Paul Gillette and Ernie Stanton sat nervously twisting their caps in their hands on two folding chairs outside the office of their boss, Lieutenant Allen Sampson. Paul and Ernie were partners -- members of the Los Angeles Police Force, traffic division. They had been working together several years in car One-Adam-Forty-two.
Several times in the past, Ernie's blundering clumsiness had caused them to be seated on those very same chairs, waiting for disciplinary action; however, Paul couldn't recall any recent screw up, so he just sat and wondered. Ernie's elbows were on his knees, and he stared dejectedly at the floor. Paul looking over at his fat, freckled-faced friend couldn't help grinning. He reached over and messed up his friend's red hair and asked,
"C'mon Ernie, you can tell me. What the Hell did you do that I don't know about? I just hate facing up to Al when he's pissed, and I don't know why." Ernie was the most accident prone person Paul had ever met.
There wasn't one piece of original equipment on their patrol car, they were in constant hot water, but Paul loved his bumbling buddy like a brother. Paul' brother Phil died in Viet Nam, and Paul still had nightmares about searching for the body in the burning debris of a bombed out village. Ernie wasn't anything like Phil, but if anybody ever needed a big brother, Ernie did.
His revere was interrupted by the arrival of Al Sampson. Sampson had been their commander for three years. He was a good officer, fair in his dealings with his men, and quick to come to their defense if they were unjustly criticized. Although, most of the watch were white Anglos the fact that the watch commander was black was no problem.
He opened the door to his office and waved them inside. "Have a seat, fellas. I'll get with you soon as I find some papers. Ah, here they are... I suppose you know why your here?"
"No, what's Ernie done now?" Paul asked. Ernie blushed and protested,
"Why me? I'm not the only one that screws up. Paul had the last wreck. I didn't."
"That was because you spilled that whole cup of hot coffee in my lap when I turned the corner."
"Hold it Fellas!" Sampson intervened, "Your not here because of any trouble. You're here because the results of the last promotion examinations are in, and why I don't know, but both of you have made detective."
"Congratulations, your days driving a patrol car are over. That is, unless you happen to really screw up again. Well, aren't you going to say anything?"
Ernie's mouth opened and closed a couple of times, like a fish. Finally words came out,
"I, I don't know -- what do you say, Paul, should we take the job?"
Paul laughed and asked,
"Do I have to work with this idiot? If I do, I want more money." Sampson just shook his head -- he replied,
"Yes, and yes -- there's a substantial raise and yes, you and Ernie are being assigned to the same case after a two week indoctrination period. Now get out of here and report to Fred Zimmerman. Fred is one of our best, senior detectives. He will be your constant companion for the next two weeks.
They thanked him and hurriedly left his office. Paul took three quick steps to catch up with Ernie's churning short legs,
"Slow down there, Partner. What's your hurry? Old Fred Zimmerman won't chew you out for being late -- he's a pretty good Joe."
Ernie answered back over his shoulder,
"Hell, Paul, I ain't worried about Zimmerman -- I just wanted to get out of there before Sampson changed his mind about making me a detective. I ain't his favorite kinda cop, you know."
Paul laughed and replied,
"Forget it, Ernie. We got it made in the shade. I can't believe it -- after taking that damn examination all those times, year after year; and suddenly, we both pass at the same time. We must be destined to stay together." He looked up toward the ceiling, "Lord, I musta really pissed you off, but honest, Lord, I don't know what I did."
He was still laughing as he opened the door to Zimmerman's office. Ernie crowded in ahead of him, tripped on one of Paul's feet and sprawled on the floor in front of Zimmerman's desk. Fred Zimmerman stood up and said,
"Don't tell me. Let me guess. This must be the famous detective Ernie Stanton." He looked at Paul, "And his race car driver, Paul Gillette, I presume. I want both of you students to carefully take a seat, so you can see that blackboard. We are going to start out with a little Geography lesson. Okay?"
When they were seated, he pulled down a large colored map of a section of South Los Angeles. He picked up a pointer and walked to the map,
"This, Gentlemen, is a very special map. The borders are Slauson Avenue on the North, Manchester on the South, Vermont on the West, and Central Avenue on the East. This is just a portion of the 77th precinct, but this portion is going to keep you busy for the next few years."
"As you can see, it's divided into three sections -- each a different color. The color represents the area controlled by a street gang. Young hoodlums who are into every type of crime in the book. They are vicious, they are deadly, they are juveniles, and they probably know the law better than you do.
"Ultimately, after a little indoctrination, they are going to become your problem. You can't rough them up, they can't be charged as an adult, and God help you, if you are forced to kill one of the little monsters. You and four other detectives are going to be the task force -- code name, KGB. That's not the Russian secret police, it's Kids Gone Bad. Your mission: straighten them out or get them off the streets. Al Sampson and I will be working with you all the way, and backup will be provided when necessary. Any questions, so far?"
"What happens if we bring one in on a legitimate bust, like a caught in the act mugging? Will the Juvenile Authority put him behind bars, or will he beat me back out on the street, with only a slap on the wrist?" Paul asked.
"Right now, he'd be on the street before you processed the paperwork, but we're working on opening a facility similar to the honor ranch, only for juvies. It's way out in the desert -- off highway 395. Should be open for business in about four months. By that time, I expect you fellas to have quite a few customers ready for indictment."
Ernie got a silly look on his face,
"What do we do," he asked, "stop them from robbing a liquor store and write them a post-dated arrest notification?"
"No, Idiot! the Judge will post-date the sentence until the facility is ready." Fred turned to Paul, "Is he always like this?"
"Wouldn't have it any other way," Paul answered, "in the meantime, what do we do first -- as far as indoctrination?"
"First, you two clowns are going to take a week off. I want Ernie to go into this section marked in blue. Wear street clothes that fit the neighborhood. The local gang is called the Snakebloods. The gang is run by a young killer called Diablo Moreno. You don't have to worry, they're not into mugging or strongarm robbery or any other petty crap. They are strictly into murder, extortion, and running numbers and narcotics for Gus Amata. You'll be perfectly safe.
"Ernie, I want you to get the feel of the neighborhood, have some drinks with the locals, place a few bets, don't buy any dope, and just get accepted without getting anyone curious.
"Paul, I want you to do the same in the red section. As you can see, it's more of a manufacturing and warehouse area. The residences are small, woodframe shacks. Most of the working adults work in the small factories near Slauson Avenue, and they hang out in the neighborhood taverns. There has been a small crime wave in that area lately."
"Mostly all break and entry thefts from the local warehouses -- everything from medical supplies to refrigerators. You name it, and those damn kids in that gang will steal it for you. I've had reports that you can supply a shopping list, and Manny Hernandez's crew will fill it, almost while you wait."
He glared at Paul's grinning face,
"Damn it! It's not funny. I've got Al and the Chief on my ass all the time, and now, from what I hear, they've started destroying all the business records in each warehouse they hit, so the insurance companies are going crazy trying to settle unproven claims. It's a mess, I'll tell you."
"I wasn't laughing about what they're doing," Paul explained, "I was just laughing at how completely stupid the whole situation is: First, the community hires us to protect them from themselves and to get the criminals off the streets. And then they do everything in their power to make sure that we don't do what they pay us to do. Weird Fred, weird!"
He continued with, "Well, do you want me to go down there and buy you something, or just hang around and soak up atmosphere?"
"No sense being sarcastic. I want you to do the same as Ernie -- just try to get them used to seeing you around. Have a few drinks, shoot some pool, and keep your eyes open. Okay? Today is Monday, the third."
"I'll expect to see you both, next Monday -- be ready with a verbal report on your weeks vacation. And be ready for some school work. I've got jackets on most of the problem children in both of those districts." He paused as he handed a thick folder to each of the new detectives.
"Now get out of here, I've got work to do." He didn't even look up as they left the room.
"Hey Paul," Ernie jumped in front of him -- walking backwards, "how about trading districts? I don't think I'll blend in very well with all those murderers, but now with thieves -- I think I could get along with those guys, How about it?" Paul just shook his head,
"Ernie, we only been detectives for an hour, and already, you want to disobey orders and get us both fired. You heard the lieutenant, he said you'd be perfectly safe. Do you think he'd lie?"
"Well if he is lying, you'll never get my Willy Mays glove 'cause I'm gonna tell my sister that I've changed my mind about you." He spun around and dejectedly followed Paul to the parking lot. "Hell Paul, I don't even know what to wear that'll make me invisible to murderers. Every kid in town knows what this fat cop looks like."
"Ernie, why don't you just try doing what the Lieutenant asked you to do: just act like a fat cop on vacation who's not out to bust anyone. Just hang out, okay? And stop worrying." Paul knew Ernie's concern was just part of his act, but every once in a while, Ernie's act got a little old.
Paul wasn't worried about Ernie being able to take care of himself. When they first met, he didn't think Ernie would last long, but he soon learned that Ernie's clumsiness was perfection in misdirection. Ernie could stumble and in trying to regain his balance he could crush an antagonist's bones in the top of his foot. He'd bend over to nurse his own hurt foot and when he straightened up, invariably the top of his head would crush the guy's nose. It was never brutality -- just clumsy Ernie.
Ernie was five-foot-five if he stretched, and he carried around two hundred pounds of fat and muscle, mostly muscle.
Paul, on the other hand, looked dangerous: he was six- foot tall and weighed about one hundred and eighty pounds. He had dark curly hair, greying at the temples, cold grey eyes, and grim thin lips that were downturned at the corners.
They were an odd looking couple of patrol cops, but effective on the street. Ernie's stumbles saved Paul's butt on more than one occasion, so although he sometimes grew impatient with Ernie; Paul wouldn't want him any other way.
Chapter Two
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Paul woke early the next morning. He yawned widely, stared at the ceiling, but made no move to get out of bed. This was the first morning in years he didn't have to hurry, so he wanted to take full advantage of it.
The kids he was interested in wouldn't be up and around for hours. They sure as Hell weren't going to change their lifestyles to accommodate his, so he might as well kick back and plan his strategy.
"But -- first things first," he muttered as he threw back the blanket and headed for his closet. He brought out an old, tan piece of luggage gleaned from the local Goodwill store. He unlocked the suitcase and opened it to reveal a hot plate and a percolator. They, also, came from the handy Goodwill.
The single, bachelor apartment didn't allow cooking in the rooms, so he hid everything in his locked suitcase and carefully cleaned up after himself -- leaving no clues.
Once the coffee started making gurgling sounds in the pot, he headed for the other pot to take care of second things..
Sipping cautiously from his thermos top full of steaming hot coffee, he opened his folder on the local problem kids. He quickly skimmed through most of the files. These kids were mostly petty thieves. They had been busted so many times that the street cops were tired of giving them rides to the station. There wasn't one that was over sixteen years old -- mostly little urchins of eleven to thirteen.
They obviously couldn't be organized enough to -- not only steal and market large quantities of merchandise, but also find and destroy inventory records.
No, this had all the earmarks of insurance fraud; however, someone was committing the break-ins, but who? That was the puzzle Paul had to solve.
Paul found Manny Hernandez's file most interesting. He was sixteen years old and place of residence and employment was listed as the Santa Barbara Goodwill Store. The store which had supplied most of Paul's possessions. Manny was an orphan. His mother died of kidney failure, and his father had deserted the family when Manny was six.
The store owners had been questioned by police on several occasions when they searched the place in vain for stolen property. The owners stated that Manny had just hung around helping and doing odd jobs for free. When they found that he was sleeping in an old car in the back lot, they fixed him up a sleeping room and paid him ten dollars a week to watch over the place at night. They had never been burglarized, but other places in the neighborhood had been.
Paul decided he wanted to meet young Manny. If he wasn't responsible for the neighborhood crime wave, he would sure have some idea -- who was...
The store opened at ten, so at about ten-thirty Paul went in and picked out a couple pairs of good, used Levis and was browsing through the used books when Manny came into the room with several cartons of books on a hand-cart. He started opening the cartons, marking prices in the books, and putting them on the shelves.
Paul watched for a few minutes and browsed closer. He stopped a few feet away,
"You haven't, by any chance, got a copy of The Iron Heel around here somewhere, have you?" He asked. Manny's answer came quickly and was just a little sarcastic,
"What's a cop want with a book avocating Socialism and putting down American industry? You planning on organizing a revolt over at 77th?" Paul grinned sheepishly and replied,
"How's a dumb rookie detective on his first day out, supposed to know that a young, Mexican, street-hustler is going to be well read and know all about the works of Jack London? How'd you spot me so quick, anyway?"
"Your shoes, Dummy. Old Levis, a couple days growth of beard and shiny black shoes just don't go together. Besides that, Meester Paul Gillette, I have a dossier on you." He reached into one of the other boxes and with a wide grin on his handsome, young face, he handed Paul a folder with Paul's picture paper clipped to the outside.
"Here, keep it. It's just a copy I made when I first spotted you hanging around." He sat on one of the unopened boxes and ran his hands through his curly black hair -- eyes sparkling with amusement, he asked,
"Now that we're through with all the bullshit, why are you scouting me and what do you want?"
"Before I get into that," Paul answered, "tell me about this." He held up the picture and the folder that he had just glanced through.
"This is totally amazing. How did you get this information? It even lists my promotion, yesterday. I had ruled out the possibility of you and your little group of bandits being responsible for this latest rash of warehouse break-ins because I figured you couldn't possibly be that well organized. Now, I'm not so sure."
Manny looked offended at the suggestion. He pointed to another box and started with,
"This is gonna take a while, so sit down. I don't like looking up while I'm talking. First, the photos, that's easy. I'm training several of my guys to be photographers. They can't go to school and they don't want to be on the street forever, so we found some good equipment, some darkroom supplies, I supply the training and they take the pictures. Nobody ever notices little kids taking pictures. In our line of work we need to know all about the opposition, so we even take graduation pictures at the police academy.
"The records are really a simple matter, especially since the L.A. Police went to computers. They store everything and I just copy it. Okay?"
"Just what is your line of business?" asked Paul -- not expecting an answer. He was surprised when Manny replied,
"We steal stuff and give it away. We don't always give it away sometimes we keep operating supplies, but most of the time it goes to a worthy cause."
He was so matter of fact about it that Paul was thunder- struck. This kid couldn't be for real. He stared across at Manny's serious face and asked,
"Just what is this worthy cause that justifies stealing other people's property?"
"Saving poor folk's lives," came the answer without hesitation, "my mom died because she didn't have the money for dialysis treatments and because the free clinics and small hospitals didn't have enough money to buy the equipment. Most of my guys are on the street 'cause their folks got sick and died because they were poor.
"I was mad at the world when my mom died, but I got over it. I decided to become a doctor some day. I probably know more medicine than most doctors right now, but what I'm doing is more important. I, or I should say we find out what small hospitals and free clinics need; then in return for their promise to treat anyone who needs treatment, we go out and get what they need.
"Medical supply and equipment houses get reimbursed by the insurance companies, small clinics can help people, and the poor, sick people get to live out their lives -- which is a better break than my mom ever got." he said with eyes suddenly wet." Paul looked away to save Manny embarrassment.
"But Manny, if you get caught you'll go to prison and never get a chance to be a doctor. And what about the insurance companies?"
"The way you tell it, everybody wins and everybody lives happily ever after, but bottom line, you're stealing thousands of dollars from the insurance companies."
Manny blinked away his tears, smiled tolerantly and spoke, "Meester Gillette, I can see why you want to read up on London's views on Socialism. You ain't too bright. The insurance companies are a bunch of blood-suckers who aren't about to lose any money, so they just transfer the losses into increased insurance premiums. That way, bottom line, everybody chips in a little cash to supply equipment to the clinics and care for the indigent and -- voilla -- true socialism in action -- courtesy of Manny Hernandez.
"And bottom, bottom line is the fact that nobody in this neighborhood is going to testify against us or fail to provide an unshakeable alibi for us, if we need one."
Paul stood up to leave. He had too many mixed emotions to spar with Manny any longer. He was about to ask Manny if there was some place they could talk later, when Manny spoke,
"One last thing, Gillette, we're not the ones who have been doing these latest warehouse jobs. We're probably working on it even harder than you guys. It's getting harder and harder for me to convince the local folks that it isn't us, so if you'd like to talk about a little cooperation be at the pool hall tonight at eight."
"I'll be there," Paul replied and walked out feeling like maybe there would be some way to finish his assignment without putting a really nice kid in prison. He did stop on his way out to add a pair of raggedy, white tennis shoes to his armload of purchases.
Chapter Three
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The tennis shoes didn't help his disguise much because that evening when he entered the poolhall, all conversation stopped. The place had been filled with arguing over who was cheating, loud curses in Spanish, and plenty of laughter, now -- dead silence. Paul turned to leave. The situation was more than he could handle, even heros know when to retreat.
Suddenly, Manny's voice,
"Amigos, don't be that way! Theese is our new local heat from the 77th. Theese is my new amigo, Meester Pablo Gillette. He's in disguise right now, so don't be blowing his cover. Okay? Come on in Pablo -- I'm buying." Paul laughed, shook his head and said,
"Okay Manny, I'll have a bottle of Bud. I really want to thank you for warning these guys about blowing my cover."
"No problem, Amigo -- Say, I like your new shoes." Paul took a couple of swallows out of his cold beer, burped and asked,
"Are all of these kids part of your gang? There must be thirty kids in here between eleven and seventeen and most of them are drinking beer. How do you keep from getting busted and how does the owner keep his licence?"
Manny looked around the room, then turned to Paul,
"I didn't invite you down here to educate you about life in the Barrio. I'll answer your questions, then let's get down to business:
"First, I don't have a gang. Gangs are bad news. Every kid in this district belongs to the same larger family that I belong to. I didn't take over, I wasn't elected, but somehow they made me their leader because my goals and my policies fit in to what they needed. In our effort to find the outsiders who are ripping off these warehouses, we'll have as many soldiers as we need.
"Second, would you rather see these little guys on dope or drinking a little beer? I don't allow shit in this Barrio. Anyone caught selling to these kids ends up buried in the desert. Didn't you sneak a little booze once in a while when you were a kid? If it wasn't against the law, they probably wouldn't drink the stuff.
"And as far as the licence goes, Father Miguel Antonio owns the poolhall, and the 77th keeps it open, so they can keep track of where most of us are in the evenings.
Manny banged his bottle on the bar several times and when the bartender looked his way, he held up two fingers and pointed toward a booth at the end of the room away from the jukebox. He slid off his barstool and headed for the booth. Paul followed. He slid into the booth beside Manny saying,
"One last quick question -- this morning I had a conversation with a brilliant, well-read medical student and this evening I'm talking to a jive-talking, street hoodlum. What gives?" Manny gave Paul a pitying look and replied,
"Pablo, Amigo!! If you do not learn the trick of the Chameleon, you won't last very long on the streets. A street cop has his uniform and weapons as his armor against attack, but the undercover cop or the narc has only his wits and his ability to be invisible. Ya better dig it man, or yer dead. Comprende?"
Paul made a mock salute and paid the bartender for the two beers that had just arrived. He took a swallow and opened the meeting with,
"How much do you know about these latest warehouse heists?
"I know they are all inside jobs," Manny answered, "I've had several warehouses being watched while the jobs went down. Everybody that works for the warehouse left after work. There is no night watchman -- they all used contract security, but not the same company. I'll swear nobody went in after they closed and locked up. Suddenly, the damn doors rolled up, a van pulled up to the doors and within five minutes they pull out leaving the doors open. We couldn't see who was loading the van, but they sure were fast." Manny paused and asked, "What do you think?"
"I think they've got a neat insurance scam going," Paul answered, "I think they're stealing air. They get someone inside to destroy the inventory records, fake a robbery and collect the insurance. And best of all, they have a built in patsy -- Meester Manny Hernandez and his band of merry men.
"Everyone knows that Manny loves to rob the rich warehouses and give the loot to the sick and needy. Shit Manny, you gave them the idea. They are just changing the rules a little. They rob from the rich, they get richer and you take the fall. Neat Huh, Amigo?
Manny's face clouded in anger. He obviously didn't like being made fun of -- and he definitely didn't like being made a patsy. He growled,
"What are you going to do?"
"Oh," Paul came back, "now it's what am I going to do. Well Amigo, you and I and your little army are going to put those bastards in jail where they belong. Okay?
Manny nodded his head in agreement and asked,
"What do you want us to do?"
"How many warehouses in this area?
"Thirty one or two," was Manny's immediate response. Paul leaned over the table and started drawing circles with his half-empty bottle,
"Okay, here's what I want you to do ... tomorrow morning I'll take you and one of your guys to each of the warehouses."
"I'll have the warehouse manager have several of his people take a look at the two of you; to see if anyone has seen you hanging around casing the place.
"Our real purpose is to case the place, so your guy can get back in after closing time. Then every night, until we get the goods on as many as possible, we'll watch and take pictures of anything that happens after closing inside those warehouses."
"If they get spotted, they'll just be considered burglars. If they get caught, I'll get them off the next day. Think it'll work?"
Manny didn't hesitate. He shook his head so violently that his curly hair flew in the air,
"No! It's stupid," he replied, "why put them on alert and besides you ain't that gooda actor. You'll get us all killed. Why don't I just send two men to each warehouse just after closing time each day. One will work as lookout and the other will hide where he can watch the inventory files. That's what we're interested in, right?"
"Yes, but how are they going to get in?"
"I'll give 'em a damn key, that's how. How do you think I been getting in for all these years?"
"Sorry, I forgot," Paul answered sheepishly, "what am I supposed to do while all this is going on?"
"Sit by the phone and read your Jack London book." Manny replied with an impish grin. "If a robbery goes down, our guy will phone you and you can get some heat there to bust them before they get away."
"And my guy will, by then, know how they do it." He smiled with more than a little smug satisfaction.
Paul decided to leave it at that. Manny was so up on the idea that he was almost glowing. Paul at that moment couldn't have asked for a more qualified partner, and the more credit he could give Manny for helping on this case, the better chance he had of keeping him out of jail and into medical school when this was all over. He finished his beer, told Manny he'd see him at the store in the morning and left.
He noticed that as he got into his car and started his engine the music inside increased in volume by at least twenty decibels. He wondered as he drove home, if everyone listening had been on their side? He also had to admit that he had a Helluva lot to learn about being a street detective.
Wednesday started out pretty much like Tuesday. He slept in, then leasurely showered and shaved. He wryly admitted to himself that until he learned the art of blending, all he accomplished by looking scroungy was to make people think he was just an extremely scroungy looking cop.
He treated himself to breakfast at a nearby pancake house, then stopped by 77th. Zimmerman wasn't happy to see him and lost no time in reminding him that the vacation was an assignment -- what the Hell was he doing hanging around the station?
When Paul gave him a partial progress report, he got a lot friendlier. He asked Paul,
"How the Hell did you get to the kid so quick? He and you must have really hit it off. That kid is smart and don't trust anyone. You didn't make any deals, did you?"
Paul assured him that there were no deals, but decided not to tell him all the details of the plan. Zimmerman wasn't the kind who would sanction using street kids to break into warehouses even if it was to catch a gang of thieves. He said instead,
"I'll have kids watching every warehouse all night long. When any team spots something suspicious, one of them will call me at home. I need the authority to call the dispatcher and get immediate response to the address. I'd also like all night patrols instructed that any and all loitering kids in the area are working for us, so don't waste their time harassing the kids. Okay?"
"You got it," Zimmerman growled, "but you tell those little bandits that the truce is over after we bust this gang of ghosts who are ripping off every warehouse in the district." "They're just pissed off about the competition, you know."
Paul wasn't about to argue the point because Zimmerman was probably right. He had asked himself the same question in regard to Manny; however, he had come to a completely different conclusion. A conclusion he chose not to share with his boss. He figured that Manny had sized him up as such a totally incompetent rookie that he, Paul offered no threat to the operation.
Manny was clearly light-years ahead of Paul in the science of running a successful crime organization. Paul had a feeling that everything that Manny had told him was the truth, and Manny wasn't the slightest bit worried about Paul being able to put the information to any practical use.
Chapter Four
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Eleven o'clock found Paul at the Goodwill store. He was having a good time browsing the detective fiction when Manny arrived. Manny glanced at the novel in Paul's hand and quipped,
I found a complete Jr. G-Man kit in the back -- instruction manual, fingerprint kit and genuine detective's magnifying glass if you're interested?"
"I'll pass on that," Paul replied, "your gang all ready to go to work tonight?" Manny nodded,
"We won't go inside until an hour after closing -- just in case someone forgets something and comes back, but we will be outside watching.
"What about you, did you set it up so that we won't all be eating breakfast on the city in the morning?"
"All the night patrol cars will be ordered not to harass your little army," Paul reassured him, "but Zimmerman said to tell you that after we round up this gang of breakin artists, the truce is over, and he'll be back after your ass again." Manny grinned widely,
"Wouldn't have it any other way -- tell Freddy Baby that Manny Hernandez sez, to stay out of Sherwood Forest or we might find a market for good used police cars. Hell, I might go into the furniture business and start building my inventory at the 77th. precinct." Paul groaned,
"Damn it Manny, why do you insist on aggravating the situation? I was thinking about maybe trying to get you a scholarship or something into medical school, but if you keep this up, I won't be able to keep you out of the Honor Farm for kids they're building out in the desert."
"Thanks for the kind thoughts, but just butt out, Okay?" Manny scowled at Paul, and Paul could see that for some reason, Manny was furious. He shrugged and nodded his okay, then he handed Manny forty of his cards, saying --
"Here, you said there were over thirty warehouses. There are forty cards in that stack. Give um to your guys. I'll be sitting by the phone, waiting. I might be in the John or drop off to sleep, so tell them to let it keep ringing 'cause I will answer. Have the lookout -- the guy who will be calling me, get the licence number of the van and the color before he calls, if he can. Okay?"
Manny took the cards, nodded and stormed out of the room. Paul drove over to Ernie's area to see if he could spot his partner's old, Dodge, pickup truck. He spotted it parked at Love's Bar-B-Que on Manchester. Love's claimed to have more variety in Bar-B-Que sandwiches than anyone else in the business -- everything from bear to reindeer.
Paul pulled in next to Ernie's truck and went inside. He spotted Ernie sitting alone in a booth stuffing his face. He looked up, ribs in one hand, a mouthful of potato salad, and gleefully waved Paul to the seat across from his mess. When he had swallowed enough of the salad to be able to talk, he mumbled,
"Boy, am I glad to see you. Now I'll have someone to talk to. Paul, you wouldn't believe it, but I've been in this neighborhood since Monday; and not one living soul will talk to me. It's spooky! I guess everybody knows I'm a cop, and everybody is so God damned scared of those Snakebloods that they won't say one peep to me. If I order food or a beer, they just give it to me, and when I go to pay -- they just look the other way. The first day I tried to outwait them, but after ten minutes, I just left enough money on the counter to cover my bill."
Paul had been vainly trying to catch the eye of the waitress while Ernie was talking. He turned to Ernie,
"Is she ever going to come over here?" He asked.
"Nope, only if you block her path. I'm telling you it's weird." Paul sprang to his feet as the waitress came by. He blocked her passage and told her sweetly that he wanted a Bar-B-Que ham sandwich and a bottle of Bud. She wrote it on her order pad and he let her continue. He turned to Ernie,
"You say they won't even give you a bill. How do you know how much to leave?" Ernie avoided his eyes then,
"Well, to tell you the truth, after the first day and a half, I gave up and just quit paying. They treat me like a ghost, so I started acting like a ghost. If they can't see or hear me or talk to me, then damn it -- I can't see, hear or talk to them. I've been having a ball stuffing myself ever since I made that decision. I figure, if I eat enough and cost them enough, they'll have to say SOMETHING."
Paul could see that Ernie wasn't handling his assignment very well and was on the verge of messing up, so he suggested,
"Why don't you come on over and give me a hand with my group? Then the two of us will come back over here and take this neighborhood apart. We'll find out what makes it tick. You know -- two heads are better than one. I've got a lotta crap going on and I could use the help."
Ernie was so eager to help that he left two sandwiches when he followed Paul into the parking lot. He was full of questions -- wanting to know all about their new case.
Paul filled him in on most of the details as they stood next to Ernie's truck. He decided on the way to the parking lot that it would be better if Ernie didn't know everything. Ernie was probably the only human on earth who would look guilty, if he even kept the wrong change at the super-market.
One look from Zimmerman and Ernie would be confessing to helping kids to break into the warehouses -- no matter how noble the motive. He asked Ernie to join him at his apartment at dusk. Handing Ernie a ten, he Said,
"Here, bring some pizza and a six-pack of Bud. We'll probably be up all night." Ernie took the money and drove off in a cloud of blue smoke. Paul drove home filled with a feelings of optimism. He just knew that he and Ernie were going to crack this case even before they were officially assigned to it.
Ernie arrived just as it was getting dark. He was loaded down with three pizzas and a case of beer. He explained as he sat his load on the coffee table,
"Christ Paul, I got thinking about what you said. We might be stuck here all night long and there's no way that one pizza and a six-pack is gonna last the both of us."
"You just eat and drink what you want, and I'll take care of the rest. Okay?" Paul laughed his agreement and dug in. They watched TV and waited until -- finally, at about five in the morning, Ernie groaned, burped loudly and apologized 'cause he just couldn't hold any more. He said he couldn't hold his eyes open any more either and went to sleep on the couch.
Paul set his alarm for eleven and crashed. At eleven he showered, shaved and tip-toed out leaving Ernie snoring on the couch. He decided to skip breakfast -- probably lunch, too, and headed for the Goodwill store.
Manny reported that there had been absolutely no activity the night before. He reminded Paul that there hadn't been a breakin in over two weeks -- not since the day after his last breakin.
"What do you mean, not since the day after your last breakin?" he asked.
"Well," Manny replied, "seems like every time we'd fill an order at some warehouse, the very next night this other gang would break in and clean the place out. Naturally, we were getting all the blame, so I decided to play it cool for awhile. We quit and damned if they didn't quit. I got to thinking that maybe, they were just playing games to put me out of business. You know what I mean?"
"I've got another theory," Paul replied, "we might just be able to set a trap for those bastards. You game to try?"
Manny said he was all ears, so Paul outlined his plan. When he was through Manny said they'd get right on it, and he'd let Paul know when It was done. Probably take a couple of days tho. Paul went to the 77th to coordinate with Zimmerman.
Zimmerman was furious at Paul's disregard for normal, legal police procedures, but was pleased as punch at the possibility of finally putting a stop to all the warehouse problems. He told Paul in no uncertain terms,
"If this blows up in your face, I didn't know anything about it and you get your patrol car back. Is that understood?" Paul nodded and left before Zimmerman could change his mind. He went home and told Ernie he could have Thursday off, but to come back over Friday evening.
Ernie wanted to know what to bring to eat and drink? Paul looked a little pained and said, "Just surprise me. Okay?"
Thursday night was a busy night for Paul and his crew of little hoodlums. They weren't used to a prolonged work schedule and would have quit several times if Manny hadn't been there to control the situation. However, an hour before dawn they were finished, then Paul gave them the go ahead to do something they were skilled at...he said,
"Okay fellas, just take what is on the list that Manny gave you." He and Manny stood back and watched as the little guys gleefully began robbing the place. They loaded their loot on pallets and took them to the loading dock. At exactly 5:30 A.M. a small flatbed truck pulled up, Manny rolled up the door, they loaded the loot and the truck drove off. Paul had timed it. It took less than four minutes. Manny, after lowering the door and locking it, bumped Paul on the arm,
"C'mon, let's get out of here. That door trips the silent alarm. We've only got a couple minutes to clear out before the rent-a-cops will be all over the place." He and Paul were a block away watching from the roof of a deserted factory building when the first set of headlights turned into the warehouse loading area.
Manny glanced at Paul's gleaming eyes and listened to his rapid breathing,
"Gives ya a sort of a glow, don't it? I've been knocking over these warehouses for years, but I still get a rush every time I do it. I think I'm sorta hooked on danger. Do you know what I mean, Amigo?"
Paul didn't answer right away because he was all too aware of the rush, and by God, it had been fun -- especially after he found out about that damn silent alarm. He finally turned to Manny and spoke,
"I'm not denying the thrill of high stakes gambling, Manny, but there's plenty of other ways of getting your kicks. Try a couple of night patrols along the Mei Cong Delta. This is kid stuff compared to one tour of duty in Viet Nam.
"Even though it gripes the shit out of me -- when I came back to this so-called civilized world, I promised I'd live by their rules. I'm trying like Hell to do it, but believe me, Manny, even though I'm a cop, it ain't easy. And damn it, if I can do it, I don't understand why you can't at least give it a try?"
Manny shook his head sadly,
"Man, I really feel sorry for you. You shouldn't be a cop, you know. It's gonna tear you apart 'cause you got too much soul. You just ain't gonna be able to be on the side of justice and be a cop at the same time. The laws are written to protect the lawless while they prey on the helpless. You'll be watching rapists and murderers hit the streets before you even finish the paperwork after busting them."
"You make one little mistake in procedure or protocol and they walk. Your gut will be tied up in so many knots, you'll either go on the sauce or end up shooting some punk and you'll be in stir for infringing on his civil liberties. Give it up, Pablo, before you lose your soul."
Paul thanked him for his fatherly advice. He looked down at the earnest, little, sixteen-year-old boy with a big smile and said,
"Well little friend, when this is all over, maybe we can sit down and talk about this again. A lot of what you say is true, but I feel that if I play this game right, I might be able to be a cop and still not get in the way of justice."
Friday, Paul stayed at the 77th all day waiting for the robbery report to come in. He really didn't expect one, but he wanted to be there if one did. He checked the early morning logs to see if the silent alarm had been reported by the rent-a-cops. There was no report.
When Ernie showed up Friday evening loaded down with a dozen chili-dogs and another case of beer, Paul ate two of the chili-dogs and drank one of the beers. Then, because he had been up for almost thirty-six hours, he told Ernie to watch the phone and to call him the minute it rang. He was asleep instantly.
Chapter Five
------------
It was exactly eleven when Ernie shook him awake. He grabbed the ringing phone and answered,
"Pablo here." He listened and told the caller to stay out of sight, but hang around til he got there. He hung up and called dispatch -- he identified himself and told the dispatcher to get that unit to Simms Mobile Medical Warehouse quickly, but not to enter. He turned to the bewildered Ernie and said, "C'mon Ernie, let's go. I think we got um."
"Got who?" asked Ernie as they hurried out to Paul's car.
"The crooks who have been ripping off these warehouses, Paul replied as he burned rubber out of his driveway."
Ernie sat quietly as Paul drove swiftly to the warehouse. He pulled in along side the patrol car which was parked at the loading dock. He and Ernie got out and hurried over to the two officers sitting in the black-and-white.
"How long did it take you after the dispatcher called?" he asked the driver. The man replied that it was only about three minutes because of the instructions given by the watch commander. They had decided to just park on the next block over and wait -- even if it took all night.
About that time a small urchin crawled out of the trash dumpster next to the patrol car.
"Is Okay to come out now, Pablo?"
"Si, Pacco," Paul replied. The drivers partner asked, "What the Hell's he doing in there and how come he knows you, Gillette?"
"He's one of my special task force," Paul replied.
He turned to the little urchin and asked him how long the van had been there and did he get the licence number? The boy answered that the van had been there while he counted to dos ciento slowly -- he didn't have a watch and Si, he had the number. He said that the door rolled up about three feet then rolled right back down.
He went to the dumpster and returned with a piece of cardboard covered with brown ugly stuff, but on the other side, he had scratched the numbers with his knife point. Paul thanked him for a job well done and told him to get the boys -- it was time to go back to work.
Paul went back to his car, opened the trunk and returned with several clip-boards filled with inventory sheets. He asked the two uniformed officers to accompany him. After they were at the warehouse door, he explained,
"Last night, I and my task force broke into this warehouse and took a complete inventory. We checked the inventory against the inventory records in the files here at the warehouse. I have copies of both. I planted one observer outside and one inside. The one outside witnessed a fake robbery, and the one inside was to have gathered all of todays shipping records, copied them and then settled down to watch the files. As soon as Manny Hernandez gets here, we'll go inside, interview the inside man and then take another inventory."
The driver of the patrol car growled,
"You and a pack of kids broke into this warehouse last night, and tonight we're going to do it again -- and you want us to help you take an inventory! This is crazy. Does 77th know what you're doing?"
"They sure do, Paul told him, call Zimmerman if you doubt my word."
"You could of, at least, let me in on your secret plans, Ernie said, sadly, "what's the matter didn't you think I could be trusted? You had to take on a street gang as your partners." He looked like he was about to cry. Paul punched him on the shoulder saying,
"Come on, Ernie, this was hard enough to set up. These kids don't trust anyone. You saw how it was -- over in Snakeblood territory. These kids know that one cop's testimony is just hearsay, but if I'd brought you into the plan, they'd consider you a witness and the whole deal would have been off. You got to understand, Partner, I had to go it alone or no cooperation.
"Okay Paul, I understand," Ernie conceded, "but you could still have clued me in, so I wouldn't feel so much like a fool." Their conversation was interrupted by Manny driving up to the dock in the same truck and with the loot from the night before still on the back of the truck. He grinned widely at Paul at yelled,
"Pablo -- Amigo, you'll never know how much this pains me. This is gonna ruin my reputation."
He jumped out and came over, as the officer Paul had been talking to, turned to Paul and demanded,
"Just what the Hell is going on here?" Paul answered without cracking a smile,
"This is my civilian partner, Manny Hernandez; and this -- is the stuff we stole out of here last night. We're going to inventory it first, then we go inside and see if anything is missing from the inventory we took last night. You will witness the counts and sign the statement to attest to the accuracy of the audit. I doubt if you'll be required to testify in court. We'll see."
He turned to the waiting Manny and said "C'mon let's get busy-- we ain't got all night.
When Manny took out his key-ring and unlocked the warehouse, the uniformed cops almost had a tizzy, but Paul reassured them that it was all authorized. He wondered how long he could get away with his bluff.
Inside, a little Mexican boy of about eight ran up to Manny and screeched,
"Moochkin!! Moochkin!!" Manny looked at him and asked,
"Moochkin?" The little guy put his thumbs under his armpits and started to dance and sing about lolly-pop land. Manny started to laugh,
"he means Munchkins from the Wizard of Oz. He must have seen one of the little people. He asked the boy something in Spanish. The boy nodded and led the group to the storage room where the files were kept.
He pointed to a wooden box about two-foot by two-foot by three-foot. The box was nailed shut. Once again the boy said something in slurred Spanish. Manny grabbed a nail puller and opened the box. Inside were four empty, glass containers. They had warning labels that indicated they had once held sulfuric acid. The kid pointed to the file cabinets. As they approached the strong smell of the acid told the tale. The papers were all a smoking mass of brown goo.
Paul checked the receiving dock clipboard and the receiving record copies that the little witness handed to Manny to see if the packing slip for the wooden box was there. It was not. There were two wooden boxes in the warehouse that weren't there earlier, so obviously, the midget and the acid both came in boxes, but why? And who closed the roll-up door after the midget left? He said to Manny,
"If this door stops rolling when you take your finger off the button, how did the door get rolled back down after the midget left?" Manny reached into his jacket pocket, saying,
"He probably had one of these." He held up an extension cord with a push button on one end and two bare wires on the other. "You just jumper the back of the switch by wrapping the wire around the terminals. Once your outside, you lower the door, pull on the wires, they come loose and you've got a locked door mystery for the dumb cops to wonder about."
He grinned in self satisfaction while the cops fumed in silence. Paul had him re-nail the box containing the acid bottles and snap the padlock on the walk-through door.
The reason for destroying the files soon became apparent...
There was nothing missing from the warehouse. Paul had the officers sign and witness their findings, thanked them for their time and told them to give him and his crew a ten minute head start then call dispatch and report finding the warehouse door open about a foot at the bottom.
He warned both of them,
"Don't give them any indication of what went on here tonight. It's the warehouse owners, themselves who have come up with this plan to rip off the insurance companies. Have the dispatcher notify someone, the phone number is on the outside of the roll-up door. Have them come down and check the place out and then lock up. Tell them to make sure nothing's missing before they allow workers in here, and if they have been robbed to call Fred Zimmerman or detective Paul Gillette. We will come out immediately and investigate."
"After they leave, you guys keep your eyes on that door until they open for business tomorrow. If someone else came along and broke in, all our work would go right down the tubes. Okay?"
They agreed, Paul's crew left and he and Ernie went home to celebrate. There was still chili-dogs and half a case of Bud. that had to be disposed of before they spoiled.
Paul and Ernie arrived at the 77th before six in the morning. Paul was excited, but Ernie could hardly sit still. He had been "What ifing" from the moment they woke up. Paul warned him that if he didn't cool it and settle down, he'd have to leave him behind when it came time for the big bust.
Zimmerman got in at 7 A.M. and by the time he finished reading Paul's brief report, he was furious,
"God Damn it, Gillette! The one time we have some solid evidence in our hands, you package it back up and leave it as bait. Those acid bottles could have been traced and were probably covered with prints. They're probably history by now."
Paul replied that there was no reason for the warehouse owner to think that the acid had been found. He wanted to find it while the guy was watching.
(Continued in Part 2)