Under a Raging Moon (18 page)

“New York?”

Pissing Man nodded. “Fucking New York. Syracuse. Yes, sir.” He paused. “You got a problem with that?”

“None at all.” Chisolm motioned to Bobby Ramirez’s twin. “You?”

“Pittsburgh,” the man answered.

“Pennsylvania?” Chisolm asked.

“No. Pittsburgh, California.”

“Where’s that?”

“Where’s California?” Pissing Man interrupted, incredulous. He pointed. “It’s that way.”

Chisolm allowed himself a slight chuckle.

Encouraged, Pissing Man pointed the other direction, crossing his hands in front of him. “And Syracuse is
that
way, brother!”

“Well, thanks for the geography lesson,” Chisolm said. He returned his gaze to Bobby’s twin. “Where in California?”

He cleared his throat. “East Bay area. Sorta near San Fra
n
cisco.”

Chisolm nodded. “I see.”

“Adam-112?”

He reached for his radio. “Go ahead.”

“All subjects in locally, no wants.”

“Copy.” Chisolm turned to the three disheveled men. “Well, gentlemen, the good news is that none of you have any warrants.”

“Yay.” Pissing Man clapped with exaggerated slowness.

“The bad news,” Chisolm continued, “is that I have each of you in violation of a misdemeanor. So I am facing what we call in police circles as a decision point. I could arrest you all. Or I could issue you a citation. Or I could just let it go.”

Houston and Bobby’s twin remained quiet, waiting. Pissing Man looked at each of them, then said, “Well, I vote for the letting it go part.”

“Tell you what,” Chisolm continued, pulling a quarter from his pocket. “I’ll flip you for it. Heads, I cite you. Tails, I walk away. What do you say?”

The men paused, unsure. Pissing Man let out a loud laugh. “You’re on!” He turned to the others. “Not
h
ing to lose,” he told them.

Houston and Bobby’s twin nodded in agreement.

“Okay,” Chisolm grinned. “Gambling men. I like that.”

He flipped the coin in the air and caught it deftly. With great flourish, he slapped it onto his forearm. A
f
ter giving the three of them a quick glance, Chisolm lifted his hand away.

Heads.

“Bad news, fellas,” Chisolm reported. “Let me have those bottles.”

Three bottles were extended towards him. He took the first two and dumped out their contents on the dirt a
l
ley. All three men watched the golden liquid splatter out onto the ground with mournful expressions.

“Don’t feel bad,” Chisolm said. “You were just renting it, anyway. Another half an hour and you’d have been pissing it out, right?”

The men shrugged and watched on.

“
That
should be the goddamn crime,” Pissing Man slurred.

The third bottle was still unopened. He handed it back to Houston. “Just don’t drink it in public,” he told the man, kno
w
ing full well that they’d simply find a better hiding place and pass the lone remaining bottle between them.

Houston nodded his thanks.

“Are you gentlemen true gamblers?” Chisolm smiled broadly. “Want to go double-or-nothing?”

“Howzat work?” Pissing Man asked.

“Simple. I win, I get to book you on these charges. You win, you get to walk. Just toss those empty bo
t
tles in the trash.” Chisolm looked from face to face. “What do you say?”

The men nodded enthusiastically.

“Okay. Here goes.” Chisolm flipped the coin again, slapping it to his forearm. After a dramatic pause, he r
e
vealed the result. It came up tails this time.

Chisolm gave a half-bow, his eyes not leaving the three. “Gentlemen, you are true sporting men and you have won your freedom. Please don’t drink or whiz in public. Good night.”

The men returned his farewell as Chisolm walked back t
o
ward his car.

“Hey, officer!”

Chisolm looked up to see Bobby’s twin looking his way. “Yeah?”

“I really look just like your friend?” he asked.

Chisolm nodded. “Yeah. Within a stone’s throw, anyway.”

“Tell him I said hi, then.”

Chisolm smiled sadly. “Bobby served with me in Vietnam. He didn’t make it back.”

A curious quiet fell over the group. The sound of the patrol light bar rotators hissed and whizzed while the cruiser’s engine hummed, but all else was silent.

After a few moments, the man nodded his head toward Chisolm. “I’m so
r
ry about that,” he said.

“So was his mother,” Chisolm replied, trying to keep a light tone. “And so was I. Good night, gentl
e
men.”

Without a word, he got back into the patrol car and killed the overhead lights. He backed out of the alley and onto Indiana Avenue, then headed west.

As he drove, he chuckled slightly. Despite the memories that man’s face brought him, or perhaps because of them, he had enjoyed the stop. It amused him to watch the surprise and enthusiasm of all three men when he didn’t act like every other cop they’d ever met. He had a couple more flips he could have given them for double or nothing until they won. Who wanted to arrest and book on those piddly charges?

Especially not when one of them could’ve been Bobby Ramirez’s brother.

Chisolm whistled along with tune on the radio. Strangely, his world felt slightly more at ease.

2150 hours

Katie MacLeod felt her patience slipping away.

“Just what is it you want me to do, ma’am?” she asked for the third time.

The complainant, a fortyish housewife, gave Katie a look of exasperation. “Well, it’s obvious, isn’t it? I want those three Bailey kids arrested for harassment. Can you do that or are you just too stupid?”

A flash of anger washed over Katie and she forced herself to wait five seconds before replying. She d
e
cided to buy some time. “Ma’am, what is your name?”

“I told you before,” the woman snapped. “Did you forget already?”

Katie removed her pocket notebook from her shirt pocket. “I meet a lot of people. I’ll write it down this time.”

“It’s Evelyn Masters. My husband works for the County.”

Good for you and your husband
. Katie wrote down the woman’s name.

“Now, Mrs. Masters, tell me exactly why you think the Bailey children should be arrested.”

“Oh, it’s not just the little brats that should go. That no-good father encourages it. He should be arrested for contributing to the juvenility of a child.” Evelyn Masters gave Katie the resolute nod that is reserved for the all-knowing and the never-wrong.

Katie took a deep breath and let it out, trying not to sigh. “You’re saying that the Bailey children assaul
t
ed your oldest son, and that the father somehow encourages this behavior?”

“Yes!” She lowered her voice conspiratorially and gave Katie another nod. “He doesn’t work, you know. Goes out all night drinking, then comes home and sleeps all day. Must be on welfare, the lot of them.”

“I see. And what’s your oldest child’s name?”

“Brian.”

“And where is Brian now?”

She gave Katie a strange look. “At a friend’s house, where he’s been since school let out. You think I don’t watch my kids or something?”

Katie didn’t answer right away. She pretended to write in her notebook while she thought about the situ
a
tion. She really wanted to strangle this obnoxious woman, but she doubted that Sergeant Shen would consider that a satisfactory resolution to this oh-so-important problem.

Finally, she surrendered to the inevitable. “Mrs. Masters,” she said, “let me go and have a talk with the Baileys, then I’ll come back and talk with you again.”

“All right. But don’t be surprised if you find drugs in that house. That’s
if
they even let you in.” She gave Katie another knowing nod.

Katie left the house and walked up the block to a small tan house. The yard appeared well-tended. A tr
i
cycle lay on its side by the front porch. Katie advised radio of her new location as she knocked on the door.

The door opened and a man in his mid-thirties wearing a pair of boxer shorts and a tattered robe stood rubbing his eyes. When he noticed Katie’s uniform, his eyes widened slightly and he closed his robe self-consciously.

“Can I help you, officer?”

“Mr. Bailey?”

The man nodded.

“May I come in and talk with you for a few minutes?”

“Sure.” He opened the screen door and let her into the living room. On the couch sat three kids, two boys and a girl who were now more interested in her presence than the cartoons they’d been watching. Katie smiled warmly at them as she looked around the room. It contained the normal clutter one would expect in a household where children lived.

“What’s this is all about?” Mr. Bailey asked.

Katie asked, “Which child is Tommy?”

Mr. Bailey pointed to the largest child on the end of the couch. “Why?”

“Well, according to Mrs. Masters, Tommy has been beating up on her son Brian.” She nodded toward the father. “With your encouragement, Mr. Bailey.”

“Oh, jeez.” Mr. Bailey rubbed his eyes and sat in an easy chair. “That old witch is telling tales again.”

“So she’s lying outright?” Katie asked.

Mr. Bailey sighed. “No, not entirely. Look, Officer, Brian is a little terror in this neighborhood. He is the bully of the block. My kids are under strict orders to avoid him. Yesterday, he started picking on Clay, my youn
g
est there. Tommy stood up to him and punched him in the nose when Brian wouldn’t leave them alone. I saw the whole thing from the front window.”

“Did you encourage it?” Katie asked.

Mr. Bailey shifted nervously in his seat. “Well, sorta. After the fact.”

“What’s that mean?”

“It means that I told him after it was over that it was a good thing that he stuck up for his brother. I mean, I know fighting is wrong and all, but you can’t let the bullies rule the world, either. We had a talk about it.”

Katie glanced at the three children. They sat calmly, watching her. No one asked her for stickers, which su
r
prised her. That was the thing most kids asked for right away.

“Okay, Mr. Bailey. I figured it might be something like that.”

Katie turned her attention to Tommy, who had been watching enraptured. “Tommy? Your daddy e
x
plained to you about fighting?”

Tommy nodded.

“You make sure you always listen to your Mom and Dad.”

All three children nodded.

When Katie turned her attention to Mr. Bailey, he smiled. “They’re good kids, really, officer. I work nights and my wife works days, so they don’t get as much time with us as I’d like, but they’re doing okay, you know?”

“Everything looks fine here,” Katie said, turning for the door. “Continuing to avoid Brian is the best pol
i
cy. I’ll take care of Mrs. Masters.”

“Thank you.”

Katie walked back to the Master’s house. Evelyn Masters waited on the front porch, her arms crossed. “Did you arrest those little hellions?”

“No, Mrs. Masters, I didn’t. They tell a completely diffe
r
ent story.”

“Well, they’re just lying.”

Katie shrugged off the assertion. “Either way, I can’t take any action without physical evidence or wi
t
nesses. And besides that, a child under the age of twelve is deemed incapable of committing a crime in the state of Washington.”

“You’re kidding.”

Katie shook her head. She’d left out the fact that a child between eight and twelve could be found capable of committing a crime if it could be shown that the child knew the difference between right and wrong. That little factoid would remain her secret. She didn’t want to give this woman anywhere to go.

“So you’re just going to do nothing?” Mrs. Masters asked, exasperated.

“No, ma’am. I’ve given those children explicit orders not to have any contact with Brian. Of course, this order has to be reciprocal to maintain objectivity.”

Mrs. Masters’s eyes narrowed. “What’s that mean?”

“It means that Brian can’t talk with them, either.”

“Why would he want to?”

“My point exactly. If that’s all, then I—”

“Is there going to be a report on this?”

Katie almost sighed but caught herself.
There’s no reason to report this,
she thought angrily.
I shouldn’t even be here. And I certainly shouldn’t be tied up an additional thirty minutes later in my shift working on this go-nowhere report.