On The Grind

Chapter 20

The next clay I didn't see Alonzo Bell. I reported to roll call and harnessed up, but was told that my training officer had taken a sick day for personal business. I was still a probationer and Harry Eastwood didn't want me out in the field, so I was sent over to the Haven Park police building, for an eight-hour shift answering phones and filing paper.

I spent a frustrating clay riding a desk wondering what Alonzo was doing. The longer I sat there, the more I wondered if my performance at Manias Casita and in the jail had forced some kind of dangerous revaluation.

The mayoral election was in eight days and there was a frontpage story in this mornings Courier written by Anita Juarez, detailing Rocky s arrest and calling for new leadership in Haven Park. The editorial page had a slew of angry letters protesting his treatment at the hands of the Haven Park PD. I knew the Avilas and Cecil Bratano weren't about to sit back and watch this election go sour. Rocky Chacon had a much better chance of winding up in Haven Parks morgue than its city hall.

At the end of the day shift I walked back to the elementary school, changed in the locker room, clocked out and drove back to the Bicycle Club. Kven though it was only five o'clock, the parking lot was already full of cars belonging to dedicated gamblers. I went up to my sand-and peach-orange-colored room, kicked off my shoes, flopped down on the bed and spent half an hour trying to think what my next move should be.

One of the biggest problems working undercover was managing stress. Most uniforms, if they want to, get a chance at working a stint in Vice while still in the Patrol Division. Since Vice is a plainclothes gig, it's thought to be a good stepping-stone to the Detective Bureau.

When patrol cops got this opportunity they were generally excited about it. But it quickly became obvious that some of them didn't have the temperament. It was emotionally devastating to be sitting across from a dangerous drug dealer in a dark shooting gallery full of murderous characters, wearing a wire, knowing that at any moment you could be discovered and killed.

A lot of officers who had been eagerly looking forward to UC assignments ended up asking the watch commander to let them work support instead. Living a lie under the constant threat of exposure and death could become unbearable. It's why most law enforcement agencies limit UC work to only a few weeks.

For the past several days I'd been feeling the pressure. Not sure who was watching me, not able to trust anyone, including the guy who'd asked me to take the assignment in the first place. I missed my wife and had temporarily lost the respect of my son. Why the hell was I doing this?

At a little past seven I was so fatigued that I fell asleep sprawled across my peach-orange bedspread.

Suddenly I was jangled out of a troubled dream by my new cell phone. I sat up and looked at my watch: 7:40 P. M. I'd only been out for half an hour. I stumbled over and fumbled the cell open.

"Yeah?" I mumbled.

"Scully?" a voice I vaguely recognized asked.

"Yes."

"Lieutenant Eastwood. You've got a call-up."

"What's up, Loo?" My nerves instantly on edge.

"You'll be briefed when you get here. We've got an 'all hands' situation. Get to the training facility on Pine Street and get in harness. Roll call is in the gym in twenty minutes."

"On my way, sir."

I hung up and wondered, was this finally it? Had I just been called in to be kidnapped, killed, then dumped in the L. A. River?