Finding 52 (2 page)

A Ride in the Family Sedan

1975

R
eg Thorne was just twenty-four years old when he joined the class of 1975 and was the youngest officer on the department. He could’ve tried other occupations but he joked about being too lazy to work and too honest to steal. Reg loved the idea of police work, or whatever it was they did, and he even brought endless reruns of
Dragnet
episodes to the table; he figured that would get him by until his probationary training period was over. As a student he never applied himself, he didn’t have to; he was an avid reader and had an exceptional memory. He graduated in the middle of his class and that suited him fine. Numbers were his strong suit and he liked to add columns of them in his head for fun.

Reg married young and his wife Phoebe was even younger. It was almost as if two good friends fell in love and marriage was the only thing that made sense. Phoebe was aware of his flaws but considered Reg a work in progress, something well worth the effort.

Reg had the same core beliefs that other members of the class of 1975 shared. He despised assholes and could not abide bullies. Simply stated, Reginald Thorne was on his own special career path.

He graduated from the Police Academy third in his class, not that it mattered to him. He was keen to meet Riverside’s crazies, read books, and visit all of the fast-food joints that would soon be at his disposal. With any luck he’d run into a real dipshit; hopefully someone like the Crimson Crusader who appeared in a 1969
Dragnet
episode. The best part was they’d actually pay him, and besides, the city had full benefits and a gosh darn good pension plan.

Riverside was like many other cities throughout America-full of mom, apple pie, and some prostitution. The new recruits didn’t share the same opinion that the Mayor, City Commissioners, and the Chief of Police had when it came to prostitution and the perceived issues created by such tomfoolery. When the streetwalkers became too prevalent it was time to take action. Most of them were from places other than Riverside and did nothing to bolster the local economy; they took their money with them and spent it where they came from. The money was very good indeed. It was generally understood that Riverside had hundreds of potential customers-they would troll the streets, looking for something they might fancy. Most of the women had pimps, although there were a few freelancers.

The most famous of the freelancers were the twins. Their street names were Tread and Retread. They were given those names by one of the officers because of the number of miles that each one had on them. Tread got into the game a couple of years after Retread so it stood to reason she had fewer miles on her.

Tread and Retread were nearly six feet tall and they were originally redheads. For business purposes they both dyed their hair blond and black: Tread had blond hair on the right side and black hair on the left side of her large head; Retread had black hair on the right side and blond hair on the left side of her equally large head. One of them got the idea from a
Star Trek
episode, or so it was rumored. The hair was professionally colored, it was their trademark and customers were delighted when they discovered the carpet didn’t match the drapes. For a joke, one officer called both twins Ginger.

Tread and Retread would dress like no other hookers dared to dress. The johns would sometimes drive by just to check out the outfits that always matched. Some of the preferred costumes were Annie Oakley—plastic sidearms and all—Nurse Tread and Nurse Retread, and of course Sister Mary Tread and Sister Mary Retread. They always wore the appropriate outfits for the theme of the night. The twins loved what they did for a living and thought it their duty to introduce variety. The customers were delighted to pay more.

One of their best tricks was a local doctor that was referred to as “Sound.” He’d drive up to Tread and Retread and pay them extra to simply stand outside his car and talk dirty to him. One of them would cozy up to the driver’s rolled-down window and the other would do her talking from the front passenger window. When the doctor made his “house call” the money was great and the work only lasted fifteen minutes.

They always walked the streets side by side and would work alone if that was what the customer wanted. They preferred to work together and charged the triple rate when doing so. Riverside’s horniest held Tread and Retread in the highest regard.

In addition to the streetwalkers there were a number of whorehouses. Sometimes as many as ten of them would be in full operation and the girls that worked in the houses were usually local talent. Because they were local, they were given higher status than the streetwalkers. Riverside’s finest believed the whorehouses were not that much of problem, but the streetwalkers and pimps were kept in line. A sting operation of sorts would take place and they’d talk it up in the local newspaper and everything would be fine for a while, the streets would be safer and the pimps and streetwalkers would lay low for a few weeks before the cycle continued.

Rookies were expected to work undercover at least once, and most of them looked forward to it. For them undercover meant working the prostitutes. They were expected to drive their personal cars and rid the streets of vermin.

Reg was assigned vice or undercover once, and once was clearly enough. The Sergeant in charge of vice played everything by the book and there’d be no deviation in what he deemed the assignment.

The rules were simple. The prostitute had to name the act and the price before she could be arrested. Tricky business because the girls knew the rules and they were cagey.

Reg showed up for work and was even somewhat enthusiastic. He had his 1972 pristine Chevy—the family sedan. Surely his wife would understand if the car was used just once to make the streets safer.

Reg was told to get the prostitute in the car after the deal was made under the rules of engagement—the prostitute had to name the act and price.

“Won’t that be kind of hard, Sarge?” Reg asked.

“Nope. They’re prostitutes and you may rely on your wits.”

“But what if they play hard to get?”

“Just do what you’re told and no cheating. Understand?”

“I do, it’s just that I think the prostitute will never name the act or price if they know it’s illegal; they might want to play twenty questions. That doesn’t sound like much fun to me.”

The Sergeant shouted, “Do what the fuck you’re told and nothing else. Get your ass out there and bring us back at least one hooker or else.”

“You bet. I’ll make you proud!”

The real undercover cops were waiting by the old abandoned train station. The rookie’s job was to bring the goods to them and they’d arrange transportation and booking, at least that was how it was explained to Reg.

Reg made his first pass and there were several ladies of the night out and about. He was disappointed that the twins weren’t around. The women who were around all wore fancy dresses and plenty of makeup. Every one of them wore high-heeled shoes, which Reg thought was pretty lame. He made a couple of more passes and then spotted the one for him. She was wearing a bright red satin dress and her shoes were also red. He chuckled when he saw the high heels. She walked up to the car and he already had the window down.

“Hello sugar, you looking for a good time?”

“Sure! Hop in and make yourself as cozy as a concubine’s kitty,” Reg said.

She smiled and said, “Are you a cop?”

“I came here to get laid…not insulted.”

“What would you like?”

“You tell me. How much is it?”

The lady in red said, “That depends. What would you like to do? How much do you want to spend?”

This is exactly what Reg thought would happen. He figured all of the prostitutes were crafty just like this one. They wanted to make money and not go to jail. He sympathized with them but was prepared to use his wits just like the Sergeant suggested.

“I’ll give you twenty bucks for a half and half. Get in the car. I ain’t got all night.”

“You’re the boss, darling. Time is money.”

The prostitute knew she was in the clear because any cop worth his salt would never name the act and the price. She figured Reg probably worked in a factory. She was pretty sure real cops didn’t use words like concubine…whatever that meant.

She got in the car and was smoking a cigarette. That didn’t please Reg one bit. If Phoebe ever found out a prostitute was smoking in the family sedan? He didn’t want to even consider the consequences.

Reg was instructed to turn right and pull in behind the deserted warehouse where they would be able to complete the transaction. He turned left toward the abandoned train station.

She said, “No, the other way.”

Reg looked at her and grinned like a Cheshire cat. “I’m a police officer and you’re under arrest.”

“You liar, you said you weren’t a cop.”

“And you never asked if you could smoke in my car.”

She tried to burn his hand with her cigarette.

Reg sped up as he said, “You crazy bitch. Don’t even think about burning my hand. That’s assaulting a police officer, so knock that shit off!”

He continued to go faster and the lady in red opened the passenger door and tried to jump out, he grabbed her but she kept slipping away, before long he was holding only her ankle. He was doing about forty and was only a block away from the train station. She broke away from his grasp and Reg was left holding one red high-heeled shoe. He looked in the rearview mirror and she was going ass over tea kettle. He was amazed at the number of times she tumbled before gaining her balance and limping into the darkness.

Tread and Retread were returning from a two on one and happened to notice the lady in red take her tumble.

“Holy shit, Retread, they’re rolling out the competition tonight!”

“I know and she nearly nailed her routine. Did you see how she landed?”

“Darn right! Her balance was outstanding. It was an Olympic gymnast move to say the least.”

“For sure,” Retread said. “We should introduce something like that into our act. I think it’d be worth a lot of money. Maybe five times the going rate.”

The twins walked back to their corner with visions of leotards and gymnast makeup in their heads. Their current Wonder Woman outfits seemed a bit unappreciated even for Riverside’s horniest of the horny. This saddened both of them, because a great deal of time and effort was spent on detail. Tread and Retread were huge fans of Linda Carter and the ever-popular
Wonder Woman
television series that showcased the super foxy hero. Retread was enamored with the golden belt that was the source of Wonder Woman’s strength and power as well as the bullet-deflecting bracelets. Best of all, Tread was totally into the golden lasso, which was unbreakable and forced people to obey and tell the truth when bound.

For an extra fifteen bucks they offered enchanting role play. The game was called “Bullets and Bracelets.” The customer could shoot rubber darts at either of them or both for an added fee and the darts would be deflected with the magical bracelets. Good times could certainly be had by all. As always the twins managed to mix things up a bit, Tread sported her golden lasso on her right side just like Linda Carter while Retread opted for the left. If vice officers ever showed their photos to disgruntled customers, the slight costume modification, just like their hair scheme, would certainly mess up any attempt at proper identification, the twins were nothing if not Machiavellian by nature.

Reg pulled into the train station and told the sergeant that the prostitute cheated. He complained, “She didn’t play fair, but I can identify her if you have pictures and such for me to look at.”

The real vice cops saw the whole thing and thought it was the best performance ever. “You sure showed her how to party,” the younger vice cop said.

“She was gonna give me a half and half for twenty dollars. You never told me they’d smoke in my car. I guess I’ll go in and write a report. Do I have to pick up another one or is this enough?”

The Sergeant said, “I think we’ve seen enough for one night, Reg. Just make sure you cover the driving part in your report.”

Reg went in and started the report. He took some things serious, but working undercover assignments was not one of them. He loved working patrol and some of the best times were getting out of the car and visiting with older people. They were like a talking history book of Riverside and Reg loved their stories. He would stop by their houses and drink coffee with them and listen attentively. They knew plenty of things and Reg was willing to learn. He accepted the part about serving and protecting others and looked forward to the rare times when he actually made a difference. He had a soft spot in his heart for those who were truly in need. There were times when the small amount of cash he carried would be given to others that were truly down on their luck. For the most part, Reg felt it his duty to show others respect and that especially included the ones that ended up going to jail.

As he wrote the report on the prostitute he was able to identify her by the photos they kept of hookers and other bad women. He finalized the report and tagged her red shoe as evidence.

The vice cop got a warrant on her and she eventually pled out. The vice cop later told Reg, “You should’ve seen her, she was hobbling in court and her legs were all bandaged.”

Reg said, “Serves her right. The crazy bitch smoked in my car without permission and then tried to burn me with a cigarette. I wish she’d have pled not guilty. I had her shoe as evidence; I wanted to put it on her foot in front of the judge. Fucking Cinderella story is all this was. I don’t care if I ever work plain clothes again.”

Heads-up

1975

F
rank Lamkin was a college graduate with a degree in education and could have landed a teaching job anywhere in the state if he wanted. Frank didn’t care for that idea. He was born in 1947 and went to college because of his test scores; it would have been criminal for him not to attend and he was given a full scholarship to the best school in the entire Midwest. He never studied a day in his life but ended up class valedictorian. Frank was legally intoxicated when he gave his speech and a former United States Vice President also spoke before handing out diplomas. The Vice President suspected Frank was lit up and found the entire afternoon quite entertaining. The next day Frank purchased a thirty-day Greyhound Bus pass and went on vacation. When he returned his parents asked him about job prospects and Frank decided teaching was not for him.

He applied for jobs with the City of Riverside and the Police Chief gave him a call. The Chief had never read an application like Frank’s in his entire life. Frank was highly educated and had no criminal background. When the chief interviewed Frank he was impressed beyond belief. Not only did he hire him on the spot, he offered him a day job in the Detective Bureau. Frank stared at the chief and told him he preferred to go on nights. Frank also made the mistake of telling him he hated assholes and couldn’t wait to work nights. The Chief stared back at Frank and said, “Suit yourself!”

Frank was officially on nights and the Chief would make sure Ivan would find out about Frank’s education. He gave succinct instructions that Frank should work with Ivan as much as possible. The Chief meant to teach Frank a lesson, he thought Frank might be a smart aleck and didn’t like that one little bit. Frank could have cared less what the Chief thought of his interview or him. He had an idea the chief might be an asshole and maybe he offended the old coot with his comment.

******

Ivan never really got past the eighth grade on his own and by the time he started the ninth grade he was seventeen years old. Reading was difficult and he found the numbers grueling to add and subtract. When Ivan finally reached high school he would make other students do his homework and if they complained he simply beat them shitless. When it came time to take tests, Ivan would make other kids in class let him copy their answers.

All of the cheating still wasn’t enough to get Ivan through school. He gracefully walked into the principal’s office at the age of twenty, with part of the tenth grade behind him, and resigned from the scholastic environment. By then, Ivan was nearly six and a half feet tall and the Korean War was winding down. He wasn’t concerned about a diploma; his father was a big shot who knew a lot of City Commissioners and the Mayor. Rumor was, Ivan’s father was diddling the Mayor’s wife and she’d put in a good word for him as well. Riverside was always hiring garbage collectors, police officers, and fire fighters; surely he was qualified for something. He weighed nearly four hundred pounds and could probably lift garbage cans for years and years to come.

To Ivan’s great fortune the department hired him on his twenty-first birthday and he never even had to take the test thanks to the Mayor’s wife. They gave him a badge and gun with the biggest gun belt and uniform they could find. Before Ivan knew it, he was walking a beat and terrifying citizens. He fit right in because it was 1953 and for him it was the best of times.

Ivan was the cruelest of them all. He joined the Riverside Police Department when brains were the lesser of the two “brains and brawn” potential requirements. He could barely read, his writing skills were minimal at best but his street cognition was off the charts. Ivan understood fear and he comprehended,
He who causes fear is in the driver’s seat
.

Just like most of the other police officers of that era, Ivan was huge. In fact, he was beyond huge. By now he advanced to the next level…colossal. He was well over six and a half feet tall and weighed at least 450 pounds, his hands were like baby hams, his shoe size was twenty, his police hat and uniforms were special ordered. His vision was extraordinary. He moved swiftly for a man his size and many had grossly underestimated that speed, much to their chagrin.

Ivan could have cared less about other cops. He barely tolerated the officers given unholy status. It wouldn’t be inaccurate to simply say Ivan detested everyone in the world. He accepted the others that worked the night shift with him, but he’d never really trust or care about any of them.

Ivan especially hated any individual that cracked wise to a cop. He detested and despised any police officer from another agency as they were all inferior to him and could never be trusted not to squeal on other cops in general and himself in particular.

His superiors feared Ivan, as they should. He was unable to change. His only mission in the police world was to kick ass and say bad things about other cops. He wasn’t just a brute, he was a behemoth with the destructive powers of Godzilla.

He loved the Japanese horror movies, especially the
Godzilla
movies that first appeared in 1954. If Ivan had had a pet it would’ve been Godzooky, a cousin to Godzilla and much smaller, that would’ve been a big “if,” because Ivan even hated animals.

He identified with Godzilla and somehow understood Godzilla represented the fears that many Japanese held about the nuclear attacks on Hiroshima and Nagasaki, and the possibility of recurrence. That was the same kind of fear Ivan wanted to generate on anyone and everyone he came into contact with and he especially wanted them to fear his possible recurrence.

His only ventures with the written word were the
Godzilla
comic books he carried in his squad car; Ivan loved all of them because the pictures challenged him to be better. Godzilla possessed atomic breath: a powerful heat ray of fire from his mouth. Ivan suffered from halitosis and at times his breath had a sweet fecal smell. Everyone cringed once they got a good whiff of it and he delighted in their reaction.

His patented “Atomic Knee Drop” was the one thing all of the Riverside troublemakers feared most. It was something that Ivan had perfected over the years and the secret ingredient was gravity. He’d perform to the delight of Riverside’s finest. They marveled at how Ivan would simply stand over the intended recipient of the Atomic Knee Drop and launch himself in the air. Gravity and Ivan’s knee did the rest and he’d land squarely on his victim’s chest. When he was feeling especially frisky he’d roar, not unlike Godzilla-the thunderous rumble would occur at the exact time Ivan hit his intended mark. When the individual eventually came around, they were good mannered from that point on. Some required medical attention and one nearly died as a result, although Ivan suggested the guy was simply acting to gain sympathy. Truth be told, Ivan was just plain nasty.

His first claim to fame was in 1955; he was working alone and eating an entire party pizza while reading his comic books. The bars had just closed so he thought it best to give all of the drunks a chance to drive home. One of them didn’t do so well.

Bert Nagel was three times the legal limit when he left Ace’s Tavern in his 1952 Desoto Deluxe. His friend Jerry Presley had the good sense to call for a cab because he was just as drunk as Bert. When Bert hit the tree on Driscoll Boulevard he was going as fast as the Desoto would allow. The crash was horrific and Ivan was the first one to arrive on the scene.

He took one look and decided the victim was DRT, dead right there. In this case the victim was all over there, in parts. He was decapitated and Ivan could only locate one limb. The first two officers that arrived to assist Ivan immediately spewed at the sight.

People began to gather and Ivan worked a little crowd control. “Nothing to see here, move along,” he told the gawkers. He realized most people were compelled to see such things and they were the ones he would get real close to and he always made sure they smelled his ghastly breath-that was always fun, for Ivan at least.

The cab that Jerry Presley was taking home was stopped for the accident. He got out of the cab and walked near the crash. What little was left of the Desoto was all he needed to cause him great concern. He approached Ivan and said, “I think that might be my friend’s car.” Ivan took one look at Jerry and told him to get lost.

Jerry persisted, “Is that Bert Nagel over there? Was it my best friend Bert?”

“What do you care?” Ivan asked. “Whoever it was is DRT.” Jerry had no idea what DRT meant but he had to know if Bert was hurt.

“If it’s Bert I can identify him. I…”

“Get lost.”

“Who is it? Is it Bert? I need to know.”

Ivan told him to wait right there, he’d be right back. He walked over to the point of impact and saw Bert’s head lying near a fire hydrant, he picked it up and walked over to Jerry and held the head up.

“Is this your friend?” Ivan asked.

Jerry the drunk soon became Jerry the hysterical witness. He wailed, “My God, it’s my best friend Bert. Oh my God, Bert, what happened to you?” He screamed and hollered and blubbered about how Ivan shouldn’t have made him look.

Ivan told him to go home and forget about what he’d seen. “I told you he was dead right there, you should have listened to me, you little puke. That’s what you get for being snoopy,” Ivan said.

Ivan carried the head and dropped it where he’d found it, he walked over to the Sergeant and proudly announced that he’d identified the dead guy and his name was Bert, then asked for permission to leave so he could grab his overdue lunch.

That was twenty years ago and now it was nearly midnight, and a slow night at that. Ivan and Frank were cooped up behind a vacant factory. They were drinking coffee and Ivan was spiking his with something he poured from a flask; he offered Frank some and was shocked when he accepted. They sat there drinking coffee and Frank began telling Ivan all about how whiskey was made and then went into a spiel about scotch.

Ivan sat there and fumed. He hated Frank. He hated him with a passion and they hadn’t even gone on their first call yet.

But when their first call came over the radio, Ivan and Frank were sent on a family fight near the old housing project. Ivan handled the radio and Frank diligently wrote down the address and time of call. Ivan drove a steady twenty miles an hour in an attempt to make Frank squirm.

When they got inside the house the man and woman were screaming at each other and actually pulling a baby; it was just like a tug of war and the baby wasn’t winning. Frank thought the child might eventually have an arm or leg pulled off as the man said, “Turns loose. Turns loose. I loves the little motherfucker!”

The other half of the disagreement was holding on for all she was worth, she was losing hold of the child when she told the man the baby probably wasn’t even his. That news didn’t bode well as the man grabbed the other leg and the tug of war continued. Ivan just stood there laughing. He urged the woman on and said, “Why don’t you make a wish? Looks like the kid makes a pretty good wishbone to me!” The baby couldn’t have been more than a year old.

Frank walked around everyone and went into the kitchen. Ivan never even noticed with all of his laughing—he loved it and couldn’t get enough of the tug-of-war derby.

Frank was actually concerned for the child’s welfare and figured the guy, father or not, was a jerk. Frank walked out of the kitchen and was carrying a metal chair in both hands. Frank yelled, “Hey Fucko, have a seat. I want to talk to you.” He hit the man in the head with the chair and blood squirted across the room and onto a wall. Decade’s worth of old, drab wallpaper finally had a little color. The guy was out cold and bleeding like a stuck pig. Frank walked over and picked him up and sat him in the chair and then handcuffed him even though he was unconscious. He told the woman he’d be right back and then walked outside and went to the patrol car and retrieved medical supplies and something else.

When he returned he was holding a couple of ammonia capsules and broke one under the man’s nose. Not much happened so he broke the second ammonia capsule and the guy came around and began to moan. Frank asked the woman to have a seat because he wanted to talk to both of them. He asked her if she had any coffee and she went into the kitchen and brought back two cups, one for Frank and the other for Ivan. Frank reached into his jacket and pulled out Ivan’s flask and added the contents to the steamy coffee. The woman was holding the screaming baby and smiled at Frank. She liked his style.

Ivan decided to let Frank hold forth. It was soon determined that Betty and Bill Davis had been quarreling over money and one thing led to another. They’d been drinking and Frank cautioned the both of them that drinking was not a good thing to do when raising a child. Before long, Betty blurted that baby Charles was not Bill’s son; rather, he was Bill’s nephew. She smugly announced to Bill that his older brother Sonny was the father. Bill began to struggle with the handcuffs as he shouted, “You slut, I should of known. Take these cuffs off so I can kill her!”

Frank backhanded Bill and said, “Shut your cake hole. We’re making some real progress here, let the lady finish.” For good measure, Ivan snuck up behind Bill and tipped his chair over. The baby suddenly quit crying and looked at his brand-new uncle.

Frank counseled the couple and after Bill calmed down, Frank removed the handcuffs. Ivan found the dirtiest towel in the house and handed it to Bill. “Hold this to your head and the bleeding will probably stop. That’s what you get for drinking and falling off your chair,” Ivan lectured.

They gave baby Charles and Betty a ride to Sonny’s place. Before leaving, Frank said to Bill, “You’re damn lucky we’re in a good mood tonight. Next time, I’ll handcuff you to Ivan’s bumper and we’ll cart your sorry ass off to jail, no more breaks for you.”

Later in the shift Ivan told Frank, “With a little work you might actually turn into a halfway decent cop.”

Frank said, “Like I give a shit?”

“I’m just saying is all, you don’t have to get all pissy about it. If you want, you can drive the rest of the shift.”