On The Grind

Chapter 9

Alonzo dropped me at the Haven Park Inn and instructed me to show up around nine A. M. at the station, where Talbot Jones would take care of me. "By then, the Avilas will have the whole deal rigged," Alonzo said before driving off.

After he left, I went to my room and fell onto the bed with my clothes on, looking at the cracked brown ceiling. I could smell grease in the upholstery and curtains. Somebody had been cooking tacos over a hibachi in here. It had been a long but eventful day. I didn't know what lay ahead, but I was definitely in the cafeteria line.

I slept fitfully. I heard gunshots and sirens once about two A. M. and woke up, not sure exactly where they were coming from. It sounded like a good-sized police response not too far away. I stayed awake until five, and then slipped into a restless sleep.

In my dream I was at the L. A. Police Academy in Elysian Park, holding my recruit gear in a small canvas bag, dressed in jeans and an LAPD sweatshirt. I was very exeited because I had just been accepted on the department and, with my arrival at the academy, had finally found an identity I could believe in.

"This is going to be bitchin'," I said to the guy standing next to me. I could hardly wait to get started.

When I woke up at seven I could barely face the grim prospect of starting work on the Haven Park PD.

I arrived at city hall after a short walk of two and a half blocks down Pacific Avenue. I felt dirty even though I had taken a shower. The heavy glass door with the police department seal and Ricky Ross's name in gold letters greeted me. I pushed it open and entered. I stated why I was there and was led by a civilian employee down a long corridor decorated with old black-and-white photos of Haven Park arrests dating back to the forties.

She showed me into Talbot Jones's office. He was in a captain's uniform this morning, seated behind a large mahogany desk. The office was typical of a deputy chief. Plaques everywhere, pictures of the captain shaking hands with politicians and business leaders. I saw one photo of Jones with Ricky Ross, who was a skinny, dweeby-looking guy with thin sandy blond hair styled in a comb-over. He looked innocent enough, but you couldn't fool me. I'd seen violence flare behind those hazel eyes.

There was also the mandatory Haven Park Little League photo. This particular team was sponsored by Big Kiss Bail Bonds. Two coaches were holding up a KISS JAIL GOODBYE sign behind a bunch of grinning ten-year-olds. I wondered how many of these players would grow up to one day need the services of their Little League sponsor.

There were several pictures of a short but compactly built Hispanic man who seemed to favor white Panama hats. I knew from pictures I'd seen of him in the L. A. paper that this was Haven Park's mayor, His Honor Cecil Bratano.

"Scully, huh?" Talbot said in a deep baritone after I reintroduced myself. He seemed to have forgotten we'd met each other at A Fuego the previous night. He glanced down at a computer printout on his desk. "Says here you got jammed up in L. A."

"Misunderstanding," I said.

"Let's not sling a lot of bullshit at each other, okay? I've got your IA package right here in front of me. You left a long slimy trail on the sidewalk over there."

"If you say so, Captain." I was not sure how to play the guy. I needed this job. He was a big, imposing, six-foot four-inch, muscle-bound ass-kicker. One of those black guys who can project simmering anger without saying a word. Since he'd been thrown off the L. A. cops for beating up street people while on the Vice squad, I really didn't think my IA record should scare him off. He flipped through my application. "You know the score down here?" he said, not even looking up.

"Alonzo Bell told me a lot of it last night. I'm not a troublemaker, Captain. I know how to go along to get along."

He grunted, said nothing, as he continued to peruse my application for a long minute more.

"Your app says you were a marksman on the LAPD gun range and were current on all of your field expediency ratings before you resigned. That right?"

"Yeah, I was in good standing until I had my little problem."

"Uh-huh," he said, still glaring down at the pages. "I understand you talked to the Avilas last night. They give you the story from their end?"

"Yes, sir. I got a pretty good idea how it all works."

He finally looked up at me. "Okay, Scully. Then here's the riff from my end. This ain't police work like you're used to in L. A. We got our own way of doing the job down here. Most of the residents in Haven Park and Fleetwood are undocumented. But that doesn't mean we're the fucking immigration police. We're not busting these people for being here without papers. The reason they live in Haven Park in the first place is because this is a sanctuary city. We straight on that?"

"I understand."

"This department is vertically integrated with city hall. Know what that means?"

"Everything flows up through one chain of command, right to the mayor's office."

"Exactly. You step out of that chain, you create any kind of backwater or eddy of discontent, you're gone. We don't need Wyatt Earp down here. We also don't need William Kunstler. All you gotta do is play by the rules that the city council puts forth and it all glides and slides."

"Are those rules written down somewhere so I can see them?" I asked.

"You bet." He pushed a small booklet over at me. "You a smart guy, Scully?"

"I try to be."

"Stay in line and don't change the way things are done in my city. It says in that booklet that you will adhere to our police guidelines and deal with street crises according to the mandates set down in writing there. You don't freelance, you don't go into business for yourself. Except for towing kickbacks, when something is put on your tray, the prescribed amount, which is half, gets passed up to the guy above you."

"Cafeteria policing."

He didn't say anything, just sat there staring at me. Finally, he cleared his throat. "You know where the Haven Park Elementary School is?"

"No, sir, but I'll find it."

"Two blocks over on Pine Street. It's an old decommissioned school that our department's using as a training and locker facility. Report to Arnold Bale, he's our equipment manager. He'll give you a gun and uniform and get you set up. Since you're LAPD-trained and field-sawy, Tm going to waive our Haven Park Police Academy program for the time being and just put you right on the street. We're a little short-handed with this new Fleetwood contract and can use the manpower. There might be some tests and stuff you'll have to take later."

"I appreciate that."

"Your training and probation officer is Sergeant Alonzo Bell. He swore for you, so he can train you."

"That suits me fine, sir."

"A few other things. One: We're not here to protect and serve like in L. A. This is an ash can. You try to protect and serve the lettuce-pickers who live in this toilet, you're gonna get played. Don't make friends with any of them. They're assholes. Two: This department is not an equal opportunity employer. We got no Dickless Tracys on the job down here. You want to work with a woman, go somewhere else. We got very few Hispanics, one or two. Mostly we're made up of black and white officers, and a few Asians. I understand you speak some Spanish, which will come in very handy. We are not looking for any civil libertarians. We don't want or need a fucking police union. We're happy with things the way they're currently run. If any of that doesn't sit well with you, there's the door." He pointed behind me.

"All sounds good to me, Captain," I said.

"Raise your right hand." I did.

"Using the power vested in me for and by the City of Haven Park, California, I do solemnly swear that I, Shane Scully, will abide by all the terms, covenants and conditions set forth in the policing guide and will faithfully fulfill the duties of a Haven Park peace officer to the best of my abilities, so help me God."

I started to repeat that long, confusing oath, but Captain Jones stopped me.

"Don't say it back. This isn't the fucking Boy Scouts. Just say I do."

"I do."

"Welcome to the Haven Park PD. Get out of here and go check in with Arnie Bale at the school."

I left Talbot Jones's office. I was tired of walking and wanted to get my Acura back. I tried to do this by borrowing a phone at the front desk to call Blue Light Towing. I got a recording saying that they were closed for the holiday.

"What holiday is today?" I asked, frowning at the civil employee on the other side of the desk.

"Cinco de Mayo," she said, acting as if I'd just asked when Christmas was.

I walked out of city hall a newly minted member of the Haven Park Police Department. I was back on the job. I'd been vouched for by crooks and sworn in by a scoundrel.