberately making her uncomfortable as she gauged her best angle of attack. At length, as Claudia ate away more skin around her nails, Frank asked, 'How many more, eh? How many more have to die because you're afraid to tell me the truth?'

'I got nothin' to do with it,' Claudia defended herself.

Disgusted, Frank shook her head.

'How can you say that? People are dying, Claudia. Your blood, your family. For Christ's sake, someone killed your daughter and you know who and you won't let me help, so don't tell me it's got nothing to do with you. Christ' Frank swore again. 'If you know who's doin' this and you ain't done nothin' to stop it's like you've pulled the trigger on your own daughter! You killed your own flesh and blood Claudia, now you're just sittin' around drinkin' coffee while you're waitin' to see who gets it next.'

Quivering, Claudia hissed, 'So I should die, too? Eh? Who's gonna look after my babies? Who's gonna look after Alicia and the gran'babies if I'm not here, eh? You tell me that! You cops come in tryin' to run everybody's lives like you know what's goin' on, and you don't know nothin',' she spat. 'All you fuckin' jura, all you want is it your own way — what's good for you. And you come in here tryin' to tell me what I need to do. How to protect my family. Fuck that. You don't know. Where are you at three-thirty in the morning when he comes knockin' on my door? Eh? How much do you care then? You don' know nuttin' about what I need to do. You don't know nuttin' about keepin' my chil'ren safe. Don't you be tellin' me what I need to do. I'm doin' what I need to do!'

'Who comes knockin' on your door at three-thirty, Claudia?'

'Fuck you. All you fuckin' cops.'

Claudia's eyes were lit with rage, the old fire had finally been stoked back to life.

'Who's at your door at three-thirty?' Frank tried again, knowing as Claudia coldly recomposed herself that she'd lost her. She'd had her for a sec then played her wrong. Frank slowly drained her cup, then stood, scraping her chair against the floor.

'Thanks for the coffee. I'll see you at the funeral tomorrow.'

When it was Frank's weekend on call she usually didn't get to the Alibi until the drinking was well under way. She found a space on the street and pulled in just as Gail was getting out of her car. The ME hadn't seen her and Frank caught up, following quietly a few steps behind.

'Hey.'

'Oh, Christ! Thanks, Frank. I hadn't had my daily coronary yet.'

'Got to be more careful out here. I watched you get out of your car and then I followed you. You didn't even see me.'

'I wasn't expecting to get mugged.'

'Nobody ever is. That's what the bad guys count on.'

'Yes, Officer Friendly.'

'Just be more careful. Look at what's on the street before you get out of your car.'

'My God, you sound like a public service announcement. Are you always this didactic?' Gail asked reaching for the bar door. The noise assaulted them and Frank raised her voice, 'Be a shame to see you laid out on one of your own gurneys!'

'Ha, ha.'

The Nine-three was holding down two tables and as Frank threaded toward them, nodding here and there, she recognized Hunt, Dimmler, and a couple other uniforms around the tables. Johnnie was arm-wrestling Munoz, and actually winning for a change. Frank offered Gail the only empty seat and scavenged another one, putting it next to the doc. Bobby and Diego welcomed Gail, but Frank overheard Hunt mutter to Dimmler, 'Somebody must've left the door open at the pound. All the bitches are loose.'

Frank was surprised Hunt was smart enough to make up a joke and wondered if he'd stolen the line. She glanced at Gail who didn't seem to have heard.

'This place is mobbed,' she semi-shouted to Frank. 'What's the occasion?'

Frank replied quickly, 'They all heard you were coming.'

Picking Nance out among the harried waitresses and noting Ike cruising a knot of females from the DA's office, Frank asked Diego, 'Noah come by?'

'He's in the can.'

Frank leaned close to Gail and asked, 'Gin and tonic?'

When Gail nodded, she said, 'Be right back.'

Frank went to the bar and yelled her order at Mac.

'Comin' up,' he yelled back, slamming bottles and pouring with both hands. While Frank waited, Noah came out of the bathroom, saw her, grinned.

'What up, dudess?'

He flipped his palm up and she greased it. Mac slid the dripping drinks over and Frank carried them carefully, wondering how Nancy flew around with them on a tray.

'Move over,' Noah said, wedging a chair between Diego's and Frank's. Gail clanked her glass against