Me.
The slobs shot their mouths off after that, but nobody touched me. They saw to that down at the precinct house.
Then in time it was me on the beat where I had wanted to be for so long. I was off the street and everything looked good. Until the war came. But that passed too, and for a while things were changed. You work, you study, you take tests, a couple of lucky breaks and a couple you sweated for make you a big one on the force with a crazy reputation of hating the politicos and the chiselers and the punks and everybody is scared shitless of you because they can give you nothing and you can slice them every which way. Suddenly the caucus room boys with the thick cigars and thicker bankrolls come to you simpering and smiling because you’re a big one now who doesn’t give a yell for the cloak and suiters or the guinea mafia or ignorant spies or the dutchmen or the micks or S.N.C.C. or any of them who play it sidewise because they’re strictly all alike in the rule book. Strictly.
Marta said, “Still the same?”
I snapped out of it, realizing that a frown had pulled my eyes into a tight squint. “Essentially.”
“You’ve never been back?”
“I’ve never wanted to come back.” I looked at her and took her arm. “I didn’t know about you, Giggie.”
“Would it have made a difference?”
I shrugged, but she knew it might have and grinned back. Then we waited for the light to change again and crossed over to the slop chute everybody called Donavan’s Dive.
You smelled Donavan’s place before you got inside. It had oldness about it, a hangover from the speakeasy days, an air-conditioned mustiness of stale smoke and staler beer. The side entrance let you into a dining room of sorts, the front one directly to the bar.
There wasn’t much room at the bar, just one space about a foot wide where you could sidle in to pick up a drink. The wise guy who saw me steer Marta toward it scrunched around to block it up neatly and the back bar mirror showed a couple of grins.
When the wise guy suddenly and quietly tried to scream from the short hook to the kidney and spilled his drink across the mahogany, the grins stopped. I pulled him away and he staggered to the wall where he tried to catch his breath.
Marta smiled nicely, the guy next to her gave up his stool and we each had a big, cool Pabst in a clear glass mug that made the trip across town worth waiting for.
When the surly faced bartender came back to catch all the details I knew it had come.
It was big and fat with a cigar stuck in the middle of his mouth and his pants carried low under his belly. Somebody had knocked his nose out of line a long time ago, but must have paid for it the hard way. This was the voice of local authority. This was the man. With a derby he’d have been the perfect caricature of the old-style ward heeler. Today they call them captains.
He said, “Hey, cop,” and when I looked around he shifted the cigar with a tongue roll to the other corner. “You looking to get your badge lifted, you’re in the right place. You know that?”
I grinned at him and felt Marta touch my arm lightly. “No, I didn’t know that.”
One big thick forefinger came up to emphasize the point against my chest. It’s one of the things I can’t stand at all. It’s something a hell of a lot of people learned never to do. The second he touched me I grabbed, twisted and broke it straight back without moving his arm and before the amazement ever reached his face I hooked him one under the chin and he bit the damn cigar right in half.
I tapped Marty. “Who is he, sugar?”
Before she could answer the bartender said, “Al Reese, mister. You bought trouble. He’s important. This is his district.”
I said, “Oh,” and grabbed hold of Al Reese’s shirt. “You know me, Reese?”
He tried to bring back the sneer when I slapped him. It was a nice, loud slap, but I had the heel of my hand in it and his knees jerked.
“I asked you something.”
This time he nodded.
“Say it loud, fat man. Let everybody hear you.”
“Lieutenant Scanlon.”
“Louder.”
It came out louder and hoarser.
“You know what I think of slobs like you?”
I was getting the hand ready when he nodded again.
“Anybody pulls any crap on me like this again and I’ll brown you all out. I come from this place. I know the rules. When I don’t like ’em I make up new ones. Maybe you played with some of the easy boys too long. Don’t try it with me.”
I let him go and he staggered away, clutching his hand against his chest. Both sides of our spot at the bar were empty now. Down the other end one guy in a grey suit was watching with amused, knowing eyes. Loefert, from the uptown mob.
Marty took a small sip of beer and touched her mouth nervously. “That was rough, Joe.”
“You’ve seen it before, kid.”
“But now you’re department.”
I grunted and picked up my brew. “Lesson one. Don’t be afraid of letting them know who you are. They move first... then you move, only do it harder. Once these pigs get the bull on you, neither the department, nor the uniform, nor the gun is any good.”
“But...”
“We’re not in happy town, kid. This isn’t a cross section of normal middle class morality.”
“I live here, Joe. So do... did you.”
“Sure, and now for lesson two. We’re on a job and you’re in the department too so stop moralizing.”
For a moment she stiffened, then when she saw me laughing at her in the mirror she smiled back. “I’ve been in juvenile too long.”
“I know. You’ve had to be nice to everybody. You’ve forgotten your heritage here though. In these parts it’s the tough guy who has all the friends. Remember?”
“Too well.”
“Come on, finish your beer and let’s go up to your place. The icebox full?”
“It’s a refrigerator, and yes it’s full.”
“Then let’s go make like a romantic couple should.”
Her eyes brightened mischievously. “What’ll we do?”
“Eat, of course,” I said. “Hell, we’re cops, aren’t we?”
Chapter Three
I stood by the window thinking of my own comfortable bachelor quarters overlooking the Drive. The sun’s passage over the canyon of the street had been brief, and now it lay in deepening shadows.
Behind me, Marty put the last of our notes away and poured from the fresh pot of coffee. She handed it to me silently, then watched the scene with me for a while.
“Thinking it’s pretty terrible?” she asked.
“No. Just that it’s three dimensional. From here the city is sight, sound and smell.”
She shrugged and nodded. “But it’s home.”
“I prefer it a little more antiseptic.”
“You’re an old man and set in your ways.”
I looked at her with the coffee halfway to my mouth. “Like hell!”
“Oh?” Those wild Irish eyes of hers went up and down me intently. “Most bachelors are out sowing. Not you. A fancy apartment, your own car and money in the bank. Duty comes first. For fun you take on extra assignments.”
“How did...”
“I asked around, old buddy. Your friends told me.”
“So?”
“So you’re an old man and set in your ways. No real fun. No broads.”