Bread (87th Precinct) (21 page)

At a quarter past 9:00 Rosalie Waggener asked if it was all right if she went home. The detectives told her it was not all right. The detectives told her that they were charging Hemmings, Worthy, and Chase with arson and homicide, and Grimm, Chase, and herself with attempting to smuggle dope into the country.

“I had nothing to do with any dope,” Rosalie said.

“You paid for it,” Carella said.

“I was only a messenger.”

“For a jig pusher,” Ollie said.

“Knock off that kind of talk, will you?” Carella said.

“What kind of talk?”

“That bigoted bullshit,” Hawes said.

“Bigoted?” Ollie said. “White or black, they’re all the same to me, they
all
stink. That’s bigoted?”

“That’s not even equal but separate,” Carella said, and Ollie burst out laughing. He slapped Hawes and Carella on their backs, simultaneously, with both beefy hands, almost knocking over Carella, who was off balance to begin with. “I like you guys,” he said, “you know that? I really enjoy working with you guys.

Carella and Hawes said nothing. Since Ollie had just confessed to a monumental misanthropic outlook, Carella was wondering why he had now bestowed upon them the singular honor of his affection. Hawes, on the other hand, was wondering what mistake he’d made. Had he somehow indicated to Ollie that he’d
wanted
his friendship? Jesus, had he unwittingly done
that
?

“You know what I think I’m gonna do?” Ollie said. “I think I’m gonna put in for a transfer to the 87th. I really do
like
you guys.”

Again Carella and Hawes said nothing. Hawes was thinking they already
had
an Ollie Weeks up at the old station house, and his name was Andy Parker, and if Ollie transferred to the 87th, Hawes would immediately ask for a transfer to the 83rd. Carella was thinking that Ollie’s addition to the squad would create a fine kettle of fish—Ollie himself, another jewel named Andy Parker, a black cop named Arthur Brown, and a Puerto Rican cop named Alexiandre Delgado. The potential mix was pregnant, so to speak. Carella shuddered at the thought.

“Is it all right to go to the ladies’?” Rosalie asked.

In bed that night, Carella had trouble falling asleep. He kept thinking of Alfred Allen Chase’s last words in the Q and A.

“You’re the ones who taught me, man.”

It was not that he hadn’t understood what Alfie had meant, or exactly whom he was indicting. It was merely that, as a white man, he had enormous difficulty
accepting
Alfie’s indictment.

When he finally did fall asleep, he tossed and turned a lot, and his dreams were bad.

Photograph © Dragica Hunter
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