Excerpt From The Chinese Fire Drill

“Squad 3621, can you go into service?”

“21 in service go ahead.”

“3621 there’s a minor accident at 37th and Harley, drivers are said to be fighting in the street, possible road rage.”

“21 clear from the precinct lot.”

“Time 20:50 Squad 3621.”

Hobo drove off to begin the shift, and so it went for the next three hours. The fight was over before he got there.

No harm, no foul men. Exchange your insurance data, call the fight a draw, and go see the prosecutor if you want to press charges against each other.

Hobo waved okay to Cisco who cruised past.

He called in service after sipping his first cup of coffee and was immediately dispatched to try to find some teen spraying paint on the side of this old woman’s house on Arend Avenue.

No description? Some kid in dark clothes? Please notify your insurance agent, ma’am, and we’ll patrol the area looking for this young scum. Yes, yes, we’re here to protect and serve 24/7. Yes ma’am, you can sleep safe tonight, but if he comes back, call us right away.

Dan had been sent to a neighborhood disturbance nearby, so Hobo slipped that way to see Dan wave that he was okay. A few minutes later, Hobo went to a fail to pay at a gas station.

Sure pal, what’s the plate number? We’ll look for him. Call the theft division in the morning for them to follow up on my report. Yep, that’s all we can do tonight. What the hell else do you want for a $24.32 theft?

“Squad 3621, see the woman at 4992 Stanger Drive who advises she was beaten by her husband.”

Jerome’s been drinking again and slapped you? This is the third time I’ve been here. Will you press charges? Well then, do you want to go to the women’s shelter? How about counseling? Ok, then can you at least go someplace else for the night until Jerome sobers up? Your sister’s place?

Yeah, I’ll talk to Jerome for you. First give me his full name. Jerome David Woolsey? Male white, date of birth? Okay, let me type this into my computer here for my report. Oh oh, looks like Jerome’s been a little unhappy lately. My, my, three active warrants? Driving While Intoxicated? Driving While Suspended? Fleeing the Scene of an Accident?

Hobo waved to Paula as she pulled over to the curb across the street.

Come on, Jerome, you’re a little three way gift from Santa in July. We gonna get your situation under control tonight. Spread your legs, Jerome, and lean over there while I pat you down for weapons.

Yes ma’am, he’s going to jail, gonna be there awhile too. Then why’d you call? Sorry, can’t ignore active warrants. I’d get fired, that’s why, and I’m keeping my badge. Jerome’s got to go. You gotta call the county jail for visitation hours. Yeah, he’s gonna need a lawyer. Well then, the court can appoint one.

Look, if you’re gonna keep living with him, and he’s gonna keep drinking, and neither one of you are gonna get help, then you’re gonna get hit. Cryin’ to me ain’t gonna help now. Better call your sister, and maybe get some ice on that fat lip.

Shut your mouth Jerome and get your hands behind your back. You rise up once more, pal, and I’m gonna kick your ass worse than you’ve been beating on your woman. Yeah, I got the car camera going. You piss me off, and I’ll add a resisting charge. We’ll let the judge watch you being a drunken asshole. I ain’t so sure we shouldn’t talk to the prosecutor for you slapping your wife around anyway. Maybe he’d add a battery charge just for grins. Yep, I like to put cuffs on tight.

Thanks Paula, I got him.

“3621 transporting one to lockup from this location, mileage 1035.”

“Time 23:35 Squad 3621.”

You know what Jerome? I think the next time I find you slapping your wife around, I’m gonna be real unhappy. Threat? Hell no! I’m gonna call it Jerome’s delayed adult education. You’ll graduate with head lumps and sore balls.

“Squad 3621 at lockup, mileage 1039.”

“Clear 3621 time 23:43.”

“Squad 3621 we have reports of a drunk directing traffic at Forty Ninth and Belleview.”

“21 clear from the lockup.”

“Time 23:58.”

Traffic was heavy for such a sultry week night. He detoured two blocks to find that Granny Miller’s house was dark, and there was no sign of OhSee. Hobo drove along in no hurry to the intersection, hoping the drunken moron would be gone by the time he got there. No such luck.

“Squad 3621 on scene.”

“Time 00:06.”

Hey pal! Nice night for a little party in the street huh? Kinda warm for all this excitement though ain’t it, bub? What you need is a nice cool bed before you get your ass run over out here. Well no, can’t let you go now. The camera over there on my squad car has seen your little happy dance in traffic. Folks just wouldn’t understand me leaving you out here to get hit by some passing truck now would they?

You must have gotten a hold of some bad wine there, big guy. We just gotta get your situation under a little better control tonight. Let’s see some I.D. Yep, your license is okay.

Well, the computer says we got no warrants outstanding on Paul Collier Cohen. Yeah, sure I remember you now, the next Ansel Adams of the empty warehouse fire. Yep, right over there. Looks like they’re gonna make another parking lot. How’d your pictures turn out? Oh, well, that’s bad luck about your camera being stolen. Yeah, we all saw the pretty train go past.

Tell you what, Paul ol’ buddy. Wanna go to the Rescue Mission? I don’t have to arrest you if you go there. Nice people, sure, air conditioned, hot breakfast, get a shower tomorrow, hell, stay three days, and you’ll be a new man! I’ll drive you over there, but you gotta sign yourself in, otherwise I’m taking your drunken ass to jail. Yeah, yeah, I’m a real prince. Watch your head getting in my car.

“3621 transporting one to the Mission, mileage 1046.”

“Time 00:11.”

Don’t you ever shut up Paul? Yeah, sure, you sing real pretty, pal. You piss or barf on my seat back there, and you’re gonna get hosed down at the car wash.

“Squad 3621 arrived at the Mission mileage 1052.”

“Time 00:22.”

“Squad 3621 in service.”

Hobo waited, but for once dispatch was quiet. The radio had been constantly alive with the usual chatter between the squad cars and dispatch, chatter that every cop listens to with one ear while going about his own calls. Anything out of the ordinary would have brought the other guys running or at least a drive by to check things out. Anyone not actively on a call would have been doing that anyway most of the time.

The car to car and car to dispatch traffic had hit an after midnight lull it seemed. Maybe it might stay a little quieter until the bars started closing.

What the hell was that word, the eye deceived?

Hobo looked up at an overcast sky. There must be a full moon hiding up there tonight. Nut balls always come out of the woodwork during a full moon.

He pulled into Fast Freddie’s Used Car Lot on Delancey Street and backed his squad car in between two beat up lemons for sale. After pouring himself some coffee from his thermos, he sipped it for a few minutes and tried to relax before his CB came to life for the first time tonight.

"I'm gonna cut you Big Daddy! I'm gonna cut you, you sumbitch!"