Britney said, “What’d you do then?”
“For a few seconds I almost panicked, but then my common sense kicked in and I said, ‘No, sir. She was wearing spandex and there were no bulges on her except the ones nature gave her.’ The OGs had a laugh and I was a step closer to acceptance.”
“I try to never forget that it’s still a man’s world out here,” Britney said.
“Yes, but it’s lots better now,” Della said. “I won’t even try to tell you about the sexual harassment we used to put up with. And there were always the goddamn tricks. After a woman boot would search under the seats in her shop before she hit the streets, an OG would invariably drop a bag of rocks or some other kind of dope under the backseat and say, ‘What the fuck’s wrong with you, baby girl? You missed this.’ It got so lame after a while that even they got tired of it. But we had to live with it till they did.”
“How’d you finally win the OGs over?”
“By trying to be a better cop than they were without them noticing. And by always staying a woman and making them respect that. I’ve seen women on this Job trying to become one of the boys, but that never works out. And women have to deal with the impostor syndrome. That’s where the woman copper starts to fear that the boss is gonna find out how unqualified she truly is. She starts to believe that she’s only faking competence, because every second she’s being scrutinized, way more than the men are, and it starts working on her self-esteem. It’s like the actor’s syndrome, but it’s all internal bullshit. You are competent and you don’t have to fear anything except the people out here who can hurt you. And that’s a healthy fear to have.”
“You were right, Della,” Britney Small said. “I never learned this kind of stuff from Rupert Tong.”
Della said, “I’m sure you’ve already learned on your own that when you meet men away from the Job and they find out you’re a cop, they all get a doofus grin and say, ‘Can you handcuff me?’ I hate that shit. I just tell them, ‘Get outta my face, asshole.’ ”
“You’re right!” Britney said. “That already happened to me when I went out to a club with a couple of civilian girlfriends. Lame, isn’t it?”
“You’re way lucky to be here in Hollywood for your probation,” Della said. “I remember the first time I found a gun after transferring here. Of course, guns recovered on radio calls don’t count, only observation guns. So one night on Hollywood Boulevard when the beat officers and a midwatch unit were jamming some Rolling Sixties gangsters who came up from Watts, I spotted this brother bopping along the Walk of Fame, pretending to be a tourist watching Tickle Me Elmo posing for pictures. But I saw that when he sauntered past one of the Rolling Sixties, he tried to take a little two-inch wheel gun from one of the bangers who hadn’t been patted down yet. I drew down on him and yelled for him to freeze and get down on his belly, and when everything settled and they were all proned out, I recovered my first obs gun here in Hollywood Division. And the sergeant we called the Oracle showed me off around the station and told everyone how I’d caught a gangster dumping a strap, and the watch commander wrote me an attagirl, and it was pretty cool. Of course it wasn’t a big burner, but size does not matter when it comes to guns.”
Britney said, “I’ve got a couple of classmates who’re doing their probation in Central Division. After hearing you describe it, I’m real glad I caught Hollywood, believe me.”
Della was silent for a moment, remembering how it had been back then, remembering the smell of skid row, the fluffy acrid miasma. And then she said, “I truly hated being a boot down there. The smell of shit and piss and rotting flesh and general decay was everywhere in those days. It got into the fabric of our uniforms. People had lots of scabies. You could grab someone and your hands would slip right off their wrists. I got scabies twice from searching skid row hookers. They were like itchy fleabites. They get on your arms, your thighs, and your stomach. Good thing I never got them on my gizmo.”
“Gross!” Britney said.
“And the guys enjoyed it when I had to search the obese ones who liked to hide crack under their humongous breasts. Their tits would be sticky. The guys would say, ‘Sticky boobs hide crack.’ Once I was searching this monstrous woman in a muumuu who was so fat they claimed she’d flipped a bus bench. And I thought I found a stash in the rolls of fat around her middle. But when I dug it out, it turned out to be an Oreo cookie and some Doritos she was keeping there to snack on. The guys really enjoyed watching me running like mad to a faucet to clean up.”
“Disgusting!” Britney said.
Still reminiscing, Della said, “That wasn’t even the real bad stuff. Once we found a dead baby in a backpack. It had blue eyes.”
Della stopped talking then and they rode in silence. Della broke the silence when she said, “So whadda you think we should do about code seven tonight? My dad sent me three hundred bucks for my birthday, so I’ll treat. We can do sushi on Melrose or a spicy chicken salad in Thai Town or maybe some rice and lamb in Little Armenia. No noshing on manly burritos and burgers for the girls of Six-X-Forty-six. Sound good, partner?”
“Can we wait awhile?” Britney said. “For some reason, I don’t seem to have an appetite right now.”
A trap that had been set by the narks two weeks earlier prompted a radio call on that night of the Hollywood moon that made Britney Small the talk of the station for days to come. A tip from a citizen had led narcotics detectives to the backyard of a vacant house that had been in foreclosure for a number of months. A local Realtor happened to be checking out the property one afternoon and he recognized a large number of cannabis plants on one neat little patch of ground in that overgrown backyard. The Realtor phoned the office of the narcotics detectives, who were housed a block from the main police station, and had a chat with a detective there.
The resourceful detectives not only confiscated the marijuana but they left a note pinned to an olive tree in that yard. The note said, “Sorry about your grow. Call if you’d care to negotiate.” They left a cell number used for situations like this and were happily surprised when a call came in the very next day. The caller offered $500, no questions asked, for the return of the plants. A female undercover cop met the pot grower by the parking lot of the Hollywood Bowl, and after the grower made his offer in person, he was arrested by other narks watching the action through binoculars.
The marijuana cultivator was a two-striker who wanted to deal and was eager to give up associates and fellow dealers. He offered the narks information about a male nurse of an anesthesiologist in Venice who had a shaky medical license. The nurse resided in an apartment building in the Las Palmas neighborhood, where he provided his client list-consisting of many drag queens and transsexuals-with forged prescriptions supposedly written from a medical office in Culver City.
One of the things that the two-striker had said, resulting in a search warrant, was, “The quack’s nurse writes enough scrips in there to smoke out every dragon and trannie in Hollywood.” And hoping to curry favor he added, “But he’s bipolar and mega-goony most of the time, so watch out. I’ve been told he might have a gun in there.”
Two teams of narks and their D3 had intended to serve the warrant on the night of the full moon. The nurse was supposed to be at home with his lover, a post-op transsexual called Molly Black, who had been Marvin Black in another life and whose last surgery had completed the gender transformation. At the last minute, one of the teams of narks was pulled away for the arrest of another prescription drug dealer whom they’d been trying to get for months. The three remaining detectives needed a backup team, so they put in the call for a patrol unit to meet them on Las Palmas Avenue. The call was given to 6-X-46 of the midwatch.
Britney Small was excited about this one and wondered if the full moon was going to produce something weird enough for them to win the pizza prize. Also, she’d never been on a forced-entry raid of any kind, and she was stoked when the detectives asked her and Della to accompany them to the third-floor apartment. Their D3 decided to watch the outside window in case evidence came flying out. The entry team wanted women officers with them because of the post-op tranny in there. She was now officially a woman and would have to be searched by a woman.