There were two men in the outer office. One of them, a hard-looking black man in his forties with a deep scar over his left eye and streaks Of grey in his tight-cropped afro, wore a tan corduroy three-piece suit. The vest was open and his tie was pulled down to his collarbone. He stared coldly at Sharky then turned back to a battered Royal typewriter and began pecking out a report with two fingers. The other, an older man built like a refrigerator, was on the phone.
‘That’s Livingston and Papadopolis out there,’ Friscoe said. ‘Livingston’s the one with the tan.’
‘He got something against me?’ Sharky asked.
‘Not that I know of,’ Friscoe said. ‘The Bat sent your sheet down. Looks like you got the shit stick handed to you. That was a nice machine you had workin’ there until that dimwit Tully fucked it up for you. He was down here a while. You cut off his head, he wouldn’t be any dumber than he is with it on.’
‘I’ve been told to forget it.’
‘Probably the best thing to do. What’s gonna happen with Tully, Tully’s gonna end with his toes up one of these days. He’s too stupid to stay alive. It’s still tough, y’know. Nobody likes to take the gas pipe when they been workin’ a thing as long as you were. Anyways, I got something down here you can maybe get your dick into. So far what we got is odds and ends, see? Nothing ties together yet. But it’s lookin’ pretty good. Here and there.’
‘You’re a little vague,’ Sharky said.
‘Paranoid,’ Friscoe said.
‘Oh,’ Sharky said and laughed at Friscoe’s candour.
‘What it is, every once in a while one of my boys turns up something sounds interesting. Not the usual stink finger, hands-up bulishit but something maybe we can make a little mileage outa. What happens, I don’t wanna give anything away, see what I mean? What I don’t want, 1 don’t want Homicide or Bunco or some lace dolie outfit workin’ special for the chief stealin’ my melons, okay? Fuck that skit. I figure it starts here, I wanna keep it here. The other thing, I don’t make a habit, see, of goin’ down to the DA with my dick in my hand. Unless we make a heavy case, we don’t nail it down, I flush it. We got a machine goin’ and we can’t put it together, it goes down the toilet.’
He slurped coffee and kept talking. Sharky found himself breathing for him.
‘Just so’s you know the territory down here, let me tell you, here’s how I feel about Vice. I got sixteen years in, almost seventeen. I been on foot in the boondocks. Did a two-year trick in a blue-and-white. Had one partner snuffed out from under me and another one, he tried to drive through a warehouse wall, ended up in a wheelchair. I got out lucky with a bad back. I been in Bunco, six years in Robbery, I did a short tour in Homicide and I was in the IA for about two minutes before I ended up here.’
Sharky laughed. He could just see Friscoe in Internal Affairs in his sneakers and sweatshirt, investigating complaints against his fellow officers.
‘Internal Affairs,’ Friscoe went on, ‘I told ‘em to stuff it. I got to deal with snitches every day. I’ll be damned if I’m gonna snitch on my own, see what I mean?’
Sharky nodded. There was a rumour you could not even be interviewed for the IA unless you’d been born out of wedlock.
‘Anyways, I personally don’t give a rat’s ass what the public does,’ Friscoe growled. ‘Some guy wants to stick his dick in a coffee grinder, who am I to argue, okay? It’s his dick. Personally I got better things to do. I could care less some shirt salesman from Dubuque comes inta town, wants to pay out fifty, a hundred bucks to get laid, get a little head, shit, why not? Live and let live, I say, but it’s where they put you. The Bat, the commissioner, the chief, whoever puts you where you are. Like I say, I got almost seventeen in, so I don’t growl too loud. Mainly we got misdemeanours down here. Hooking. Pandering. Freak show. It takes a lotta time, effort, to make a misdemeanour case, okay? I mean, nobody’s sucker enough if he pays some chippie fifty to gobble his pork, he’s gonna show up in court and testify against her. He’s gonna head for the hills first.’
‘So what’s the answer?’ Sharky asked.
‘So we make a case against somebody for trickin’ it’s gotta be the cop makin’ it and that means he had to make a deal and money has to change hands. What we really look for is felony. Extortion. A and B. Juvenile crimes. The worst. But it’s rare. Mostly what we do, we answer complaints and do what we can to keep the streets clean. If we get a handle on something good, it’s gravy on the potatoes. You want some mud? It’s strong enough to play fullback for the Falcons.’
‘No thanks.’
‘Another thing. We got that fuckin’ DA Hanson comin’ up for re-election so he’s got all the Baptists, the bluenoses, Billy Grahamers tired up right now. . . . The schmuck hasn’t done anything but indict homos and jack-off artists for two years, but he’s makin’ a lot of noise right now so he’ll look good to the PTA, that kinda shit. To listen to him, see, you’d think you can’t take a breath of fresh air downtown without gettin’ the clap.’
Sharky broke up again, but Friscoe went right on, ignoring the laughter.
‘Anyways Hanson is keepin’ me busy just on routine, shakin’ up the ladies on the street, bustin’ the massage parlours, movie pits, hourly hotels. What I want, see, I want to zero you in on this thing we got a handle on, let you loose, see what you can do. 1 give you Arch — that’s Livingston — and Papa and anybody you can dog-rob outa some other department. That’s your whole army.’
Sharky nodded. ‘I’ve heard stories about both of them.’
‘Whaddya hear, good or bad?’ Friscoe asked.
‘Both. Depends on who you listen to. The guys I listen to say they’re in sudden death playoff with the best there is.’
Friscoe beamed, obviously pleased. ‘Livingston there, he’s got thirteen in. Best goddamn street cop in the House. He’s cautious but lotsa smarts upstairs, right? College guy like you. Papadopolis, a hell of a cop. Papa doesn’t give a shit. He’ll stake out the governor’s toilet you tell him to. Been shot three times; don’t even remember where the scars are. And that’s your machine. Oh yeah, one other thing. You gotta understand the politics of the House, see. All of us down here, in the cesspool here, we either don’t know the politics, see, or didn’t give a shit. Or maybe what it was, we were too hard-headed. That’s what happens, you don’t suck ass, play by the book, all that shit, you end up down here in the fuckin’ leper colony. I been hearin’ about you, the last two, three years. The word’s been around the department head’s on you, okay? Some say you’re a hardhead. Others say you’re dynamite on the Street. Thing is, r give you maybe three, four years, you’ll walk.’
‘To where? I’ll have eight years in. Where the hell do you go after sinking that much time in the cops?’
‘I dunno, but y’see, Sharky, you’re too goddamn contrary to suck up to the system and too smart to live in it. I heard this morning, from this buddy of mine in IA, he calls me before I got a cup of coffee in mc, tells me The Bat’s getting ready to flop you out of detectives and give you a six-and-six. Even upstairs they figure you got a raw deal. I mean, the way I look at it, what do they want? Maybe you should’ve given the creep a ticket to Detroit and cab fare to the fuckin’ airport, right? So I go up to see Jaspers and I tell him I gotta have some help and could I have you since I heard he was bustin’ you outa the narcs. The Bat thinks it over a minute or two and finally says, “Okay, but tell him to keep out of my hair.” And then he says something real strange. He says, “Tell him to keep his shoes on in my office.” What the fuck was that all about?’