On The Grind

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.

As they sat at a table, I went off in search of the fire extinguishers. I went through a kitchen door into the pantry area. Three Mexicans swung wary eyes at me as I entered. "Donde esta los extintores?" I asked.

A fry cook pointed toward a wall in the back, where I saw a big red C02 bottle hanging in a bracket near the refrigerator. I walked over and checked the tag. The extinguisher was only a month old. I pulled the current date certification tag off the bottle and replaced it with one of the expired ones Alonzo had just given me. The counterman saw what I was doing.

"You just changed that," he said in perfect English.

I ignored him and moved on. Then I did the same thing to another C02 canister. I hated this, but if I backed off now or tried to alter Alonzo s plan, then I was instantly through down here. I had to go along and hope I would soon have enough to put an end to the criminal corruption in Haven Park while at the same time keeping Rocky Chacon alive.

I found four more extinguishers and redtagged all of them. Then I grabbed all six units by the handles and lugged them out to the front of the restaurant. When I got there I saw from Rocky s body language that he was close to snapping, gesturing wildly as he talked.

"Now you say you also gonna close the street all the way to Forty-eighth? How do people even get to my business at all, then?" he shouted.

"Its certainly going to be a problem," Alonzo said. "However, you have my word that we will get all that roadwork done as quickly as possible." A slight smile tugged at the corner of his ruler-straight mouth. This was the kind of stuff Alonzo lived for.

"And how long will that be?" Rocky snapped. "A fucking year?"

Tm only a police officer. You need to call the Street Maintenance Department, and you better watch your tone, Mr. Chacon. I don't appreciate being cursed at."

"And I don't appreciate being lied to!"

I set the extinguishers on the table next to them.

"We got a problem with those?" Alonzo asked, looking over at the six delinquent extinguishers and frowning theatrically.

"Yep. All these maintenance tags are out of date," I said.

"Boy oh boy, that's a tough one, Mr. Chacon. Probably gonna have to close you down. If you have a grease fire with no extinguishers, people could die in this firetrap."

"These are all brand new," Rocky shouted, and with that he reared up, standing in anger. Alonzo immediately stood with him.

"You're just trying to close us down. You're a fucking liar!" Rocky shouted.

"Tm gonna call that verbal assault," Alonzo said. "Now sit down before I arrest you." Rock}' didn't move.

I could see a flash of unreasoning anger in Alonzo s eyes. He hated guys who didn't do exactly what he said, when he said it.

Then my partner did a totally inappropriate thing. He threw a hard right across the table at the little Mexican fighter, hitting him high on the forehead, snapping his head back. Rocky sat back down hard, but the little middleweight was tough and could definitely take a punch. He didn't stay seated long. He scrambled back up and in a flash was out of the booth.

Alonzo pulled his nightstick from his belt ring as he came lumbering out after Rocky, a murderous look in his pinched eyes. My partner was about to give Rocky a police-baton beat-down, which consisted of a combination of swift strikes known as three from the ring.

I had to move fast. I grabbed Rocky from behind and lifted him off the ground, then threw him to the floor. Since he was down, that should have ended it, but Alonzo was immediately straddling him, roaring in rage and swinging the baton at Rocky s kidneys. I knew the body shots could rupture his spleen.

I grabbed the sap from my back pocket and swung, aiming to clip Alonzo behind his left ear. I tagged him perfectly, but Sergeant Bell had a thick skull and he shook off the shot, rolled slightly to the side, stunned for a moment, then glowered up at me.

"The fuck you doing, asshole?"

"Sorry. Missed. Trying to hit him."

While this had been happening, the counterman and two fry cooks had charged into the restaurant from the kitchen. Both were wielding dangerous-looking boning knives. We were on the verge of a full-scale race riot.

"Alonzo!" I warned, pointing at the kitchen posse. He stood, yanked his gun out and aimed it at the fry cooks and counterman, who all came skidding to a halt. While that was happening I quickly cuffed Rocky and yanked him to his feet. He was groaning in pain, but still conscious.

Even though Alonzo had the three restaurant employees at gunpoint and under control, he still wanted to finish what he'd started. With a gun in one hand and the street baton in the other, he turned back toward the handcuffed fighter. I got ready. I couldn't let him attack a restrained, unarmed man. But before I had to intervene, Alonzo hesitated. Some survival instinct, born from years of committing felonies in uniform, told him not to do it. Especially in front of three independent employees who could testify. Illegal or not, Alonzo knew they could cause trouble if they passed a polygraph. He had fucked this up by losing his temper. His sour expression of resignation signaled it was over. I knew he was probably going to find a way to make this my fault.

I led our handcuffed prisoner out to the car and put him in the backseat. Then I dropped the six confiscated fire extinguishers into the trunk.

I'm gonna post this fucking grease pit," Alonzo snarled at me as he came out and opened his briefcase. He took out a big red sticker. Then he walked inside the restaurant and ordered the employees to shut down the kitchen. They turned off the lights and locked the front door. The last thing Alonzo did was post a huge red fire sticker across the door that said:

CLOSED BY ORDER OF THE HAVEN PARK FIRE DEPARTMENT

While all this was going on, I stayed with Rocky, who was seated in the backseat of the cruiser, handcuffed but smoking mad.

"You okay?" I asked him, concerned about the half a dozen kidney shots he'd already taken.

"Fuck you, chcimorro," he growled.

"Listen, Rocky. You're in a lot of trouble here. Do yourself a favor. Calm down and do what you're told."

He sat there, staring straight ahead. He didn't answer, contempt for us fueling the already deadly mixture of rage and injustice burning inside him.